 
# The Siege of Masada

## Jodie Lane

Copyright © 2015 by Jodie Lane

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form—with the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission from its author, Jodie Lane.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

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www.jodielane.com

# Table of Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

AUTHOR'S NOTE

# ONE

## 2011 AD

Gwyn gazed out the window as the plane banked into its final approach. Tel Aviv stretched out below; the heat haze a visible shimmer in the air. They passed over the coastline which stretched both north and south; the buildings of the city were creamy-coloured, as though desert itself had somehow morphed into habitable structures. The landscape was bleak, but vivid spots of green made their presence known like a shout in the wilderness.

Touch-down at Ben Gurion Airport was accompanied by the sound of clapping, as many Israeli passengers marked the safe landing with applause.

"Do you guys have everything?" Gwyn turned to ask her younger brother and sister. The un-identical twins fidgeted in the seats beside her. During the flight, they had spent most of their waking hours playing computer games against each other on the in-flight consoles, but still managed to find plenty of time to annoy each other... and Gwyn.

"Of course!" Naomi replied.

"You don't have to boss us around," Justin chimed in. "We are thirteen, you know."

"I know—" Gwyn was cut off as a flight attendant reminded everyone in Hebrew and then English to check all seat pockets and overhead compartments for personal belongings.

"I know," she repeated more quietly once the announcement had finished, "but until Mum and Dad meet us on the other side of that arrivals gate, I'm still the responsible adult here and I don't want you to lose anything!"

"More like the irresponsible adult," Naomi muttered. She was still annoyed that Gwyn hadn't noticed Justin disappear into a Duty Free store during their transit through Singapore's Changi Airport. They'd backtracked and discovered him gawping at Rolexes through a glass cabinet.

"What are you looking at that rubbish for?" she chided. "You can't afford it anyway, and knowing you, you'd probably break it or lose it!" Herding her siblings back to the gate, she kept a close and rather irritated eye on them until they boarded their El Al flight to Tel Aviv.

Now, after insufficient and uncomfortable sleep on the plane, she was scarcely in a better mood, but the end was in sight. Gwyn, Naomi, and Justin Turner had been living with their aunt and uncle back in Brisbane for the last few months. Now on school and university holidays, they were flying over to Israel to meet their parents, who were expert scientists working in Israel as part of a project starting up a new desalination company. With the project all but finished up, the Turners intended to travel on to Europe for the next few weeks as an extended family holiday.

"There they are!" Justin waved furiously as they emerged from customs. Gwyn permitted herself an inward sigh of relief. The twins were good kids, really. Sure, they had spats and often endeavoured to annoy each other, but they weren't too bratty and did reasonably well at school. Even at thirteen, growth spurts showed they would probably end up taller than Gwyn, taking after their mother's lankier side of the family, with dark blonde hair and pale skin. Justin was fairly sporty, Naomi both mathematically and musically minded, but looks-wise they were the male and female versions of each other.

Gwyn herself had always been fairly reserved, though finishing school and starting university had started to bring her out of herself. Pigeon-holed as 'quiet' and 'smart' she was glad to leave the social awkwardness that school brought. Having recently turned nineteen and now in her second year at university she realised that while there were still plenty of people who had their cliques, there were plenty more who just didn't give a damn, and were actually there to learn and achieve. In appearance she resembled her father with short, dark hair and dark eyes, but in temperament she was like her mother—quiet, determined, something of an over-achiever (with all the terror of failure that came with it). She loved to read, loved escaping in fantastic stories of adventure and dreaming of other worlds. This overseas holiday was the most exciting thing to happen to her in a long time, but the long plane flights had dulled her enthusiasm a little—she hoped it would be more interesting now they were actually here!

"Uh-oh! Here's trouble!" Her father raced up and bear-hugged the twins. Her mother smiled and embraced Gwyn.

"Good to see you, sweetheart." She whispered in her ear, "Well done on getting the twins of terror here in one piece."

Gwyn laughed wearily, "Was a close thing, Mum. I tried to leave Justin behind in Changi. Didn't work though. I'm so tired. I just want to be horizontal."

"Just wait," her mother faced her still while she hugged her younger children. "When we get to the hotel you can have a shower and rest. We'll have an early night tonight. Normally people here eat quite late, ten or eleven o'clock even! But we can get room service for a treat. We've got a few things planned for the rest of the week; the company has kindly provided a guide to take us about to see the country."

It was a good prospect and Gwyn followed her parents gratefully.

The Crown Plaza hotel was nice and spacious, located on one of the beaches in Tel Aviv. Despite her exhaustion, Gwyn slept fitfully, strange dreams and shadows of the mind disturbing her rest. Jet lag didn't help. This was the first time she'd been on such a long journey overseas—previous family holidays had always taken place within Australia or visiting cousins in New Zealand. She lay awake at 3 a.m. staring at the hotel ceiling, listening to her siblings sleep.

It's pretty cool that Mum and Dad have brought us over here. So different to anything my friends' parents would do. I wonder if they'd let me defer a semester and stay on in Europe after this. After all, I'm doing well enough—I'm sure it won't hurt.

She'd wanted to bring up the idea with her parents for some time—they'd been so proud of her excellent grades at school but were slightly baffled when she chose history over a science degree at university, so she'd made sure she kept excelling to keep them happy. She loved history because of the stories it told about people, about why the world was the way it was, and it had made her want to experience that wider world a bit more, and see some of the places she'd read about.

I know how important doing well at uni is to Mum and Dad, but I'm a bit tired of feeling like that's all there is. I just want to get out there and live a little.

Her plan to live overseas by herself was a daunting one, both in itself and in the challenge of gaining her parents' approval for it. But it seemed like a good start to becoming a bit more independent.

After all, I'll come back and finish my studies and get a job and hopefully meet someone, but at least I'll have seen something of the world first.

With that thought she finally settled back into sleep.

The next day was not too strenuous; they walked several kilometres south to Jaffa, learning about the area. Gwyn had heard Jaffa was famous for being one of the oldest ports in the world still in use today. A partially underground museum showed some of the archaeology of the area, and she tried to imagine the Phoenicians trading their purple dye and embarking on incredible voyages. She remembered that the Phoenicians were purported to have been the first people to have circumnavigated Africa, thousands of years ago.

_Obviously the Suez Canal didn't exist then, so surely there must have been some overland travel involved_. _I wonder where and how that was achieved? It would be amazing to go back and see_ , she thought to herself.

They also spend plenty of time on the crowded beach behind their hotel.

"Have a look at that, kids!" Their father pointed out the matkot players smashing a ball high in the air, whereupon it curved on a perfect parabola to meet the upcoming paddle of the opposite player. Neither player in a pair had to move more than a foot in any direction, so precise were their hits.

"Good thing they're such great shots," Gwyn commented, considering the hundreds of sun-bathing bodies strewn across the sand. "A hit from one of those balls would hurt like hell!" But she never saw a player miss. It was incredible to watch.

When they descended from the hotel onto the beach, the sand was burning hot as they raced across to the water. The Mediterranean was mild but deep there. Artificial breakwaters created semi-enclosed bays that sheltered swimmers from currents. Gwyn was a reasonable swimmer, and as an Australian appreciated beach and water safety.

"I love the breakwaters," she told her mother. "They're so practical but pretty—they create a miniature world of beach and sea." _You could paddle and float to without worrying about being swept out in a rip._

However it was the helicopter gunships that patrolled the beach that reminded the Turners that this wasn't a beach family holiday as experienced by most people they knew. Gwyn managed to convince Justin that throwing a Vortex out the hotel window was a bad idea, as it might bring the wrath of the Israeli military down upon them with no time to explain it was just a prank. Israel continued to have serious tensions with the West Bank and Gaza, so despite the beautiful people and carefree attitudes, when Gwyn saw male and female soldiers not much older than her toting very real rifles, it injected a slight aura of tension into the air.

# TWO

The desalination company for whom her parents had been working had very generously provided a driver/guide and a minivan to take the family on a series of days trips about the country. Such a narrow nation could easily be crossed in a few hours, and traversed from north to south in less than a day. On one of these excursions they visited the Sea of Galilee (the major source of freshwater for Israel, yet at a dangerously low level) and the Golan Heights overlooking Syria. Benjamin, their guide, explained briefly about various conflicts Israel had had in the past few decades with its neighbours, and seeing the city of Damascus from where they stood made it clear just how close those neighbours were.

The hustle and bustle of Jerusalem was another experience altogether; they saw the Wailing Wall and admired ancient architecture. Justin was baffled and indignant when he saw a beggar limp across a line of traffic stopped at lights, tapping on car windows for money, and then switch legs as the traffic started to move on.

"He's a fake!" the boy exclaimed.

"Beggars have been doing that for thousands of years, son," their dad laughed. "We have to watch Monty Python's _The Life of Brian_ again!"

They were astounded by the beauty of the Bahai Gardens in Haifa. Exquisitely manicured lawns marched up the steep hill in symmetrical terraces, while flowerbeds of rich purple, red, and yellow were shaped into stars and maintained ever so carefully by precise gardeners. Every tree lined up perfectly, and not a leaf in any hedge was out of place. Three gardeners alone operated a tiny lawn mower on a steep angle, using stabilising ropes, in order to trim one terrace of grass. The perfection of the gardens was only accentuated by the incredible architecture. The stunningly white shrine halfway up the hill with its huge golden dome shone in the sun. As they wandered up and down the staircases and pathways that looped through the gardens, many tourists, including the Turners, were left silent, in awe.

The fourth day was set to be a long one. They began by heading south out of Tel Aviv, bypassing Ashdod and Ashkelon them swinging south east towards Be'er Sheva to skirt the northern end of the Negev Desert. Now and then a few acres of date palms seem to spring up out of nowhere—vivid green oases amidst the stark dryness of the surrounding countryside.

"Check that out!" exclaimed Justin, gawping at a small Bedouin encampment. In the lee of a small, rocky hill sat a battered old metal caravan hitched up to a rusty sedan. Beside it stood two camels and a donkey, while a satellite dish perched incongruously atop the van. He and Naomi spent the next half hour of the drive wondering out loud what TV shows might be watched by the Bedouins. Gwyn mused on the fact that people who didn't even have running water and still lived a nomadic life engaged with the world in very modern technological ways.

They stopped briefly by the side of the road to stretch their legs. Their guide explained that the Negev was one of the driest deserts in the world, and while it encompassed the largest area of Israel, it was mostly uninhabited. It stretched all the way down to the Gulf of Aqaba, giving access to the Red Sea and thus the Indian Ocean.

"From Israel's southern-most town of Eilat you can see Jordan, Egypt, and even Saudi Arabia!" he told them.

_Guess that makes it strategically important_. Studying history at uni made Gwyn think about the shape of countries and how they got to be that way. Geographical boundaries such as rivers, mountains, and coastlines tended to be fundamental, and traditionally these had often created language and cultural boundaries. But modern state creation was complicated, with ideological agendas driving military and economic power struggles. Officially 'created' in 1948, Israel was younger than Australia even, for all that its written history stretched back thousands of years.

After driving east for some time, the road began to wind north along the western shore of the Dead Sea. Only ten kilometres across at its widest, Jordan was clearly visible across the water. Benjamin navigated their minivan into the car park at Masada National Park, and thus they began their tour of the famous historical site with the ascent up the steep path that accessed the western face of the plateau.

"Masada was a palace built upon a natural mesa," their guide, Benjamin, began as they reached the top and started making their way around the ruins. "It was fortified by King Herod the Great and other Jewish kings that followed him. But it is most famous for holding out against the Romans who besieged it in AD 74. The Jews inside refused to capitulate—instead choosing to commit suicide rather than surrender to the Romans."

Naomi and Justin wandered off, bored at the history lesson. They began exploring and guessing at the uses of various rooms. While her dad was taking photos, Gwyn and her mother trailed after Benjamin as he described the famous siege, where the Sicarii, the Jewish extremists who defended Masada against the Romans, committed mass suicide rather than surrender to their besiegers.

_It must have been so heroic,_ she reflected. _Defending their country against the invaders—refusing to give in even though they were the last ones left fighting the Romans._

She'd read a little of the Roman account of the so-called 'Jewish Rebellion', and it had sounded so mercenary. Just an exercise in political and economic stability in this region that sought only to benefit Rome.

At least the Sicarii believed in something, even though their cause was hopeless.

"Come on, Gwyn," her mother was calling. "You'll get left behind. Daydreaming again, hmm?"

Snapping out of her reverie, she hurried after her mother and they made their way through the ruins of the northern palace down to the lower terraces. Gwyn marvelled at the view. The cliffs on the eastern side fell away four hundred metres down towards the Dead Sea, overlooking a stunning vista. The approach on all other sides was steep and difficult, if not impossible in most areas. It was bakingly hot, and the sun glared down upon the ruins. She tried to imagine the hustle and bustle of people living here, Romans fighting to take the fortress, but the glaring heat sapped her imagination and the best she could conjure were faded ghosts and whispered cries of battle.

"It's so isolated," she said to her mother, who was examining the remains of an ancient bath house. "How did they get their food and everything?"

"Well, the climate of the Middle East has changed a great deal over the last two thousand years," her mother stated. "Back then this area had a lot more water, and ability to grow crops and farm animals. I believe I heard Benjamin mention that sufficient rain fell during the winter months to fill up great stone cisterns carved into the rock. That would have kept them going for a while. Did you know that now Israel has to buy drinking water from Turkey by the shipload? And the level of water in the Sea of Galilee has been allowed to drop to a ridiculously dangerous level!" Ever obsessed with the necessity and movement of water, her mother began one of her mild rants about the irresponsibility of humans and their poor water management. Gwyn listened somewhat impatiently, the heat irritating her. The twins were already getting on her dad's nerves, asking if they could catch the cable car down to the visitors centre.

"No, we are all going to walk," he ruled finally. "It's only two kilometres, and all downhill. It'll be good for you."

"I'd hate to be doing this uphill," Gwyn muttered to herself fifteen minutes later. The Snake Path twisted its way back and forth through the rock, with sharp switchbacks over precipitous cliffs and narrow cuts through looming boulders. Towards the bottom it flattened out to meet the station of the cable car and the Yigal Yadin Masada Museum, with its restaurant and souvenir shop. Her parents trundled after the twins who were tearing down the hillside faster than the man from Snowy River, albeit without the horse. Halfway down, just before the path turned sharply away from the cliff and into a narrow ravine that cut through the rock, Gwyn stopped to take a few photos with her phone of the stunning vista before her—the Dead Sea laid out below, stark desert surrounding.

Suddenly a clattering of stones and the sound of shouts made Gwyn turn sharply. Dust rose and a figure darted along the path above her. The person pelted down the Snake Path, knocking Gwyn off balance and sending her staggering to the side. She tripped and fell on her backside, shock and indignation shooting through her system as quickly as the pain in her jarred body.

The figure—was it a woman?—glanced behind (long hair tied back, athletic stride. Gwyn glimpsed her face, yes, she was female.) The woman's eyes widened, then she took a flying leap off a low outcrop and hit the ground with a perfect roll and kept running, flinging something into the scrubby bushes that grew on the path edge. A man barrelled past Gwyn (he would have run right over her had she still been standing there!). The woman made for the narrow ravine when another man (burly and thickset) stepped out from behind a rock and tackled her. The man in pursuit reached the woman and her assailant seconds later and then, as Gwyn blinked, a blue mist sprang up and when it faded, they were gone.

"What the—?" Baffled, she scrambled up, wincing slightly, just as her mother came rushing back up the path.

"Sweetheart! Are you okay? What happened?" she demanded, breathing heavily from her uphill run.

"Uh, uh, I'm fine," Gwyn started to say. "This woman, she..." She trailed off, staring hard at the spot where the people had been. "Where did she go?" She wondered, distracted from her bruised butt and scraped elbow.

"What woman? All I could see was dust and you slipping over! Did you hit your head? How many fingers am I holding up?" her mother grasped Gwyn's shoulders gently, and patted her, testing for any injuries, then waved her digits in front of Gwyn's face.

"I'm fine, Mum. I'm fine!" She rubbed her eyes, the dust making her blink. _Sheesh, overprotective._ "Four fingers! It was just some woman, she ran past and shoved me. I'm sure it was an accident. I didn't see where she went."

She walked down the path slightly to look for her phone. Scrabbling around in the bushes, a small round metallic object caught her eye as she bent down. It looked like a small pocket watch, complete with a delicate-looking chain. She picked it up and shoved it into her pocket with her phone, replaying the scene with the woman in her mind. _I think I saw her throw this._

"I'm okay, just a little winded."

She wondered why she didn't just blurt out everything she had seen, from the pursuing men to the disappearing act. It disturbed her—someone had just been chased and possibly abducted in front of her. But partly she didn't quite believe what she had just seen, and if her mother hadn't seen it, well, maybe she imagined it? Her impressions were vague—if she was asked to describe the men, she'd be at a loss. And people didn't just disappear, did they? Was it some Israeli military secret, a new technology to cloak people? That seemed impossible, like something out of a Mathew Reilly novel. But here was the thing she picked up—the pocket watch, or whatever it was—proof that what she saw had really just happened. Her mother would make Gwyn hand it in, and she wanted a chance to look at it herself before that happened.

So she let her mother brush the worst of the dust off her as her dad came huffing and puffing up the hill. He'd seen his wife panic at the commotion, yelled at the twins to stay put and hurried after his her. After assuring her parents she was well enough for them to stop fussing, they descended at a statelier pace. No more mention of the mysterious woman was made, and Gwyn decided not to bring it up in case they thought she'd concussed herself. But her thoughts kept flicking back to the strange incident up on the hill.

## 2623 AD

"You are under arrest for unauthorised time travel in a restricted period. You are also charged with evading Time Police, resisting arrest, and possession of an unlicensed chronokinetor. You will be remanded in custody until such time as your trial can be held."

Eyes flashing in fury, she snapped back at him, "You're way out of your depth, constable! I'm a special Agent; I have authority for this mission! Check the ID your goons pinched from me, or go straight to Commissioner Hera. She'll clear this up in a second."

"I'm afraid you'll have to go through the proper channels. I can't be bothering the Commissioner with a standard arrest."

His slight smirk made her realise that he might well know she was a special agent, and that this was bigger than simple confusion over authorisation. Someone had put him up to this. But who? And why? She wasn't aware she had an enemy in the Agency that had this kind of pull. The fact that they could snatch her from the middle of a classified mission in a restricted time zone was worrying. That implied access to high levels of information, and enough power or money to bribe a sleaze ball like this constable to look the other way.

So instead of protesting further she simply leaned forward so her nose was almost touching the force field that enclosed her cell.

"Fine," she growled softly, the proximity of her breath making the force field hum faintly.

He waited, smirk widening, for some empty threat, some "don't think you'll get away with this!" Her silence and stare continued uninterrupted, until, unnerved, he muttered, "Crazy bitch."

Her snort of derision followed him out and he was left with the disquieting feeling that, despite being incarcerated, she had somehow won that round.

# THREE

## 2011 AD

"Check out this mud!" Justin's hands delved deeper into the mud well and pasted the black sediment all down his arms and legs.

"Gwyn! Do my back please, Gwyn!" Naomi had already covered her face, arms and legs—she turned her back to her older sister who, laughing, painted black mud everywhere not yet covered, leaving Naomi's bright rainbow bikini a stark contrast. The Turners were at the beach at the oasis of En Gedi, not far from Masada on the edge of the Dead Sea. They were pasting themselves in the nutrient- and mineral-rich mud—the Dead Sea was famous for skin care products. After taking some funny family photos they took turns to rinse off under sulphurous-smelling showers ("Pooh! This stinks" Naomi shouted) before taking a dip in the Dead Sea itself.

Lower than sea level, the salinity of the Dead Sea is ten times higher than the normal ocean, and one could not sink even if one tried. Drifting gently in her bathers, Gwyn enjoyed the bobbing sensation—she could almost half-sit up instead of having to lie flat and still like one would in normal sea water, though at first the salt had stung her scraped elbow like crazy. Her mother and father discussed the challenge of extracting fresh water through reverse osmosis.

"Too much residue already in a place like this, it'd never be cost-effective... this place is already an environmental disaster... Galilee will be next if they don't watch out..."

Gwyn realised now would be a perfect opportunity to go examine the pocket watch, while her siblings were mucking around and her parents were absorbed in discussion. Mentioning she didn't want to get sunburnt, she left the others floating and made her way to the women's change rooms to dry off and get dressed. In the past few years some more solid buildings replaced the hessian sack cubicles that had formerly graced the beach, catering for an increased tourist demand, but the change rooms were not large. They were, however, empty apart from her, so once clothed Gwyn pulled out the strange object she'd picked up from the Snake Path at Masada.

It really did look like a pocket watch. Round, with quite a pretty chain of some strange metal attached. A shiny, brassy look, but somehow not slippery like metal. Not rough either, but it had a textured feel, as opposed to completely smooth. It was slightly warm in her hand. A spiral symbol, kind of like the Milky Way, was etched on the outside. She flipped it over. The same spiral, but reversed in direction, was on the back.

She looked hastily about her. She didn't know why she was being so furtive, except for that she was sure there was something strange about this thing. Maybe it _was_ some sort of new Israeli military technology. The circumstances of its discovery; the disappearing act by the woman and her pursuers, was enough to make her exceedingly curious about the device. _Maybe you're just being over-imaginative?_ She thought.

There was no one else in the change rooms. She rested it in her left hand and peered at the device curiously as she gently tried to crack the circumference seal with her right thumb.

_Whoosh!_ It was like a window had been opened whilst driving a car at high speed. Air rushed and funnelled around her, unbalancing her ears and making her stumble. The pocket watch suddenly seared hot and pressed into her left palm. Then the pain numbed, but the heaviness of the device remained in her hand. Her stomach lurched, a sensation of weightlessness lifted her innards then gravity crashed back down as she was falling...

Sudden silence. Gravity existed but all she could see was a blue haze! She stared about frantically and the blue started to fade. Her surroundings sharpened, and the noise of the world crept back in. At first she could only dimly make out strange sounds, but then shouting voices and the clash of metal became louder and louder. She was in a room, a small room—where was she!? This wasn't the women's change rooms! Several items of clay crockery lay on a rickety wooden table, a woven mat on the floor. It wasn't as hot as she'd felt before, though she could smell smoke in the air, like there was a fire nearby.

"Devil ghost!" She whirled, adrenaline pumping!

A man was half-crouched in the doorway, expression frozen somewhere between awe and terror. He was filthy, dark skin smeared with smoke and dirt and... blood? He held a curved knife in his right hand, blotted with dark stickiness.

"What?" Her voice when it came out, pitching higher in panic, sounded like her, but the words she heard uttered were not English. "Who are you!? Where–?"

A blinding pain shot through her skull and she pitched forward. Her hands shot out to break her fall, but the pocket watch was embedded in her left palm and jabbed sharply into her as she struck the ground. Reflexively she dragged her hand in towards her chest, groaning dully at the pain. Quick footsteps echoed in her ear as the second man in the room administered another crack on her head and she passed out.

"She just appeared! I tell you! One moment the room was empty, we were looking for loot, then a blue cloud appeared and there she was!"

Gwyn groaned very quietly, wincing at her headache. The voices in the room were insistent and piercing, disturbing her unnatural slumber.

"Women don't just appear! Were you drinking?" The second voice, less strident but still demanding, challenged the first speaker.

"Of course I wasn't drinking! We were fighting and looting and burning the huts as we went. Joshua ran into this hut, I followed him, then—whoosh! Demon ghost woman appeared!"

"Hmm. Then Joshua knocked her out and you both brought her back here." The second voice sounded older. Gwyn's brain de-fuzzed enough for her to peer out from under her eyelids at the speakers. The man from the hut—the filthy one with the knife—stood exasperated in front of an older, bearded man in a dark brown robe, who looked sceptical. Her eyes slid carefully about the room. The other man—presumably the one who had done his best to dint her skull—was nowhere in sight. This did not reassure her. Her brain, waking up by the second, noticed that as before no English was being spoken. She didn't recognise the language, but it sounded sufficiently like what she had previously heard around Israel to hazard a guess that this was also Hebrew. But how could she understand it?

The decor in the room was another concern. Like the hut where she'd been viciously attacked, it was... well, rustic was the best word she could find for it. Stone, clay, wood—you could sum up the walls and furniture in those three words. Nothing... modern about it.

Her stomach sank and she began to worry. _Something is very, very wrong here._

"She's awake." The voice was deep but quiet.

Gwyn sat up with a jolt—he was standing right behind her! No wonder she hadn't seen him. He moved quickly to her side, not touching her but obviously ready to restrain her should she demonstrate any demon- or ghost-like abilities. She had been lying on a table, now she shifted so she was half-sitting, half-crouched at one end, eyes darting between the man who'd hit her, knife-man (knife not currently in evidence at least), and the old bearded man.

"Well?" Beard raised his bushy eyebrows. "Are you a demon, or a ghost?"

_Huh? What is he talking about?_ Her mind began to race. _Where the hell am I? Why on earth is he talking about demons and ghosts? This must be a dream, a really, really weird dream._

A sterner voice in her head spoke up. _OK, if this is a dream it is an extremely vivid and painful one. Let's play it safe and try to avoid getting clocked again._ She straightened and took a deep breath shaking her head emphatically. Despite the pounding it caused, she managed to assert in a low voice, "I'm not a ghost, _definitely_ not a demon."

She paused there—she wanted to find out more before she started volunteering information. She was definitely speaking the same language as them, Hebrew, as far as she could tell. How this was possible she wasn't sure, but at least it put them on the same playing field for communication.

"How did you come to be in En Gedi?" The bearded man's questions were measured, which reassured her to a certain extent. Not as panicky as knife-man, who, visibly agitated, said,

"She just appeared, Rabbi! Like I told you! Blue cloud, whoosh–"

"Yes, Gad, but I want to hear from her," the Rabbi glanced at Joshua, who still stood silently at the end of the table slightly behind her on the right. Gwyn followed his gaze nervously. Short and dark and with several vicious scars on his face, Joshua was well-muscled and looked as if he'd been in plenty of fights. He'd already proved himself quick and more than capable of acting violently. Her head ached furiously as she concentrated. What should she say? She had no idea where she was, or how she'd gotten here...

The pocket watch! She managed not to glance at her left hand, but a quick exploration of her palm with her thumb told her that it was somehow embedded there. Funny, it didn't hurt anymore, even though she could feel the clear demarcation between metal and skin. The chain had wrapped itself around and _into_ her wrist and set there, looking for all the world like a tattoo. Only a close examination would reveal the slight raised bumps it made.

"I don't know," she faced the Rabbi fully. "I don't know where I am, or how I got here. Where is this place? Why was I attacked? Who are you people?" She tried to load her tone with the confidence that she would get answers, but she was afraid that they'd just dismiss her as mad and dangerous.

But the Rabbi eyed her with interest. He didn't answer for some time, rather he glanced at Joshua, and at Gad, then finally back to her, and replied slowly. "This is Masada."

Her heart began to beat faster.

He continued, "We are the last loyal Jews, fighting against the Roman invaders."

The only change in Gwyn's expression was a slight stressed tightening of her lips. _Last loyal Jews? Masada? Romans? Oh no. Either they are mad, or I'm dreaming, or... I've gone back in time._

# FOUR

## 74 AD

"So you say you have no idea how you came to be in En Gedi? You obviously are not from there, since you look nothing like a villager. Are you a Roman spy?"

His expression twisted into an ugly glare as he gestured at her apparel—dusty three-quarter pants and light blue collared shirt from Kathmandu. She hadn't yet put her shoes on when she'd examined the pocket watch at En Gedi, so her feet were bare. Compared to their robes and sandals she looked hideously out of place.

"A spy? Of course not!" Her tone was indignant, and desperate inspiration suddenly struck her, "I remember now. My memory must have been affected when I was hit in the head."

She snuck a sideways look at Joshua, hoping she sounded convincing. She went on.

"My name is Ruth. I was visiting my cousins. My family are from Galilee, but my parents were murdered by the Romans, so my uncle sent me to stay with my cousins until he could arrange a marriage for me. My clothes were... sold to buy food, so I dressed in these strange rags..."

She had no idea if they would buy this, but to her surprise the Rabbi was nodding his head, and even Gad, the grubby knife-man, had stopped looking panicked.

"I ran into the hut when the village was attacked."

She quickly dredged up Benjamin's history lessons—was it only a few hours ago? It seemed like—it _was—_ centuries ago. Or ahead, really, if you thought about it. The Jews occupying Masada against the Romans were called the Sicarii—a group of super-extremist rebels.

" _What have the Romans ever done for us?"_

Monty Python rose unbidden in her mind, almost causing her to giggle precipitously. She banished it and concentrated on building a convincing story. If she really were back in time, she didn't fancy her chances as a young woman in a room of suspicious, violent men, let alone one who mysteriously appeared like a witch or a demon.

The Sicarii had raided nearby villages, including En Gedi. I must have got caught up in their raid.

"I panicked," she said. "I must have knocked over some jars—there was a cloud of blue dust. Maybe something in the jars smashed." She shrugged, tried to convey a puzzled but innocent look. "Then my head was hit and I woke up here."

She realised a warm sensation was pulsing gently in her left hand where the pocket watch was embedded in her palm. The back of her mind wondered at it, while the rest of her brain continued to zoom along in overdrive. She needed to distract them from the gaping holes in her tale.

"I had a dream!" She exclaimed. This caught all of their attention. She widened her eyes as if in awe. "While I was unconscious, I dreamt of the Romans attacking this place. It was like... it was as if God was sending a warning!"

"What?" Joshua spoke abruptly. His was a deep voice—he shifted his weight and she felt uncomfortable as he stared at her from under thick eyebrows. "God sent you a dream to warn of the Roman scum attacking us?" She couldn't tell from his deadpan tone whether he was being sarcastic or not. She decided it was best to sally forth in her story, showing no hesitation.

"Yes," she started to nod as if she was remembering. She looked straight at the Rabbi—he seemed to be in charge here. Her voice shook slightly—it wasn't hard with Joshua standing so close and threatening, scaring the living daylights out of her. "A siege. A terrible, terrible siege. Fire. And blood. Rivers of blood."

The warm feeling in her palm continued as the Rabbi looked wonderingly at her. The back of her mind clamoured for her attention—did she really expect these men to buy her story? But they were buying it. Somehow, incredibly, they believed what she said. Did it have to do with the pocket watch? If this thing had somehow sent her back in time, perhaps it could do other things, like affect the perceptions of those around it.

_It would make sense,_ her mind whispered, _what's the point in time travel if you can't fit in and the locals kill you for being out of place?_ But how did it work?

The men were silent for some time. She tried not to hold her breath. Then, "A message from the Lord," the Rabbi whispered reverently. "A warning. He has seen fit to send you to us, an innocent, with a warning of our greatest enemy! Was there anymore? A time? How many Romans did you see?"

She feigned puzzlement and tried to look as if she were racking her memory.

_Don't be too specific,_ her brain warned, _string them along a bit. If you are going to pretend to be an amateur prophetess you need to be vague and a bit mysterious._

"I... It's all blurry. Many Romans. Many more soldiers than there were sheep in our village."

_Nice touch_ , her brain smirked, _now you sound like a country bumpkin_.

_Better a country bumpkin than a witch_ , she thought fiercely at herself. She hoped the slight twist in her face conveyed pious resignation, not internal conflict.

"Perhaps if I were to pray, God would see fit to tell me more, and I could tell you, Rabbi."

"An excellent idea! When we know more, you can tell what you know to Eleazar ben Ya'ir. Find a shawl for her, Gad!" The Rabbi nodded violently. Beside him, Gad looked awed. Joshua grunted in agreement. She hoped like hell he wasn't considering administering another blow to her head in order to induce a dream out of her resulting unconsciousness. And who the heck was this Eleazar ben Ya'ir?

## 2623 AD

Time passed steadily in her cell. As one who had spent most of her professional life in time travel, her body was attuned to the passing seconds, minutes, hours—she knew without counting she had been incarcerated for a little over a day, despite having no clock, no visitors, and only one meal. This frugal fare had been delivered through an electronic opening in her cell wall, removing the need for human contact. It was dull prison food—synthesised protein and carbohydrates with requisite quantities of vitamins and minerals—processed into grey mush. She knew that synthesised food could be made to look like anything you wanted—real meat, fresh vegetables, tasty fruit—but this unappealing pottage was easy, cheap, and contributed to reminding inmates that they didn't deserve anything better. She wondered idly if it had sedatives in it (not unheard of in many prisons) but decided that not eating it would result in her weakening regardless. She didn't know exactly where she was anyway—she'd been unconscious from the time of her capture.

She spent her time stretching, meditating, doing various strength and core exercises, and sleeping. The cell provided a narrow bed in one corner, a toilet and sink in the other. Everything was fixed—not that dismantling the furniture would help. Any object thrown at the force field or the food dispenser would immediately set off an alarm and result in nerve gas being released into the cell, incapacitating the prisoner within ten seconds.

So she bided her time. She assumed she was under observation but she didn't care. Maintaining mental and physical fitness while imprisoned was part of any agent's training. She wasn't doing anything visible that was out of the norm. But they couldn't see what she was thinking, or planning, and when the time came to act, she would be ready.

# FIVE

## 74 AD

As fortresses went, it certainly was imposing. Fiercely isolated by rocky cliffs, it perched on a small plateau just as the ruins she had seen in the future. Only these weren't ruins. A wall ran thick around the perimeter of the plateau. Towers and men guarded the gates, of which there were only three, marking the tops of the paths that crawled gamely up the formidable ascent. She didn't have time to glimpse much, however. She was hustled along by Joshua from the room where she had awoken; out past various buildings at whose purpose she could only guess, into another which she figured was a synagogue. There was no one inside. The few people she has passed had been busy; only a couple of puzzled glances had followed her. In appearance she mustn't look too unlike them, she realised, once you got past the strange clothing. Her feet were filthy from dust and dirt, giving the appearance of a tan, her hair and eyes were fairly dark, but she'd pulled the shawl up over her head, feigning modesty.

"The _Ezrat Nashim_ is there," Joshua gestured gruffly towards the women's section. She walked over quickly and knelt, hoping she wasn't doing the wrong thing that would give her away as an imposter. She'd been to a Christian private school but as scientists her parents were firmly secular, so she was unsure if Jewish people prayed very differently in her own time or now. But she sank her eyes to the floor and mouthed silently as she clasped her hands together.

_OK, we are in big trouble,_ she stated mentally. _This pocket watch_ (she could feel it still as a faint tingling on her left palm) _has somehow sent me back in time, but not in location. I was at En Gedi. The Sicarii raided En Gedi, captured me and brought me back to Masada. They didn't kill me because they thought I was a demon or a ghost or something, and they were afraid. Now they think I have been given a message from God to warn them of the Roman attack._

The Roman attack! _Oh shit._ Siege. Fire. Mass suicide _. Okay. I need to stay alive, get out of here and work out how to get this thing to send me back to my own time before the Romans get here and everyone is dead!_ She opened her palms and stared at them, her body shielding them from Joshua's view. The pocket watch had faded into her skin somewhat, but the spiral symbol was still clearly marked. It now looked like a temporary henna tattoo, but she could still fell the metal. It was slightly malleable though, and moulded itself into her hand. _How do I make this thing work?_

She tried pressing it. Nothing. She couldn't make it move, or open, or anything. The edge she had cracked in the future had melded into her skin. The chain was just as immobile as the watch itself. It was as though her body had simply absorbed it, leaving only the appearance of the thing, not the thing itself. She quelled the rising panic in her gut, breathing deeply through her nose.

_Praying. You are meant to be praying._ Her brain slapped her panic down. She started to mumble quietly, head bowed, rocking slightly. She tried to itemise all the facts she knew about Masada and the Roman attack.

One: There was a massive ramp that had been built to besiege the western wall—she knew this because she'd walked up it.

Two: Roman camps had surrounded the plateau—she'd seen the remnants from the lookout.

Three: The Sicarii had tons of food and water, but the Romans managed to build the ramp and breach the wall.

Four: The Sicarii had built a second wall, the Romans set fire to it, their leader Eleazar made a defiant speech, and the Sicarii committed suicide.

Five: Only two women and a few children survived, hiding in the water pipes or something. That was all she could recall.

Should she tell them? She could well sympathise with their fierce independence, hating the foreign invader. But what if she changed history with this knowledge? What if they killed her anyway? She needed to get back to her own time!

She tried tracing the outline of the pocket watch, tried tracing the spiral pattern, tried pressing different points in various orders. Nothing happened. She heard Joshua praying quietly over on the men's side. Her body blocked her hands from his view, but she glanced up guiltily all the same. He caught her looking, and rose, frowning ominously at her under his thick eyebrows. She got to her feet too, and tried to look serene despite her nerves.

"I have been shown another vision." Confidence laced her voice, confidence she didn't truly feel. _Doesn't matter. Walk the walk. Talk the talk. Make them believe you. You know the future after all!_ Somehow that thought steeled her. She raised her chin.

"The Lord has sent me another warning. You must take me to Eleazar."

"The Romans are coming!"

The crowd stirred—some fearfully, some angrily—at his words.

"We are the last resistance against the hated invaders. God has seen fit to send us a warning through the words of an innocent girl, whose parents were murdered by Romans!" His voice rang out across the heat of the courtyard.

"The Romans are coming, and they will try to crush us! But we are ready for them! We have food, and water, for many moons! For years even! We have strong walls, and stronger hearts to defend them! We cannot give in! We shall not give in! Our God is a righteous one! And while He has seen fit to test our faith, to test our hearts, we shall stand strong! And we shall _prevail_!"

His words roared into the crowd. Hundreds of people had gathered in the main hall of the palace. The men stomped and cheered, the women ululated and the children yelled and clapped. Gwyn stood to the side, eyes downcast, fear and relief fighting for dominance in her stomach. Eleazar had believed her. The Rabbi had spoken quietly and urgently to him when Joshua brought her in, and the leader of the Sicarii had beckoned to her with piercing black eyes and commanded her to speak. She'd begun haltingly, lacing her sentences with "great defender of our people" and "Roman scum" as she started to describe the siege to come. She was deliberately vague when it came to detail, not wanting to get caught out in minutiae; but kept the tale picturesque. Fortified camps and walls surrounding Masada. A ramp built of earth and stones. Romans scurrying about like ants, building and digging. And fire. She told them that they would try burn the place, kill the men, and enslave and torture the women and children. She told the Jewish leader that the Romans were determined to stamp out all resistance in Judea. She told them that this was the last stand.

And, like the Rabbi, Eleazar had eaten up her information like a starving man, fanaticism glinting in his eyes, his smile widening in a grim, twisted fashion.

_He looks like this is just the kind of thing he has been waiting to hear,_ she swallowed quietly. _Good versus evil at the end of the world. I almost feel sorry for him—him and every other doomed soul in this place. They are all going to die, they just don't know it yet._

"Our true test of faith has come," he declared. "Our mother-city is fallen; our great Temple in ashes, our country, overrun, and God warns us that our oppressors draw near. We are the last to resist. We shall not submit!"

He had summoned all the inhabitants of Masada to the main courtyard in the Western Palace. He was a terrific orator, delivering a stirring speech right into the hearts of a people primed for a fiery resistance. They'd fought and fled the Romans all over Judea—many were survivors of the sack of Jerusalem. They'd seen Titus' work first hand. They knew how perseverant the Romans could be, how the fierce and determined defences of the Jews had been ground down under the Roman military machine. The Emperor Vespasian had been commander in Judea, set to crushing the Jewish Rebellion while the lethal political tussling of the Year of the Four Emperors went on. When his own troops declared him Emperor, the Sabine general returned to Rome to take control of the Empire, leaving his older son Titus to finish the work that he had begun. Brave and extremely capable, Titus had besieged Jerusalem, taking the city piece by piece. A number of rebel leaders were captured, however some escaped, including Eleazar and his band of zealots.

A few curious glances were sent Gwyn's way but she stood back, keen to avoid further attention, and also to get away from the brooding Joshua, who still seemed to stare at her with suspicion. It helped that the leader of the Sicarii was more than happy to dominate the gathering and gloss over the means of God's holy warning to them. Certainly God had given her a vision, but only a man as great as he could have deciphered its truth and imminence. He'd dismissed her as carrier, worthy no doubt due to her pure and virginal status, but a woman, no more. That was fine by her—she needed just enough special status to keep her somewhat safe, but not so much to draw too much attention and poke holes in her tale. She tried not to meet anyone's eyes—she figured this wouldn't be unusual in a woman in this time anyway, but in any case she didn't want to look too hard at the people she knew had only a little time left in this world.

_They're already dead,_ she tried to convince herself. _They've been dead for a couple of thousand years._ It made her feel slightly sick though.

After his speech he'd dismissed Gwyn into the care of his old aunt while he set to organising the citadel's defences. Cheers still roaring in her ears, she was handed over to a short, wrinkled woman whose gnarled hands had held surprising strength as she'd gripped Gwyn's wrist and led her into the women's quarters of the palace. In the darkened rooms she had a chance to bathe and dress in a clean but very second-hand robe, then eat—dried dates, bread and oil, well-watered wine. Exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep, curled up on a mat on the floor.

She awoke to find the grizzled old woman sitting with another, much younger woman, watching over her as they spun wool.

"Awake, I see." Auntie's voice was quiet with only a hint of a creak in it. She sounded much younger than she looked, but it was clear that the years had not been kind to her. She had soft wisps of white hair escaping her head-scarf, and black, piercing dark eyes like her nephew's set in a well-wrinkled face. Her hands moved independently, unwatched as she worked away automatically at winding the yarn from a full spindle.

The younger woman who sat beside her was extremely petite—Gwyn thought her not much more than a child until she spoke. She too, had the dark eyes so typical of many of the people here, but her skin was youthful and smooth. That face had been frowning in concentration as she spun wool onto a hand spindle, she stopped to glance up at Gwyn, flicking her long dark hair behind her ear.

"They said your name is Ruth. Are you really a messenger?"

"Adi!" The old woman admonished.

"I'm sorry, Auntie, but I want to know!" Adi's voice wasn't at all apologetic, and Gwyn wondered if such boldness in behaviour was normal here. Surely people, particularly women, in these times were expected to respect their elders?

She coughed slightly to hide her confusion.

"Yes, um, Ruth is my name. I don't know about a messenger," she said quietly. "All I know is what I saw in my visions, which is surely what God intended me to see." She sat up slowly and nodded respectfully towards Auntie. "Your nephew interpreted God's warning, so we must be grateful to him and to God."

"Hmmm," Auntie sniffed. "My nephew is very firm in his convictions and his hatred of all foreigners. I do not doubt the Romans will hunt us down here and try to finish us off, but surely they cannot begin to believe in all their arrogance that they could actually take this fortress?"

"It is a citadel of the utmost strength!" Adi added rather passionately, "Carved into the rock, we have food and water for months, if not years!"

"They will batter themselves at these walls as the sea batters against the rocks, but they will founder all the same," Auntie finished.

Gwyn did not doubt their belief. Even in her time, the ruins of Masada loomed imposingly; now, in the first century AD, they were formidable. But something else worried her. What if, given her warning, the Sicarii succeeded in resisting the Romans? What if she had upset the whole time-space continuum and changed the course of history completely? She'd seen and read enough sci-fi to wonder about whether history was immutable or up to chance. The Roman Empire might be completely different without this foothold firmly in the east. Christianity might never come west to Rome. The whole of Europe, not to mention Africa and the Middle East could look very different in a few hundred years, not to mentioned two thousand! As an intellectual exercise it was certainly interesting to wonder at the possibilities, but her most pressing concern at the moment was, _Even if I can get home, will home still be there?_

_Never mind that right now! Focus!_ She realised the two women were staring at her and she hid her distraction by staring at the floor. "I don't know what the Romans think," she mumbled. "They killed my parents, so maybe arrogance is simply another of their many sins."

This stilled the two Jewish women. Then Auntie stopped winding yarn, and put a comforting hand on Gwyn's arm. "I'm sorry, Ruth, my dear. You have been through a terrible time. If God has sent a warning through you then we are indeed grateful. I'm just wary of Eleazar's bloodlust. My nephew is prepared to sacrifice everything in fighting the Romans."

"If only they would just leave us in peace!" Adi burst out in anger. She threw down her hand spindle. "They bring their filthy heathen ways, they worship idols, and take our land and taxes. We don't want them here!"

Gwyn looked curiously at her. She felt a little guilty for eliciting sympathy from her lies, but she had to stick to her story if she wanted to survive. Adi seemed very passionate and forthcoming with her opinions.

"Adi was living in Jerusalem before the Romans came," Auntie saw Gwyn's look and elucidated. "But that was then and this is now. We must make the best out of what God gives us." She tapped Adi's knuckles pointedly with her spindle. The young woman frowned slightly and stooped to pick up her work, but continued to mutter,

"They are monsters. Boy-loving monsters, and their women are nothing but painted whores." Her hatred was vicious and naked.

"Adi! Such language in this house!" A suddenly furious Auntie flicked her hard across the ear and the girl subsided in pain. Gwyn rocked back slightly from the altercation.

"So, strange girl," Auntie continued, clearly cranky now. "You are safe with us now. What else can you do apart from prophesise our doom? Can you spin?"

Gwyn, had to quickly confess that no, she could not spin, or weave, or even sew.

"What use am I meant to make of you then?" Auntie continued to sound irritated. Gwyn kept her head low, in case she too incurred a flick on the ear. Adi shot a sympathetic look, and the girl out of time suddenly had to choke back tears as she realised it was the first truly kind expression anyone had shown her since she'd pitched forth into this crazy nightmare.

## 2623 AD

"Stand to attention!" The order was barked out, jerking her out of her semi-conscious, meditative state. She rose languidly to her feet, taking care to make it look like stupor and apathy. Eyes looked up from lids half-lowered, hands falling listlessly by her side, mouth slack and face tired.

The grey-uniformed buffoon smirked at her from the other side of the force field. It was the constable who'd locked her in here.

"Hands!" he demanded.

She turned her palms out slowly, showing no weapon.

_As if I could have hidden or manufactured a weapon in here,_ she thought. She'd been fully scanned when she entered the prison (no need to resort to crude bodily searches). The constable was just following protocol, however, he didn't actually seem wary of her at all. And there was only one of him.

Good.

Placing her wrists into the small opening that appeared in the force field, the guard electro-cuffed her. In front. Clearly she didn't even pose enough of a threat to cuff her hands behind her, nor did they shackle her feet.

Even better.

Prodding her along with his shock-baton (the current was not on, thankfully—those things packed a punch) she shuffled compliantly along several corridors. Noting the signage she determined he was taking her from a holding cell level to an interrogation level, although it didn't illuminate her as to her actual location. All the cells they passed were empty, force fields not on. They reached a lift and he scanned his authorisation crystal to gain entrance. There was still no one in sight.

As he turned to punch the level into the computer, she coughed weakly and then started to make a dreadful hoicking noise like she was about to be sick. She sank to her knees as he turned back, pudgy face pulled into a grimace of disgust and she puked up the contents of her last meal _. Funny, it looks pretty much the same coming out as it had going in._

"Oh, yuc—!" He didn't even finish when she rose up even faster than her breakfast, smashing her cuffed hands under his chin, his head snapping back as his hands flailed for his baton. She'd already snatched it, flicking the safety off and tasing his crotch before administering a sharp nap-tap to his head as he curled over in excruciating pain. His eyes rolled back and he slumped, unconscious, to the lift floor.

She quickly helped herself to his authorisation crystal, releasing her wrists from their cuffs, scooped up a handful of her vomit to smear over the cameras in the top rear corner and just outside the lift. Using the unconscious guard's body as a step so she could reach the ceiling, she smashed out a panel. She then used the crystal to select a floor and send the lift on its way as she skipped out of the way of the closing doors.

Standing in the silent corridor just outside the lift, she judged herself just out of the way of the next camera. Carefully she opened the panel beside the rubbish chute opening, and squeezed herself into the maintenance access way, gently bringing the panel to a close behind her. These chutes were small, but she hadn't lost any flexibility during her time in the cell. _Time for all that stretching to pay off,_ she thought as she wriggled her way along. Robots were typically sent into these small spaces, performing repairs to the rubbish chutes and sewer pipes, keeping out of the way of motion sensors and cameras that guarded the prison hallways.

She hoped the lift with its smashed-out ceiling panel would provide sufficient decoy to buy her a little time. She wasn't naive enough to think she could escape with the refuse—she'd be incinerated—so she needed to make her way to a level where she could either transmit a message for help, or find some other way out.

# SIX

## 74 AD

The next few days saw Gwyn learn some basic living skills that would serve any woman of ancient Judea well. While she was clumsy and slow at first, she concentrated with a fierce terror born out of the fear that she would be found out as an impostor and killed. She attempted spinning wool, learnt how to make unleavened bread, and spent lots of time sweeping and drawing water from the great cisterns. These had been cut into the plateau by King Herod the Great to capture water from the winter rains. She acquired lots of blisters—her hands were unused to such manual work—and every night she collapsed on her sleeping mat; exhausted physically and fretting over how she was going to return to her own time. Each morning she awoke aching from the hard surface, itching from the fleas, then her mind was consumed by the task of getting through another day.

Somehow her poor domestic skills passed with little more than some grumbling and exasperation from Auntie, and vague puzzlement coupled with sympathy from Adi. A warmth in her left palm reminded Ruth from time to time that the mysterious pocket watch must act in some way to dispel the suspicions of those around her. An electro-magnetic pulse concentrating on certain areas of the brain perhaps? Or maybe it really was magic. But her mind berated her when she resorted to that explanation. _Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic._ Now who said that? She couldn't remember and she was afraid that her memories of the future would fade as at first she stumbled, then began to trudge the monotonous daily routine of the women there in Masada.

She was never left alone. Always she was accompanied by women, preparing food, mending clothes, caring for the various snotty-nosed children that scampered or crawled about. Those Sicarii who had fled to other parts of Judea had captured the fortress by surprise from the light Roman garrison who had held it, and had brought as many of their family as they could manage.

"No point leaving hostages outside the fortress for the Romans to capture," Adi informed Gwyn, who had mentioned she was surprised the families hadn't been sent elsewhere—somewhere safer.

"There is nowhere safer." Her new friend was definitive. Gwyn didn't ask what had happened to the Romans who had been here. She could work it out. No point wasting food on enemy mouths.

So she got by each day quietly with the women of Eleazar's household, living in dwellings located on the eastern side of the plateau. Many rooms had long since fallen into disuse and disrepair, but the current occupants had cleaned and rearranged a significant section for their uses. She scarcely saw the rebel leader; he had no need of her now that he had received God's warning, so she decided to keep a low profile, seeing no more 'visions'. The men of Masada prepared for siege, strengthening gates and walls, arming men and practising with various weapons and hand to hand combat. The women cooked and cleaned, checked stores and provisions, prepared medical supplies, and waited.

Not even a week had passed, however, when her prophecy began to come true.

The first warning came on the rising dust of the midday sun. Out of the west, a column of haze began to snake its way up into the sky. Then a scout came sprinting up the Snake Path, gasping for breath as he staggered inside the fortress, demanding to see Eleazar.

"They are coming!" he spluttered past the water as he gulped from a goatskin.

Upon hearing this, the rebel leader rushed with a number of men to the western wall and stared out across the landscape with a hard gaze. His jaw was set and as he stood stock-still he looked for a moment as if he had been carved from stone. Then his eyes lit up with a fierce fire and he was exultant.

"Our test is at hand!" he bellowed. "Our moment of triumph is near!" The men around him cheered and scrambled to close and bar the gates.

Gwyn was sitting in the kitchen shelling peas with Adi, Auntie, and several other women. She had discovered that almost everyone here was related by one degree or another. Since she had little to do with the men she often mixed up whose husband belonged to whom, or if a man was a brother, a cousin, an uncle, or something else. The ominous Joshua, her assailant from En Gedi, was engaged to Adi, and he visited the women sometimes. He would rarely speak to his betrothed but sat quietly instead, watching her and grunting brief responses to Auntie's questions about her nephew's movements. Gwyn kept out of his way, but she felt his eyes on her more than once. _Maybe I'm just prejudiced because he hit me on the head, but something about that guy just creeps me out_.

The old woman kept effective tabs on anyone she deemed important. While she never spoke against Eleazar, a critical air often hovered in the room when the rebel leader was discussed. _Mind you,_ Gwyn's thoughts crept in quietly, _she's pretty critical of just about everyone. She's a cranky old biddy sometimes._ She did notice Eleazar's wife, Elizabeth, often pursed her lips in disapproval of some of Auntie's comments, but refrained from saying anything. Gwyn sensed tension between the two women, but so far, the elderly matriarch reigned supreme on the domestic front.

This particular day, though, Adi's nephew toddled in on his chubby legs. He was the son of Adi's much older brother who had been killed in the siege of Jerusalem, though Gwyn had learned this from Auntie, not Adi, as her friend did not acknowledge the boy. Gwyn gathered that Adi held the boy somehow responsible for the death of her brother and sister in law—which was clearly unreasonable, but grief often is, so she didn't bring it up. She tried to avoid the little boy, as he was usually grubby and sticky and she didn't have much experience with small children. He caught her attention, however, when he trundled into the room and shouted, "Roms! Roms here!"

This momentous intelligence was met by alarm from every woman in the room except Auntie. Gwyn blanched, Adi dropped the pod of peas she had been handling, other women gasped and began to wail. But Auntie simply gestured for her cane (she didn't really need it to walk; it was more often than not used to whack errant children or tap the floor to make a point).

_Silly hens!_ The old woman bit the thought into silence, exasperated by the panicked reaction. _They knew this was coming. We were never going to be left alone._

"Stay calm!" she rapped out. "I must go and speak with my nephew and see if this is true."

It was true. The Romans were pouring into the landscape below the plateau like water creeping into a dry wadi, only to hit a rock and lap gently around it. Gwyn found out later than Auntie had tried to get Eleazar to discuss the possibility of seeking terms with the Romans. Despite the old woman's professed convictions that Masada could not be taken by force, she seemed to want to prepare for the remote possibility that something might go wrong. Eleazar turned her away with scornful words not worthy of the respect he should have shown to his elders. She left indignant and upset, his hard words following her out.

"Foolish crone! They cannot starve us out! They cannot make us surrender from thirst! And they will not—will not!—take this fortress by force of arms! God is with us! We cannot fail!"

His determination was forged in the fires of zealous conviction, and he grew more and more fanatical by the day. His confidence spurred the men on as they made the final preparations for the siege. The gates were barred with solid wooden crossbeams, a lookout manned the towers at all hours of the day and night. Spears and swords were sharpened, arrows re-fletched.

As all this took place, the Romans approached. From the western wall you could see the army break into units, busy as ants as they began to dig and build and construct a fortified military camp slightly west by north west of the plateau. The column of soldiers continued to pour in, auxiliaries on horseback, slaves, and wagons with siege weapons and supplies. The sound of thousands of men moving busily began to drift up the cliffs, where Eleazar's men tightened their grips on their weapons. Any kind of a sally out would be pointless. The Roman forces were too well organised, too alert for a surprise attack, and outnumbered the entire population of Masada, women and children included, by a thousand to one. Gwyn convinced Adi to sneak onto the wall with her the day after the Romans first encamped, and the sight chilled her to the bone.

There are so many of them...

Even Adi, ardent in her scorn of the Roman manoeuvrings in the shadow of the fortress, fell briefly quiet in the face of such numbers.

"Jerusalem was different," she informed Gwyn after some minutes staring down at the milling horde. "Even there we repelled Titus three times before he overcame us. But it was a city. Too many people to feed. Too many walls to defend. Masada is different. It is impregnable. And God is with us."

Even then, Gwyn didn't think she sounded convinced.

# SEVEN

## 70 AD

Adi could hear the sound of battle echoing like distant thunder through the quiet streets of the old city. There weren't many people on the street that she could see, only an old man shuffling as quickly as he could away down an alleyway. Housewives peered out of their front doors anxiously; children were shushed as they played quietly indoors. But she wasn't afraid. Her father and brothers were fighting on the thick outer wall of Jerusalem, defending the holy city from Titus Flavius Vespasianus' army. It had been several weeks since the siege began, and as yet the Romans had only suffered losses as they sought to breach the city walls.

It was as if normal life had been suspended and a surreal world had sprung up in its place. Adi idled away the time, her mother too preoccupied with fretting to threaten her into doing household chores. Her sister-in-law, Mary, would find her and chide her into going and drawing water from the well.

"You must help your mother in these trying times!" She scolded. She was heavily pregnant, but that didn't stop her from labouring away every day at housework and (in Adi's teenage opinion) being slightly too good and annoying.

"Mother just prays," Adi mumbled as she slouched off to obey. "She doesn't do anything."

"She is praying for our victory! And the lives of your father and brothers!"

Some nights her father and brothers managed to stumble home from the outer wall, filthy yet elated.

"These Romans!" her father would exclaim, "godless scum! They will never breach our walls! We beat them back day after day until they retreat and lick their wounds!" He would continue to wax prophetic on the future demise of Titus, his army, and the Roman Empire in general, and Adi would listen, enrapt. She had complete and utter faith in his belief that the Romans would be repulsed. She never questioned that, despite being beat back day after day, they did not desist in their siege.

And this day seemed the same. Skirmishing would be taking place on the walls. Food shortages meant hungry bellies all over the city. Most made do stoically, though some squabbling took place in the marketplace. The shuffling old man was the only soul Adi had seen in the street for the last hour.

Suddenly the sound of running feet made her glance up out the window. Two young men, covered in blood and filth, careened out of the alleyway and across the street. She was startled to recognise them as her neighbour's sons.

"Mother! Mother!" they hammered on the door. They sounded terrified, Adi was perturbed to notice. Movement appeared in doorways and windows as other neighbours twitched aside drapes to see what the disturbance was.

" _Mother_!" They sounded frantic. Their mother finally pulled open the door and peered out, wide eyed.

"My sons! What is it? Have the—?"

"Come, mother, gather your things! We have to go now!"

More feet sounded in the street. Adi was astonished to see a rough gaggle of men round the corner, her older brother amongst them. Suddenly the air was filled with calls for family members to come, come now! They carried on through the streets and suddenly the sounds of fighting rumbled closer than usual. Screams began, with terrified children and white faced women pouring out from their homes, shepherded by bloody and panicking men.

"Quickly! Mary! Mother! Adi!" Her brother's normally quiet voice boomed as he burst inside. "We have to go! The Romans are through the wall, we must get you to somewhere safer!"

"Where is your father?" Her mother clutched at him frantically. "Where is your brother?"

He shook his head.

Adi felt as though the world had dropped out from under her feet as she saw the hollow pain in her dear brother's eyes. A roaring grew in her ears and she faltered and steadied herself against the wall. She couldn't hear him say the words, but the crumpling of her mother's face told her other brother and her father were dead.

"We have to go now." It was her sister-in-law, Mary. She was whey-faced but her hands were firm as she thrust a bag into Adi's arms. Somehow she and her mother stumbled out the door and they joined the jostling hordes fleeing to the temple. Titus had breached the Outer Wall.

Crying babies and wailing women filled the air with noise; men shouting added to the cacophony. Adi huddled under her shawl as she held her mother's hand. If she had thought her mother didn't do anything before, she knew now that was nothing compared to the quietly sobbing shell of a woman crumpled against the temple wall. She didn't even pray, her eyes stared at nothing, tears welling up and rolling down her suddenly aged cheeks; she had become an old grieving widow in the space of an hour.

They were in the women's section of the Great Temple, her brother having deposited them there before bidding them to, "Stay here. You will be safe. The walls are thick and strong. I must go help them mount a defence and beat them back, then we will find somewhere for you to stay. I won't be long."

Mary embraced him fiercely, her pregnant belly making it difficult.

"Please come back soon," she whispered, gripping his hands as if she'd never let go.

He disentangled himself gently, but Adi could see it breaking his heart. All of a sudden she was stabbed by fear and doubt. Would he even come back? Or would he be killed like the others? The monotony of the siege had just escalated from a dull bad dream into a bloody nightmare. She clutched her mother's hand, but found no comfort there.

The next few days degenerated into an appalling blur. Hygiene was difficult to say the least in the crowded emergency refuge. Adi had recently started her monthly bleeding, and was horrified to be breaking various laws about cleanliness. But Mary's pregnancy was starting to take its toll, and her mother was useless—she just sat and cried or stared and then slept. Adi was forced to beg food from neighbours and prepare it as best she could, but there was little to be had. They huddled in a makeshift encampment, bewildered and miserable and frightened.

On the third day someone passed on the word that Titus had breached the Second Wall. More and more folk crowded into the Temple grounds. Several people died in a crush when someone panicked and screamed that the Romans were at the Temple Gate. Adi's mother refused to eat, and one morning she simply didn't wake up. They had to take her body outside to the join the piles of dead. The rabbis couldn't perform the necessary rites. The stench was terrible. Disease began to riot through the huddled masses. Mary looked haggard and all the flesh was falling off her bones, her pregnancy a pathetic parody of the promise of life. It seemed the end was near.

"Adi." Mary's voice was quiet. Adi's head snapped up. It had been two days since her mother had died. Her brother had not returned. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Her bleeding had stopped after only a day or so, and her scrawny frame and sunken cheeks were further evidence of her deteriorating physical state.

"Adi," Mary said again. Adi stared at her sister-in-law. "We have to leave this place. He is not coming back."

The words registered slowly on her brain. Her mouth hung slackly, and she half shook her head.

"He is dead, Adi," Mary repeated. "My cousin saw him fall. My husband, your brother, is dead. We cannot stay here anymore. There is nothing for us here."

What did she mean? They couldn't just walk out of here. Titus' army had flooded the main city, they were battering at the Citadel and the walls of the Temple. They were trapped, like rats in a cage, waiting for slaughter.

"Adi, there is a plan to help us escape. My cousin said we must meet him at the small gate at before nightfall."

The sun was already lowering in the sky. Smoke haze filled the air, casting a baleful red light down onto the desperate and defiant alike. She stared at Mary in confusion.

"What—?"

"Shh," Mary shushed her. "Just save your strength, and be ready."

Even in her pitiful state, her sister-in-law was still calm and level-headed in the face of crisis. As the afternoon drew to a close, Adi couldn't help but wonder at Mary's strength of character—she'd always dismissed her sister-in-law as nice enough but fairly dull; at eight years older than Adi they didn't have much in common. But now she respected that stolidness—she thought suddenly that Mary had every right to degenerate into hysterics and collapse in a weeping fit, or just give up and die like Adi's mother. Her husband dead, her baby starving inside her, yet still she planned, somehow holding on to hope, to survive.

As the sun lowered itself gently past the Fortress of Antonia Tower, Adi surreptitiously bundled her things together in a spare shawl and pulled a scarf tighter over her head. Mary took her hand and slowly they made their way out past the groups of women that filled the space. Shuffling carefully so as not to stumble on anyone, they finally reached the outer courtyard and crept around the edge to the small gate. A cloaked man awaited them there, looking anxious.

"Cousin, we must hurry," he hissed. "Praise God you are still alright. I will take you out of the city. Who is this?" He spotted Adi. She stopped, stricken. Was he going to refuse to take her with him?

But Mary spoke authoritatively. "She is the sister to my dear husband. Her mother and father and brothers are dead. I am the only one who can help her now. I cannot leave her here." Mary touched her cousin's arm gently, her other hand cradling her swollen belly. It seemed even larger now, distorted by the dim light and shadows as the sun set.

"Very well," he muttered. "Though I know your husband did not hold with our views, so why should we save any family of his?"

"She is my family now," her voice was firm but with an edge of pain to it. "Therefore she is yours, cousin."

"Hmph. Let us go." With not another word he began to herd them down various alleyways, the shadows creeping after them. Adi was frightened and confused; she did not understand what was going on. What did Mary's cousin mean about views? How were they going to get out of the city without being captured and killed—or worse—by the Romans?

Suddenly the man turned into a dark doorway. It was almost fully night time now, the stars beginning to appear in the indigo sky, serenely unaware of the chaos that rocked the world below.

"Here." He tapped a sequence on the door three times; it opened. He hustled them inside and passed the silent doorkeeper, down a set of stairs into a cellar. An old woman and several others waited down there.

"Auntie!" Mary suddenly lost her composure and rushed to the old lady, hugging her tightly.

"There there, my child," Auntie soothed. "It's alright. Time to be gone from this place I think." She patted Mary's stomach. "You are quite near your time? This journey will not be easy, but you are strong and God is with us. But who is this?"

Adi was swiftly introduced as Mary's sister-in-law, then two men in the group shifted a set of large wooden shelves to reveal an opening in the wall beyond. They crept into the tunnel single file, tripping occasionally in the dark (several candles were held, but the light they cast was poor). Mary stumbled several times, but Adi was there immediately to assist her. It was difficult, though, in the narrow tunnel. The floor was uneven and the walls damp. It had possibly been a natural underground stream, working its way through the mountainside, discovered and enlarged by these men and others.

It seemed like hours, but probably was only one, before they finally walked out into the open air. Adi didn't realise at first they were out of the tunnel. The sky was fully dark, with no moon, only the light of the stars. They had emerged in a small gully, overgrown with juniper bushes and tough grasses. A terrible reek assaulted her nostrils. They were near one of the refuse pits wherein rubbish and waste from the city was dumped and burned. A place no sensible Roman would choose to come. _Or Jew,_ she thought. _But we are desperate._

The long night continued as they were allowed little rest. They were the tail end of a group that had begun the exodus several nights previously, fleeing Jerusalem under the cover of nightfall, slipping through enemy lines and making their way in a circuitous route south and east. They walked for days. The rest of the countryside was subdued but pockets of resistance to the Romans still existed the further south they marched.

The march was very hard on Mary. Her pregnancy weighed her down and each step was a burden to take. They fell further and further back in the line each day, walking for longer to catch up and collapsing every night into a restless sleep, disturbing Adi who slept beside her. Several days after they had escaped Jerusalem she noticed Mary's sandals were wet, yet the road upon which they walked was dry and dusty.

"Sister," she began tentatively. "Your feet... your sandals are wet."

Mary offered her a wry smile even as her shuffle slowed. "The baby is coming, Adi."

"What!? Now!?"

"Soon." Mary paused and gasped quietly, a shudder wracking her body. Adi rushed to support her. "Go and tell Auntie, she'll know what to do."

Lowering her sister-in-law to the side of the path she barrelled past others in the group to find Auntie hobbling along. Upon being informed of the imminent arrive of her great niece or nephew, the matriarch swiftly directed various members to carry on and find shelter and others to come with her and assist. The small group around Mary slowed and drifted further behind the main convoy, but they managed to get her up and kept walking.

Adi never knew time could pass so slowly. The day drew on as Mary's contractions drew closer together. Many times she had to stop and rest, clutching at Adi's hand and breathing in great gasps. Finally they reached the camp that the other members of the group had gone ahead and set up. Mary was gently ushered off the path to a grove of olive trees just up the hill. It was slow going, but once in the shade women buzzed about settling her and washing hands and preparing cloths. The sun set, and still Mary laboured on.

"It's taking a long time," muttered a woman helping.

"Many babes do, the first time," Auntie snapped back, but her lips were pursed with worry.

Finally, well into the night, the baby's head emerged. Adi was in tears by now, she could see Mary was exhausted, but she tried to be encouraging.

"Almost there!" she whispered in Mary's ear. Mary pushed again and the women cheered as a baby boy slid out, squalling and bloody. They lifted him to her breast.

"Well done, my child," Auntie wiped the sweat from Mary's brow. "A fine baby boy."

"Call him Joel, for his father." Mary's eyes started to flutter and baby Joel screamed all the louder, he wasn't latching on.

"Quick, girl! Move out of the way," Auntie pushed Adi back, but Adi glimpsed a great gush of blood pooling between Mary's legs. Mary's head lolled back and the baby continued to scream, and scream, and scream.

They buried Mary's body beneath a cairn of stones to stop wild animals from eating it. Adi's newborn nephew was handed to a cousin who still had milk for her own, one-year-old child. Words of sympathy tapped gently at her ear, but she just felt hollow. If Auntie hadn't ordered her to get up, she might've stayed at Mary's grave forever. It was the last connection she had with her family. She discounted the baby. She hated the small, squalling thing, refused to be aunt to it. It had murdered her good, kind, brave sister-in-law.

"It was too much for her," the old woman's face was crinkled in grief, even as she gently tugged Adi to her feet to continue on. "The siege, the death of your brother, the escape, the march. She was so very strong to have made it this far in her condition. Just not quite strong enough. She is with God now."

Adi didn't reply, but silently raged against the injustice of it all. Everyone else had left her, why Mary too? If she was so strong, why couldn't she have lasted just another few days until they reached safety? For she knew now where they were going; as the morning sun crept over the River Jordan, the light struck a formidable mountain rising up just south of where they were now.

By evening they had toiled their way up a steep and winding path and reached the fortress of Masada.

# EIGHT

## 2623 AD

She'd wiggled through the maintenance shaft up three levels, a strenuous climb that left her feeling claustrophobic and physically cramped. Finally she could take no more and hoped like hell three levels would be enough. Punching open an access panel, she reached above her head and propelled herself out of the shaft, rolling as she hit the ground... Just in time to see a male and female security guard stroll around the corner and gape at her in astonishment.

She kept the momentum of her roll and sprang at them, decking the female officer and turning to kick the man hard in the groin. His hands fell away from his mouth where he'd been about to activate his wrist com and clutched at his testicles. A similar blow to the head rendered him unconscious, and she turned to the woman. She groaned quietly but had also been knocked out.

She tugged off the woman's uniform and swiped both their shock-batons, com units, and authorisation crystals. Straightening her newly-acquired jacket and tucking her hair into the hat, she lay the man half over the woman. From a distance it might appear as if they were embracing passionately on the floor. An onlooker wouldn't be fooled after a second glance, but you never knew if a few seconds bought now might pay off well later.

Using the woman's crystal, she accessed the lift around the corner. Her ascent through the maintenance shafts had been enough to get her above the serious detainment levels. By the options that flashed up on the screen when she scanned the crystal, this guard wasn't permitted access to any level below this one, which only appeared to consist of temporary holding cells. She though it very strange that still no alarm had sounded. Surely an escape of a prisoner would set off some sort of klaxons?

_Unless my captors don't want it known that I'm here... I could have been incarcerated under a false name._ She frowned. That might explain the total isolation. If Commissioner Hera caught wind that I'm being kept here she'd break balls and walls to get me out.

That constable had been taking her to the interrogation cells. She might never have been heard from again. Sure, torture was illegal, but so was unauthorised tampering with timelines, and that hadn't stopped someone from sending those guys after her

_What exactly are they after? My chronokinetor? Or me?_ She wondered, as the lift took her six more levels up to one of the office floors. She exited and nodded briefly to the Rilan clerk who oozed past her, arranging a bored expression on her face. It didn't give her a second glance, and she strolled past and along several office corridors. Administrative staff ambled in and out of doors, and she held the door politely for a young man talking animatedly on his com.

"Sure, I'll be there honey. I'm leaving right now! Order me a beer, won't you? I really need one—" His voice cut off as the door swung shut. She glanced about the office quickly; no one else was left in there. She used the crystal to log into a work station. The logo on the screen told her she was in the Vivaldis Central Detention Centre, and that it was late afternoon, local time.

_Huh_ , she thought. So she was in the capital. Whoever was trying to keep her out of the picture was trying to hide her in plain sight, not on some backwater prison moon. So many criminals, petty and serious, transferred in and out of VCDC one more would have been easily lost in the data chips. Whereas the arrival of a new inmate on somewhere isolated would have been cause for note, no matter how many palms were greased, someone, somewhere might have asked questions.

She accessed the internal network and logged an "Improvement Opportunity" with a code that should flag and be re-routed to Commissioner Hera. To the observer, she merely detailed:

VCDC Level 3 Hygiene Facilities missed by cleaner-bots. Time to seek new cleaning contractor perhaps?

'Time to seek' was a clue that an agent was in trouble and couldn't contact the Agency directly. She had flagged where she was, and hoped that the Commissioner would start looking for her soon, if she hadn't already. But she couldn't stay where she was, and she couldn't approach Hera directly—they'd be watching and waiting for that (whoever exactly "they" were, she still wasn't sure). The Commissioner wasn't the only one who was looking for her, and she didn't intend to be caught again.

# NINE

## 74 AD

The next week was almost boring. Gwyn soon learned what Adi had discovered in Jerusalem. _Sieges are pretty boring most of the time._ They took to peeking over the wall more and more, watching the Romans peel off from the main column and establish eight camps in total, then watched again as soldiers were despatched to begin digging and sawing wood. They were building a wall.

Circumvallation was a term that had meant little to Gwyn in the past. Now, in the context of being trapped atop a mountain, she saw it unfold as the army below grew a wall that, over quite a number of days, began to encircle the plateau. She would have admired the organisation and patience of the Romans more if her own impending death hadn't preoccupied her so much. She'd tried to question Adi about Titus' siege of Jerusalem but the Hebrew girl only frowned and refused to discuss it beyond,

"My father said they kept beating the Romans back. But I guess what he didn't mention was that they just keep coming. Now they are here even, and he is dead. All of my family is dead."

Gwyn left it alone after that.

Her other major concern was that the pocket watch proved to be stubbornly resistant to any of her attempts to make it work. It was either broken or she simply couldn't operate it. _Maybe it was pre-set or something, and I just accidentally triggered it?_ Maybe it needed to be reset, but everything she'd tried to date hadn't worked. It remained firmly inside her skin, and did nothing when she pressed it, stroked it, or even slapped it hard on the ground in frustration. _Stupid thing!_ She fought the urge to cry. _I just want to go home, dammit!_

A few days after her initial arrival here she noticed that the spiral pattern that decorated her skin now seemed to be shrinking in length. Watching it carefully for several days after that, she realised with growing trepidation that it definitely was getting shorter, retreating back towards its centre. What did that mean though? Was it a countdown? A draining of battery? What would happen when it ran out?

_If it's a_ _countdown, it might not matter where I am when it runs out. But then again it might. And if it's a battery indicator, the safest bet would be to return to En Gedi in case that's where it needs to be to make the damn thing work._ She had no real idea if location had some special influence of the functionality of the device. _But if it does, I need to get there before the spiral runs out._

"Ruth!" Auntie's command sent her scrambling to her feet. "Go and get some more water for this garden before the poor vegetables wither in the sun!"

She hastened out the garden courtyard—she'd learned quickly that a slow response did not elicit a good reaction from the matriarch. _But she's not a bad old duck, really. I can see why she gets frustrated with me and Adi compared to the other women here._ She had been astounded at how hard working and capable the household was. Dawn to dusk they spun and wove, gardened and cooked. _And some of them still find energy to sing and joke, even when they were trapped in a fortress surrounded by their enemies. It really isn't fair what is going to happen to them._ Her heart wrenched in pity, and she couldn't ignore those sentiments despite her preoccupation with her own survival.

_You can't save them,_ her brain told herself sadly. _Yes, it seems weak and cowardly, but you have to be practical. You need to concentrate on saving yourself._

She, mused on this as she went to draw water from the cistern, idling in her head another impossible escape plan (this one involved somehow eluding the guards and sneaking down the Snake Path in the dark, stealing a mule and evading the legions of Romans that stood between her and En Gedi). Mind thus occupied, she turned a corner and collided with Joshua.

She dropped the buckets she had been carrying and tripped as he reached out to steady her.

"Sorry!" she drew her breath in sharply. His hands remained gripped around her biceps and he frowned at her with dark eyes and heavy brows. He said nothing.

"Pardon me," she tried again. "I didn't see you coming." The Hebrew no longer sounded strange to her ears, thought it still baffled her as to how it was possible that she could speak it. _Another mystery of the pocket watch._

His hold on her arms increased infinitesimally and he glared at her as she automatically resisted, muscles stiffening ever so slightly. Her eyes widened. _Uh oh,_ she thought. _There's something more to this than him just not liking me or being suspicious of my story._

"Had any more visions, girl?" he demanded, his breath unpleasant on her face. "Any answers as to how long these parasite-ridden, boy-loving scum remain encamped at our door? Why do they not simply attack, as is honourable? They are cowards! When will they leave us?"

"Uhh..." She forced herself to remain calm and still. Nothing she knew about the future would make this man happy; he was angry and frustrated and itching for a fight. "Nothing has been revealed to me as yet," she whispered. "But surely the Lord will defend His most loyal followers. The Romans will be cast out." _Let go of me, you deranged prick!_ Anger and fear rose in her throat, and she tried not to panic.

"Hmmph." He looked at her now with a combination of resentment and growing speculation. She froze in disgust as she realised his thumb was stroking the edge of her breast. "Maybe you really are a witch, as Gad said, if you can only foretell evil befalling us."

"I not a witch! And I—I'll be sure to go straight to the Rabbi if God gifts me with any more dreams or messages," she stuttered, half in fear, half in rage. "But now Adi and Auntie must be wondering where I am with the water. I must go."

At the mention of his betrothed and the formidable matriarch he released her and watched her silently as she retrieved the fallen buckets and stepped awkwardly around him, his immovable stance forcing her to brush against him. She had no doubt that was deliberate. He sought to intimidate her and had succeeded, and that pissed her right off.

She said nothing to Adi when she finally returned with the water. Auntie scolded her for being a lazy girl and taking so long, and punished Gwyn with a sharp flick on the ear, ordering her to clean out the clay vessels that served as chamber pots. Gagging somewhat at the smell, she completed the task as quickly as possible before scrubbing her hands and arms clean and seeking out her friend. Adi was in a small barn which constituted one of the many service buildings of Herod's great palace. Amidst the warm animal fug she was milking the goats.

"Help me, Ruth," Adi was struggling to keep the nanny goat from kicking the bucket over. Gwyn quickly moved to grasp the hind legs, holding her face well back from the flicking tail.

"Adi," she began, somewhat hesitantly, "how well do you know your betrothed, Joshua?" She released the nanny goat once Adi was finishing milking and rubbed the embedded pocket watch nervously with her left thumb.

"What do you mean?" Adi shot her a puzzled look, leading another goat over.

"Well, when did you meet him? Have you spent much time together?" This one was much more sedate, Gwyn didn't have to fight it to keep the legs still.

Adi sat back from milking, and the goat's little black kid butted her and started nibbling on her clothes.

"I only met him when I came here," she stated. "I had no one; my family was all killed in Jerusalem. Auntie took responsibility for me, but her son Eleazar said I should be married as soon as possible, that it wasn't good for a girl to be unmarried for too long. Elizabeth suggested Joshua, but Auntie insisted they wait until I'm a bit older. I'm surprised they haven't arranged something for you yet. I suppose they will. They are just waiting for a suitable period of mourning to pass for your family."

Gwyn stared at the girl with sickening horror. They might try to marry her off? _Not cool!_ Her mind clamoured. _And so not fair that they picked that jerk Joshua for Adi! That Elizabeth needs a serious wakeup call if she thinks he's good husband material._

_She probably doesn't care,_ her brain whispered back. _She doesn't even like Adi, you've seen how rude she is when Auntie isn't looking._

"Oh," she managed to say. "So you didn't really get a whole lot of choice in the matter?"

"No," Adi's face was polite but slightly puzzled as to this line of questioning. "I always expected my father would arrange something. I hope he would be happy in the choice that has been made for me. Joshua seems to be a good man. He is very passionate about the cause."

_He's a violent creep!_ She wanted to warn her friend, but what was the point? She thought miserably, _we're all going to be dead in a few weeks probably anyway. How long is this bloody siege going to take?_ She couldn't recall the guide telling her family anything about how long the Romans took to build a ramp and storm the walls, but she didn't expect it'd happen overnight. From what she knew of Roman warfare they tended towards the patient and methodical.

_I have to get out of here._ She didn't want to wait like a sitting duck for terrible things to happen to her. Either way, if she stayed here she faced the unwelcome attentions of her friend's violent fiancé, the gloomy prospect of an arranged marriage, and finally fire from the Romans and certain death at the hands of the fanatical Eleazar.

But there has to be something I can do for Adi.

A memory struck her. "Adi," she began offhandedly. "Obviously it won't actually, um... It's possible, you know... Um, well, the water cisterns would make an excellent hiding place... In case of fire... You know... just on the tiniest off-chance the Romans were to break through the defences..." Her voice trailed off as her friend stared at her in consternation.

"Don't say that, Ruth!" the Hebrew girl admonished fiercely. "Masada is impregnable! They can't possibly break through! This isn't Jerusalem!"

Gwyn changed topics quickly, not wanting to upset her friend any further.

_Great,_ she thought, _Adi is in denial, Eleazar is a fanatical nutter, Joshua is a violent creep and potential rapist, and I'm stuck here awaiting a quick trip to the altar and even quicker trip to the grave!_

Suddenly that impossible plan to escape was looking more and more appealing.

# TEN

## 2623 AD

She didn't have much time. Very soon either the security guards she'd attacked would wake or someone would find them. Luckily it was the end of the working day and most people appeared to be leaving, so hopefully few people had reason to descend to the cells until later in the evening, when the apprehension of nocturnal criminals would start to take place. She figured that the sheer number of cameras in the complex meant that there was no way they could be actively monitored all the time, so the odds of the incident being seen electronically were slim. However at some point these guards would be expected to check in on their coms, and she needed to make good her escape before then, or their non-responsiveness might send the facility into lockdown. She pulled her hat down low and exited the office to join the shuffle of people crowding onto the ascending ramps that took one to the entrance. She edged behind a fatter gentleman, and swiped the stolen authorisation crystal, surrendering one shock-baton and pair of electro-cuffs with a bored expression on her face. The second baton was shoved down one trouser leg, but as long as the crystal cleared, the checkout staff didn't look too hard for stuff exiting the detention centre. They were usually more concerned with people trying to smuggle illicit objects in.

She breathed a little easier once she was outside the building, but while appearing relaxed she did not lower her vigilance—ever watchful for figures seeking to apprehend her.

_Public transport is a marvellous thing_ , she mused to herself. The guard's crystal took her onto a transport that stopped near one of the main stations of Vivaldis City. She then caught a suburban line, changing twice and doubling back several times before alighting in a poorer neighbourhood. She left the crystal on the carriage, trusting to the fact that this outlet was poorly staffed and maintained and it was easy enough to skip over the exit gate without getting busted for it. A prison guard's authorisation crystal would be trackable, so she wanted it to be far from her when that guard woke up and reported it missing.

She'd also dumped the hat in a rubbish receptacle, scuffed her hair over her face and turned the jacket inside out—she seemed to recall a current fashion for inverting one's clothes, so she hoped the disguise wasn't too inferior. She hadn't sensed or seen anyone following her, and she was pretty good at detecting that. Those skills and instincts had clued her into the attack back in time when she'd been forced to skip through several time zones rapidly to try dump her special model chronokinetor before those goons caught her. She'd spend a lot of time thinking over the last few days and she'd decided that was most likely what they'd been after, and her instinct to ditch it in the twenty-first century had been correct. A lot of people would pay big money to possess a timepiece with such range.

The darkening sky overhead was lit up by atmospheric aircraft and small space shuttles taking off and landing. Vivaldis Prime Space Station was easily the brightest star in the heavens, its geostationary orbit making it a constant feature above the planet's capital.

Graffiti and rubbish littered the gloomy street as she slouched along it, endeavouring to create an aura of being right at home here. A small group of youths kicking a broken holocaster on a corner looked poised to say something to her, but she painted a derogatory sneer on her face as she approached and they decided it was not worth their while.

With two more scungy blocks to go she turned her face away as a hovercar passed her with a mechanical sounding drone. Finally she turned into a dark apartment block lobby and pressed the door alert for Unit 8.

No response. She rolled her eyes and hit the screen again.

At last a sleepy sounding voice came through, "Stacey, if that's you I haven't finished it yet. Come back tomorrow."

She lifted her face so the camera could see her clearly.

"It's not Stacey, Owen. Let me in."

Muffled swearing took place, and she narrowed her eyes. _Be patient_ , she cautioned herself. _It's been a long time._

The door slid back. Walking in, she glanced backwards once more to check no one had followed her. The street looked clear.

The lift shuddered its way slowly up to Unit 8. A somewhat skinny, lank-haired young man looked at her apprehensively as she entered the tiny apartment.

"Shit, Michelle, what the hell do you want? What are you doing here?"

"Need your help, Owen. Don't worry, I don't plan on staying here long."

" _I_ don't plan on you staying here long," he muttered half to himself. She rolled her eyes.

"Quit your whinging. I'm in a spot of trouble. I need a timepiece, something that will move."

He scowled at her. "I don't do that sort of shit anymore. The Agency comes down really hard on people who tinker with their precious timepieces, remember? Being able to see back in time is one thing! Being able to go there, well, they don't want just anyone doing that!"

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Oh you've thrown it all out then? Dismantled everything? Funny, I could've sworn someone like you would always have a little bit of backup, some insurance if they needed to get out of here in a hurry."

They stared at each other for several long seconds. Finally Owen broke the deadlock by muttering,

"I might have something. Just sit down and don't touch anything!"

Michelle ignored him and went straight to his kitchenette dispenser, punching in a request for some protein and carbohydrates. She helped herself to a long drink of water, and then proceeded to demolish the meal in a record amount of time, despite forcing herself to take small bites and chew each mouthful. She knew it was extremely bad manners to help herself, but she didn't care.

"Thanks," she said as she tipped the empty dish back into the cleaning slot. "Was starving. Had a rough few days. Just going to use the hygiene facilities if you don't mind."

He glared back at her but didn't say anything. She relieved herself and washed her face, then spent few moments poking through the cupboards before returning to the room where Owen continued to ferret through shelves and storage compartments in a seemingly random pattern. Some were locked, she noted, and he seemed to open some twice but didn't take anything out. Obviously the sequence allowed him access to the final drawer, which also required thumbprint and eye scan verification to unlock electronically. Soon various strange components littered his workspace.

She continued to poke around the small room, which was mostly filled with assorted computers, screens and little holograms of characters from a late twentieth century Earth fictional movie.

"This Star Wars stuff must be seriously have gained cult popularity to still be around after all this time," she examined one image, a white-clad helmeted soldier. "This a main character?"

"No! Don't touch anything!" he repeated irritably, assembling bits and pieces. She fell silent and stretched quietly for several minutes before listening at the door and checking the one window. It really was a tiny apartment: one main room with miniscule hygiene facilities through one doorway and a sleeping alcove next to that. No kitchen for independent cooking, just the meals dispenser. Despite the clutter, however, it was relatively clean. Owen had always been finicky about dirt. _Comes of being spaceborn,_ she guessed.

She hovered over his shoulder for several minutes, despite his growing annoyance, then shot out a hand and said,

"That's enough, I'll take it from here."

"But it's not finished!"

She smiled without humour. "I can finish it."

"But—" He looked at her a little more closely. He realised she wasn't quite the same young woman he'd known at university. She looked... a little more careworn, a little harder around the eyes. All in all, while being physically super fit and with even the same haircut and colour, she looked slightly... older.

"Michelle... How long have you been working for the Agency?" he asked hesitantly.

She studied him, then picked up a tweezer-shaped tool and began to twist and connect several components. Concentrating on her work, she replied, "For some time."

He watched silently as she expertly finished the homemade chronokinetor. _She's older than she should be,_ he thought, and then he wondered,

"And how did you know where to find me? I haven't been here that long. I'm not listed on any contacts; the apartment is in a friend's name. I haven't seen you since..."

They both knew what he meant. He'd been expelled from the university in disgrace just days after she'd been accepted into a traineeship with the Time & Space Agency. The engineering faculty had discovered his experimental timepieces, devices that would not only allow the user to see back in time, but actually move than person in time as well. They charged him with illegal and unethical activities, confiscated all the materials, but he'd fled before the hearing took place and disappeared.

This time she looked up with genuine amusement as she clicked the last piece into place.

"Why, _you_ told me where to find you, Owen. Or you will. If I need to reach you again I'll come to this address." She typed a secure, non-trackable link that would bounce through a dozen different satellites each time it was used. It could be accessed from anywhere public, but shifted its location frequently and was not one of the Agency-issued ones that would be monitored. "However, I suggest that now would be a good time to disappear again. Sorry to be a hassle."

She smiled at him, twisted the chronokinetor into her left palm and disappeared.

# ELEVEN

## 74 AD

Gwyn deliberated hard that night over the best way to make her exodus from Masada. She wanted to go as soon as possible, before the Roman legion encamped below could finish circumvallation of the plateau and leave her doubly trapped.

_Triply trapped, if you count trapped in the fortress and trapped in this time,_ she thought glumly.

The next day she filched handfuls of food and a water skin and stashed them in a disused cupboard when the opportunity presented itself. Adi chattered as they completed their chores, oblivious to Gwyn's guilty silence. She felt like a coward trying to save herself from the death she knew awaited her friend and everyone else atop this small mountain. Apart from Joshua, no one had been cruel or threatened her. She'd had nothing to do with any other men since her initial encounter with Gad, the Rabbi, and Eleazar. Sure, Auntie had dished out a number of whacks with her cane and flicks over the ear, but given the situation, Gwyn could forgive her that. The old woman was impatient and generous in the same breath, exasperated by Gwyn and Adi's poor domestic skills yet she fussed over them eating enough and worrying about what would befall the two girls should the Romans prevail. She was kinder than the cold-mannered Elizabeth, who often sneered at Gwyn's attempts at chores and talked over Adi in a superior fashion.

But Gwyn couldn't save them, any of them. She'd warned the resisting Jews of the Roman attack, so at least they hadn't been caught unawares. If there had been men out of the fortress, it would have weakened their already precariously low numbers.

She wondered for a second if things would have been different if they had been caught unawares, as the small Roman garrison that was stationed here prior to the stealth attack by the Sicarii had been. A chill sent a shiver through her spine, and Adi looked as her, concerned.

"Are you alright, Ruth?" she touched Gwyn gently on the arm.

The girl out of time gave a half-hearted smile, even as she felt sick to her stomach. _What if I've changed it from how it's supposed to be?_ But she managed to mutter something about feeling a little unwell and passed off her friend's concern.

Dusk finally dragged itself into the air. Impatient for action, Gwyn forced herself to tuck into the evening meal despite her lack of appetite. She knew she'd need all the sustenance she could get for the night ahead. An hour later, she complained of stomach pains and excused herself to go to the latrine. She reassured Adi she'd be alright, but with a somewhat bashful look she indicated that she might be awhile. And could she borrow Adi's shawl? She was feeling quite cold. Auntie's scolding about gluttony followed her out the room.

She left the other women and walked gingerly through the kitchen and past the small herb garden that occupied the courtyard outside. She stooped briefly as if her stomach was in pain, using the movement to sweep up a coil of rope she'd dropped carefully by the garden hoe. Still half bent, she jammed the rope down the front of her homespun dress, where it itched her skin madly. She didn't think anyone was watching but it was better to assume someone might be. But as soon as she re-entered the building on the opposite side she straightened up from clutching her belly and accelerated into a brisk walk, taking herself past the disused cupboard to collect her food and water stash and wrap it in Adi's shawl, slinging it over her shoulder.

The living quarters where she had been staying were on the eastern side of the plateau, which gave her two advantages—she was already on the right side for the gate she wanted, and being the most difficult approach it was likely to be the least guarded, as it relied heavily on its natural defences. Creeping quietly with her own shawl pulled over her head to cover her features, she made her way north between various low buildings until she sighted the gate that headed the top of the Snake Path. It was opposite to the path she'd taken with her mother, back in the future, where they'd approached from the direction of the northern palace after visiting the ruins there.

It was this next part that she feared most. If there was a vigilant guard standing watch on the gate, she was screwed. She had made her plans too quickly to scope out the area very well. Only in her brief explorations with Adi of the palace grounds had she cast her eye idly on the gate as part of her half-hearted daydreams of escape, remembering the dusty ruins she'd walked through, almost two thousand years from now.

There was nothing half-hearted about her examination now—she peered intently around the wall of the last building before the small gatehouse. It was the least used of the three openings in the four metre thick casemate wall which bound the circumference of Masada, but it still had a small tower built over the gate for defence and lookouts.

Luck was with her so far. Two guards sat inside the gate-room eating their supper, and didn't even glance up as she slipped silently up the outer stairs onto the wall, passing their doorway like a shadow. Shedding her subdued persona, Gwyn cast about quickly, selecting a suitable defensive protrusion in the wall and made a rough loop of the rope. She fumbled as the rough fibres twisted in her hand, burning her skin somewhat. As she cursed silently she hoped like hell this would work. _If you can't do knots, do lots,_ she thought, annoyed at her own ineptness as she tried several times to form a decent loop that would tighten as her weight went on it. _Why didn't I ever do anything useful, like girl guides or cadets? Reading adventure novels doesn't exactly prepare you for adventures._ After five tries she deemed it adequate, and worked it over the outcrop with the loose end dangling over the outside of the wall.

Gulping with nerves, she paused and rearranged Adi's shawl with its purloined goods over her left shoulder and under her right underarm, pulling it tight against her back and tying it firmly across her front, but leaving her right arm—her dominant arm—free from constraint. She clambered over the edge of the wall, shooting a look back at the guardhouse in the tower. There was no sign they had heard anything. Yet.

She scooted her legs out from under her to dangle over the wall and looked down. _Oh man._ Her heart threatened to falter as she peered into the darkness below. Thanking whatever good fortune had kept her alive up until this point that there was sufficient moonlight to make out the ground some way below, she grasped the rope firmly in both hands and eased herself around until she faced the wall. Carefully, she began to lower herself, wrapping feet and legs to take her weight as she walked her hands down. The rope really was rough, and it bit into her hands despite their recent toughening thanks to manual labour. A blister broke and a tear threatened to leak out of her eyes as she winced at the sharp pain.

Suddenly her feet dangled into free air and her hands clenched tightly as she held on. She had reached the bottom of the rope. But how far was the ground? Gwyn peered downwards into the shadows, but couldn't judge it. She hadn't measured the rope, hadn't really any idea how high the wall was, and she fought not to panic or despair as her arms started to fatigue fast.

_It can't be that far,_ she told herself. She could make out several scrubby-looking bushes and not too many sharp rocks. _Either way, I can't just hang here forever, and I doubt I could manage the climb back up, so I just need to get as low as I can and drop, and hopefully I won't plunge to my death or twist an ankle. At least death from a broken neck would be fast... I hope._

She didn't plunge to her death, but she came close. The drop felt like forever (it was probably only two metres). The jolt at the bottom was abrupt, but she managed to roll into a bush and halt instead of continuing off the side of the cliff. There was barely any space outside the gate before the Snake Path started its alarming descent, so again, she silently thanked her luck thus far and prayed it would continue.

Slightly jarred but as of yet still unbroken, she started down the mountainside with the thin light of the moon as her only guide.

## 2573 AD

Flick. Flick. Flick. Fl–

Michelle halted her time jumps and glanced around as the sound of time receded in her ears. It was night, and she stood in a vacant block, but LED signs advertised _NEW APARTMENT BLOCK COMING SOON! CLOSE TO CITY, SHOPS AND ENTERTAINMENT! BUY NOW!_ There was, however, no one but a stray Vivaldan cat to witness her sudden appearance out of thin air. The cat hissed and skulked off into the shadows, its neon eyes glaring balefully at her. There were far fewer lights in the sky—Vivaldis' moons dominated the heavens, a treat to see all three risen at once. The Space Station glowed brightly in the sky too; she hadn't gone back too far, only fifty years, so it was operational but just not quite complete. Amazing how half a century could turn this hopeful new suburb into the dingy semi-slum that she'd walked into less than an hour ago.

She pulled out a knife she'd pinched from Owen's little kitchenette while she'd been eating. Looking about quickly, she rolled up her left sleeve and dug the tip of the knife into her bicep. Hissing at the pain, she forced herself to push the blade in until it levered behind a small plastic object, which she flicked out. Falling back onto her rear, she dropped the knife and pressed her fingers hard over the wound. Grinding her teeth, she managed to apply sufficient pressure to slow the bleeding and sprayed antiseptic sealer (stolen from the hygiene room when she'd used it). The sealer also had numbing properties, so after a few minutes the throbbing had reduced to a point where she could push it out of her mind.

She had an edge now. If indeed whoever had ordered her capture had been using this device to track her, she was leaving it behind now. While no immediate pursuit had followed (to her knowledge) after her escape from Vivaldis Prime Detention Centre, she suspected that they might well let her go to see if she would go after the chronokinetor. Access to her tracking device (part of any Agent's safety net) seemed the only feasible explanation given those goons' ability to follow her quick time jumps when she was trying to escape. Again, this made her suspect that someone fairly powerful within the Agency was attempting to steal the specialised chronokinetor for themselves.

Michelle knew she had to keep moving. It wouldn't take them long to mobilize and come after her once they'd realised she'd dumped the tracker. She jumped forward in time a month (construction of the apartment block had just begun) and began walking.

This timepiece she had acquired from Owen wasn't a fleck of spacedust on the one she lost. It still had the safety feature of stabilising the time traveller onto solid ground (not in it or above it), however it only allowed two-year jumps, maximum, so it was going to be slow going. But she didn't know anyone at the Agency who could set times and jump as fast as she could, so even if her enemies worked out when and where she was going, she had the head start, and she wasn't going to hang about in one place or time long enough for them to catch her again.

Once she had her chronokinetor back she was going straight to the Commissioner. She didn't dare show up without it—it was the most advanced timepiece the Agency possessed. It had been tuned specifically to her, but that could be adjusted, so it would mean her professional career and possibly her liberty to have lost it. She knew that a lot of people might pay a lot of money and commit any number of crimes to get a hold of it, so she'd made a split second decision to drop it under the cover of crashing into that girl on the mountainside when she felt the pursuit close in. They must have been seriously pissed off when they realised she didn't have it, and had left her in that tiny cell while they searched the times she'd fled through. Failing to find it, they must have decided to interrogate her as to its whereabouts.

She'd frustrated their efforts so far. Now she was going to get back what was hers and find out who did this to her.

She had a slight spring in her step as she walked the few blocks to the brand new shuttle stop still smelling of fresh plastic spray-coat. She kept an eye out, but fortunately didn't have to wait too long before a late night shuttle stopped there. She boarded in the direction of Vivaldis Prime Spaceport.

# TWELVE

## 74 AD

The next few hours were harrowing as Gwyn stumbled and clambered her way down the Snake Path. She proceeded slowly, painfully so; fearful of breaking an ankle or tripping over a precipice. The moonlight barely lit her way, and the rocks were sharper than their modern counterparts—patiently awaiting two thousand years of erosion to soften their edges. But she eventually traversed the two kilometres of hairpin bends and rough ground intact and as the path began to flatten out, she took a break to drink a mouthful of water from the skin and nibble a date for energy. She found a bush to urinate behind (not that anyone was around to see her, but old habits of privacy die hard), then retied Adi's stolen shawl and continued in what she hoped was a north-easterly direction, away from the main Roman camp and towards the gap in the not-yet complete circumvallation wall. She hoped to slip past in the dark and head for the Dead Sea in order to try to return to En Gedi. It was a long shot but still worth trying, especially in the face of the alternative: siege, attack, fire, and mass suicide. Part of her wondered if it was even possible, but she was determined to try, even if it meant walking the whole way. Of course if a mule presented itself like it had in her daydreamed plan, she'd waste no opportunity.

Trudge, trudge, trudge. The moon was edging towards the horizon in an attempt to set. _Well, at least I'm a lot tougher after several weeks' manual work. I'd kill for a real bed and a hot shower though. I even miss Naomi and Justin's stupid bickering. I miss Dad's stupid jokes. I miss Mum._

In the wavering moonlight and under the bright stars, tears welled up in Gwyn's eyes and all the fear and homesickness of the last few weeks overwhelmed her. She sat down abruptly and started to cry.

After a while the tears began to falter, and finally retreated back until a sniffling nose and heartsick soul was all that remained. Possessing nothing that resembled a handkerchief, she blew her nose into her right hand and flicked the snot away.

"Yuck," she muttered as she wiped her hand on her dress. "I'm sick of this filth. I want a bath. I want to go home!" This last was uttered half at a plaintive wail.

She almost choked in fright when a deep voice spoke out of the darkness.

"Well, you certainly are a long way from home, girl!"

Sickness welled in her stomach and she half-crouched defensively. _Why did you stop, you pathetic whimpering idiot!? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Someone's followed you and you're as good as caught again!_

But another part of her brain whispered, _That's not Hebrew, it doesn't sound the same. I don't think one this is one of the Sicarii._

The first part of her brain, the panicking part, yelled back, _How the hell would you know if it sounds different or not? Joshua has tracked you somehow. You're dead!_

But she managed to not let the panic take control, and called out in an aggressive voice,

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

A shadow moved in front of her, and she tensed to either fight or flee. But it stopped and her eyes gradually made out the figure of a man in the starlight. Whether young or old she couldn't tell, but he appeared to be wearing a short tunic, cloak, and helmet and carrying a spear. A solider.

"You're a Roman!" she blurted.

He cocked his head sideways and peered at her in the darkness, "So are you, by your accent. What the hell are you doing inside enemy lines? Are you a whore following the legion? You're a long way from the camp."

"What? No!" she was indignant. _Think fast, talk fast,_ the calm part of her mind urged. _You must be speaking Latin. The pocket watch is doing its thing again. Convince this soldier to help you. You can do it._

She straightened her shoulders. _Act Roman._ "I was trapped in Masada, captured by the Sicarii," she declared. "I managed to escape. I need to get away from here before they realise and come after me!" She tried not to let her voice shake.

"Calm down, calm down. Those peasants won't dare stir from their hill."

He took her left arm, not roughly, like Joshua had done, but still in a firm manner that brooked no opposition. She resisted the urge to shake him off, even though she had had a gutful of random men who saw fit to manhandle her. _Hands off,_ her angry brain snarled, but she ground her teeth in silence as the Roman soldier said,

"If you really have come from inside the fortress, I'm thinking perhaps you need to speak to my commander. Come on, this way"

They started walking, not northeast as she'd hoped, but north and then west back around towards the main Roman army camp. Her heart sank in a resigned fashion as she realised she was caught yet again, and it was one of the longest walks of her life.

Lucius Flavius Silva had been looking forward to a quiet night. The building of the circumvallation wall was proceeding reasonably quickly; two metres high and almost seven miles long. Once it was complete he would proceed with the next stage of the campaign: to test Masada's defences and attempt to breach the fortress via attacks. An experienced campaigner, he was patient and prepared to do things one step at a time. He knew much of war was simply sheer bloody boredom, and had long ago learned to make the most of opportunities to rest.

So he was somewhat irritated when one of his centurions, Aelius Drusus, disturbed him not long after he'd finished his evening meal, dismissed his attendant and settled onto his couch to read a scroll until he felt sleepy enough to retire for the night.

"General."

Drusus was gloomy and taciturn, but Silva knew him to be one of his most reliable and capable officers. Sighing, Silva put down the scroll and ran fingers through his already-thinning hair.

"What is it, Drusus?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. One of my men was scouting near the base of the mountain and captured a young woman. She appears to be Roman, sir, and claims to have escaped from the Jews hiding in the fortress. She may be able to tell us something useful."

A professional soldier, Drusus had little time for women and even less trust of them. So for him to suggest that this apparent fugitive could hold useful information demonstrated his thorough and logical character. No stone would be left unturned if it could gain them an advantage in the war. Not that it was really a war anymore. Titus had put paid to that. No this was merely the final clean up exercise for the Procurator of Judea, and Silva was determined to see it through in the most efficient manner possible. And if that meant taking five minutes to question a woman when he'd rather go to bed, well, that was simply one of his duties as the general in command here. He sighed, then ordered,

"Bring her in."

His interest was piqued somewhat. How did a Roman woman come to be a prisoner of the rebel Jews? Perhaps she was a whore of one of the soldiers who had been garrisoned there.

His interest deepened when the woman (barely more than a girl!) was marched in by Drusus' scout. She had dark hair and eyes that looked up at him with barely concealed suspicion and not a small amount of apprehension, and immediately put him in mind of his daughter, Flavia, when she knew she was about to be in trouble. But where Flavia's cheeks would have been plump and glowing, this girl's (he'd already revised her age downwards) looked somewhat sunken, as if she'd endured hardship of late.

"What is your name, young lady, and how did you come to be at the base of the mountain?" He did not realise how fatherly he sounded already. While only in his thirties, his climb up the _cursus honorum_ during such troubled times had aged him beyond his years, and he was quite serious as a result. A receding hairline and thickening around the mid-section contributed to this impression, and while he was not an ugly man, with dull brown hair and a sizeable Roman beak he certainly was plain. Drusus raised a quiet eyebrow to himself, while the scout simply gazed at the floor.

Gwyn took a deep breath. _Here we go again. Make it good, make it believable._

"Sir," she began casting about for the first Roman sounding name she could think of. _Um, Julius Caesar. Mark Antony. Those are men's names! Antony... Antonia!_ "My name is Antonia. My father was a merchant here in Judea, trading goods with the Roman garrison at Masada, but he was killed by the Sicarii when they attacked and captured the fortress. They didn't kill me, though. They took me as a captive, and held me as a slave."

She felt guilty at the lie, slandering Adi and Auntie like that. Sure, the taking captive part was accurate, but she had been worked no harder than anyone else living in Masada, and certainly not treated like a slave.

"Antonia..." Silva rolled the name around in his mouth. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. Would he believe her? The pocket watch felt warm in her palm, and she prayed it was doing its thing.

He nodded. "You're a very brave girl, Antonia," he said kindly. "How in Jupiter's name did you manage to escape?"

_Yes,_ thought the cynical Drusus, _how did a mere slip of a girl manage to escape? Why didn't she wait until the fortress was taken by her countrymen? Or was she afraid they might kill her?_ He conceded that was fair enough. Soldiers storming a fortress tended not to be that discerning.

She answered honestly, figuring the fewer lies she told the easier it would be to keep her story straight. "I tried not to attract attention. A strict watch wasn't kept on me these last few nights, so I stole a rope from the kitchen garden and climbed over the wall near the east gate. I came down the Snake Path, and your soldier found me there. It was not easy." She trembled as if recounting the deeds forced her to relive the exertions. She had been living on edge for several weeks now, trying to blend in and stay out of notice. Joshua's threats had frightened her into working up the nerve to escape, but the harrowing descent from the mountain and the long walk around the base of the plateau had exhausted her and she felt as if she might collapse. Not to mention her discouragement—she'd tried to run the gauntlet of enemy lines and had failed.

Silva noticed her shakiness and motioned the scout to seat the girl and bring her some wine. Her nostrils flared at the smell—Gwyn hadn't quite moved on to red wines, her palate was rather immature and tended towards the sweet moscatos or fruity sauvignon blancs back in Australia. But she managed a few sips as Silva asked a few details of the scout, then dismissed him and continued his questioning of young Antonia. Kindly or not, he did not forget why Drusus had disturbed him—this creature might have useful information about their enemy, though he thought it unlikely.

"Can you tell me anything about how many Sicarii are holed up there in the fortress? It seems they took the place by stealth from the garrison there—are there any other Romans still alive up there?"

Gwyn shook her head. "I do not believe so. I did not see any, and while I could not go everywhere, there was no sign of them that I could see. I believe they were all killed by the Sicarii."

Silva leaned forward. "But not you?"

"I hid." She elaborated. "The water cisterns are quite extensive. I wasn't discovered for several days, but I had to venture out to steal food, and they caught me."

He nodded acceptance of this, and carried on. "And how many Jews are up there? Could you guess?"

She paused to think. Again, how much of the truth should she tell? Was she influencing events in such a way as to change the course of history? Or would it simply happen anyway?

"Several hundred men," she recounted. It was a bit of a guess. "Not more than a thousand all told, including women and children. But they are determined. They have plenty of food and water, and are fanatical about holding Masada against you. They'll die before they surrender." She was hopeful when Silva realised his enemy was so pitifully small, and bolstered only by non-combatants, it would convince him that a long siege was not worthwhile. Starvation would not wear down these rebels. Yes, she was afraid that she would be changing the past, but then, as she blundered about in this time, almost anything she did might have an effect. She would never know how fragile or robust history was if she didn't get back to her own time! She still wanted to try and protect her friends up the top of Masada, but right now she was so tired she was finding it hard to concentrate, so she didn't notice Drusus and Silva exchange a significant look.

"Very well," the general rose and came over to her. She gazed at him dully. "Come now, you are exhausted and we can talk more in the morning. It is late and you have had a gruelling ordeal."

He took her wine cup and considered her. A girl not much older than his daughter could not be left alone in a soldier's camp, no matter how disciplined they were.

"You'll have to stay here; I cannot have you wandering about amongst my men. You will sleep on the couch there. Drusus, send in Gaius, and see your scout is discreet about what has taken place here tonight. Thank you."

Dismissed, the centurion turned on his heel and went to wake the general's servant who functioned as a attendant to Silva. Gaius was astonished to find a rather grubby young woman passed out asleep on his master's reading couch. He was informed in quiet tones that the girl was Roman and needed to be kept safe while the General worked out what to do with her. She didn't even stir as he located some blankets and rather tentatively covered her, while Silva sat down at his writing desk as began to compose a letter to his wife. While he used a scribe for official communications, he found the act of writing his private correspondence as excellent way to arrange his thoughts. His wife was his primary correspondent—somewhat unusual in many Roman marriages, but still by no means completely unique—they shared a rather special rapport and despite the great distance between them and long periods of time apart, he always found her advice and opinions sound, measured, and intelligent. He knew he would not receive her reply for many weeks, but just by outlining the situation to her he could often imagine how she might respond, and that often helped him clear his head and make rational decisions.

He glanced over at the sleeping girl, whose face was still tense and troubled despite her unconscious state. Her lips twitched and fists clenched as she appeared to dream, and he wondered if her appearance was a blessing or a curse.

## 2573 AD

Spaceflight was still much the same, even fifty years ago. She'd deliberately stopped in a year not long after the hyperspace drive breakthrough, an advance that removed the need for cryo-sleep on journeys of more than a few light years. Nerida's Wormhole Principle had been realised in a new style of hyperdrive developed by a group of Shanista scientists, the founding species of the Federated Planets. The Principle had predicted that a suspension of the normal space-time constriction would enable an object within the suspended field, i.e. a spaceship, to slip through 'soft' spots in space and emerge elsewhere. The ship having travelled through a wormhole, an incredible amount of time on long distance space voyages was thus saved.

Interestingly enough, Nerida's Wormhole Principle was also the basis for time travel. The Agency was still in its infant days in the year that she was currently in now: a largely secretive government organisation which was still only exploring the theory of seeing back along the fourth dimension. Owen's illegal work had taken that exploration further and sought to create wormholes in time, which was why her lost chronokinetor was so valuable. The original timepieces could project the user back to view the past only. Five decades on from 'now' and the hops of two years maximum enabled actual time travel. But the one she'd been chased for, well, that was a game changer, wasn't it? With its ability to project longer wormholes, she could make massive jumps. There were extra features, but one of her mission objectives had been to test out the simple mechanics of the device by making a series of those massive jumps on Earth, logging scientific observations and running atmospheric and geological tests in every time and place she stopped. Earth had been selected because humans had only started proper intra-stellar travel in the year 2020, and only achieved extra-stellar travel by the twenty-second century. So most of human history still took place on its planet of origin, even though the Federated Planets were expanding rapidly now.

She mused on this as she affected the slightly annoying excitement of a tourist going to space for the first time. The memorised details of various bank accounts in various recent time zones allowed her to book an express trip in the SpacePort. She gushed to the booking agent how a surprise inheritance from a distant aunt allowed her to make this trip of a lifetime to Earth. The agent smiled blandly and didn't bother to meet her eyes as he pushed the ticket towards her and called for the next customer.

She scanned the screen of the ticket. Three hours till boarding. A little long for her taste in case her enemies were reviewing camera footage or financial records from the Space Station in the last fifty years, but not too shabby considering the route to Earth was only done once a week from Vivaldis. She'd had to guess the timetable a bit, but during her ongoing training she had spent a lot of time studying small details like this which might someday be important.

She took the next shuttle up to the Space Station and continued to play the cashed-up tourist; strolling through duty-free shops, purchasing a ship suit and some other articles of clothing in a casual manner. She picked a multi-entrance hygiene facility, quickly showered and changed into the shipsuit—a discreet grey and blue—and left from a different exit, proceeding swiftly to her gate.

She boarded with no dramas, made her way to her allotted bunk (tourist class, no sense drawing more attention that she had to) and lay down, ignoring the other passengers. She accepted the dispensed anti-nausea medication but stuffed it into a pocket rather than take it. The same advantage she had in being able to time-jump quickly meant that wormhole travel did not bother her with any ill-effects either. As the ship cruised out of the solar system it gave her time to catch up on some much needed sleep, and she didn't even notice the lurch several hours later as the ship 'fell' through the wormhole and emerged some distance from Pluto's orbit.

As Michelle woke and consumed some light refreshments, they were passing Saturn. She joined the other tourists on the viewing deck to gawk at the gas giant's incredible ring system.

"I really am lucky sometimes," she murmured to herself. Despite the danger of her missions, her capture by as-yet-unknown but decidedly unfriendly assailants and possible pursuit even now, she marvelled in the amazing opportunities her line of work gave her for experiencing the wonders of the universe. She was confident that, providing her luck held, she'd be back on Earth soon and skipping through time to retrieve her lost timepiece, and then she'd return to Commissioner Hera and resolve this drama.

# THIRTEEN

## 74 AD

Gwyn was feeling anything but lucky when she woke. _Bleh._ Her mouth tasted super furry. She still hadn't gotten used to not brushing her teeth on a regular basis. If she ever got out of this mess and back to her own time she was going straight to a dentist for a full scale and clean. And to a doctor for a check up to make sure she hadn't caught any ancient disease or bacteria. She just hoped that modern antibiotics would annihilate anything before it became a problem. It had occurred to her that if anything odd showed up on test results, she'd use the fact that she had been in the Middle East to suffice as an explanation. But really, she couldn't care less about that right now. Literally a Future Gwyn problem. She supposed that she was fortunate to have felt fine so far. She hadn't suffered anything worse than a mild diarrhoea from eating too many dates the first week she was here and fleabites from the clothes and blankets. Her mouth did feel extra revolting this morning however, but that was probably from the wine...

Wine! Romans! Her mad scramble down the mountainside in the dark... Her natural defensiveness had grown over the last few weeks and she managed to keep her eyes from flying open but her body must've jerked enough to show she was awake.

"Um, Miss?"

Gwyn quickly knuckled sleep from her eyes, wondering if her exertions of the night before had taken her out the frying pan but into the fire. She appeared to have slept unmolested, but she wasn't exactly any closer to getting home. A Roman was hovering nervously by the tent flap that served as the main door, which was open. It wasn't the general, nor the scout or centurion from the night before. Sunlight streamed in warmly behind him, bathing his feet and clearly showing the dust on his sandals. As her eyes quickly adjusted, she could see his face was young—tanned skin with barely a hint of light whisker that would need shaving. With pleasant features, short fair hair, and brown eyes, he was quite good looking and unlike all the other Romans she'd met so far he wasn't frowning, only looking hesitantly concerned.

"Miss, the general sent me to see if you were awake? He would like to speak with you when you are ready."

Oh yes. Last night's events flooded into her mind. A new story to hide behind. Fortunately, like the Sicarii, these Romans had seemed less interested in her than what she could tell them of their enemy. She lurched to her feet. _I barely had a sip of that wine last night! Yet I feel terrible! Why do people drink?_ She accounted it to the extra stress and tiredness as well, finally managing to line up the thoughts in her brain enough to say,

"Yes. Forgive me—I hadn't realised quite where I was." Better keep the general happy. He seemed a lot nicer than that centurion. "Can I...? Is there some way I can clean up or... or, um...?" She shifted uncomfortably as she realised how much she needed really needed to go to the toilet. _If there is one,_ her brain chimed glumly. She was too grateful to be embarrassed much when the red-faced young man (he had to be about her age) handed her a small bucket and said,

"Um, use this. There is a pitcher of water there as well," he indicated a small table to the side of the tent, upon which also rested a basin. "I'll just be, um, just outside. Um."

All the same she took it to the other side of the couch and was as quick as she could be without splashing. _No undies to trip over at least,_ she thought wryly. She'd been bizarrely lucky to have not had to deal with the problem of no underwear and menstruation as of yet. She should have had her period the first week she was in Masada but it never came. At first she'd panicked, thinking she'd been raped while she was unconscious during her capture from En Gedi, and was pregnant. But she hadn't felt like she'd been touched anywhere private and suffered no other symptoms of pregnancy. After several weeks she wondered if it was another attribute of the pocket watch. Suppressing some normal bodily cycles would be handy for time travel, she supposed.

A tiny bronze mirror rested upon the stand which bore the water. She sniffed the jug of water, deciding a few mouthfuls were destined for her furry tongue and parched throat. Only after splashing some handfuls on her face and hair did she dare to peer at the blurry disk of metal.

A tanned, thin, and anxious face peered back at her with large dark eyes. A stranger. Unlike the mirrors of modern times it was nowhere near clear enough to inspect skin for blemishes or imperfections. She looked at her hands, roughened by weeks of manual work, and suspected her face bore similar wear and tear. But upon glancing up again, the stranger's jaw was set and the eyes bespoke a determination that made her straighten her spine.

I had my cry last night. Well, that's ok, but now I will continue to survive in this time and do whatever it takes to get back home.

Her fists clenched and she could feel the embedded pocket watch heat slightly in her palm. _Take me home,_ she wished with all her heart, not daring to hope.

Nothing happened. Slightly deflated, she pulled a face, took one last look at her dull, blurry reflection, and walked out of the tent.

Gaius was permitted to remain during Silva's questioning of the mysterious girl. He wasn't exactly a slave, more of an indentured servant, but his obedience and silence was taken for granted. He watched her discreetly while she answered the general. _Quiet, succinct, but confident without being arrogant._ If she didn't know the answer to a question, she stated so, but presented an opinion based on what she did know. She always qualified it, though, by stating that was just based on her what she had been able to observe, so she might be wrong.

_They are sound observations, though._ He was quietly impressed. So was Drusus, though the crusty old centurion gave no clear sign of it. _You can tell by the way he shifts his weight and grunts softly at her details. He tends to remain stone-faced if he doesn't like what he hears._

He kept watching the girl. Skinny and certainly not a dramatic beauty, but with clear skin and a quiet strength of character that was evident as the general continued his questioning. _Actually quite attractive,_ he struggled not to blush when he realised how much he was examining her, altering his gaze to take in the tent wall instead. _I think she's had enough of this though. It seems like she thinks the siege is a waste of time, and she's not afraid to say so. Interesting._

"They're isolated, weak and outnumbered," Gwyn was saying. "What further harm can they do? Most of them are women and children who had no choice but to be dragged along by their fathers and husbands. Do they deserve to die?"

"We do not wish to kill women and children," the General ignored her agitation. "But my orders are clear. This is the last pocket of resistance in this Jewish Revolt, and it must be utterly crushed in order to subdue any future uprising. However, if all you say is true, then a normal siege would indeed be useless. We will run out of food before them, and they will outlast us comfortably housed in stone palaces, while we will suffer the winter rains under nothing but tents and wooden barricades."

_Good point. Let's finish up here and get back to somewhere more civilised._ Gaius knew he was lucky, serving the general, but the task wasn't an easy one. _Especially out here in the wilderness._

Silva continued on. "I will think on it. Thank you for all your information, young Antonia, you have been very brave and very helpful and hopefully have saved us all from wasting a great deal of time."

Gwyn nodded acknowledgement politely, trying not to grimace at his highhandedness, and then asked,

"Forgive me, General, but what is to become of me now then? I have no family here, only cousins back in Rome. But how will I return there?"

Silva returned his attention to her and considered briefly. "We can write your cousins. I can send a letter with my official dispatches. But I cannot send you alone back to Jaffa or Rome, and I do not have the men to spare right now to accompany you. I'll assign young Gaius here to be your protector in camp, but you must stay in and around my tent and not go wandering amongst my soldiers. You would not be safe, and I do not want them distracted."

Drusus snorted quietly _. If the men want distraction there are plenty of camp followers set up not far from here_. But even he admitted that the jaded whores, while experienced, might not look as tantalising as the apparition of a virginal young lady. _And lady she appears to be, by the sound of her semi-patrician accent. Her father must have done well for himself and secured an excellent tutor for the girl, or else he married up and the girl's mother was from a better social class._

"Your safety and virtue are in my hands," Silva continued, sounding just the tiniest bit pompous. "As a father of a young lady I know that women can be a little too curious and excitable, but if you do as you are told I will see you home safely."

Gwyn simply stared at him with slightly raised eyebrows. For a relatively young looking fellow he came across as quite staid and stuffy _. Not to mentioned extremely patronising_. Her lips quirked for a second as if to repress irritation or amusement, but it vanished just as quickly and Gaius couldn't be sure if he'd actually seen it. "Why, thank you, General," she said very seriously. "Trust me, I don't want any excitement. I'd just like to go home."

Gaius escorted her back to the General's tent, leaving Drusus and Silva conversing quietly but with a great deal of intent.

_Hmm,_ he wondered how to find out a bit more about her. _Not many people survive such an ordeal and come out so composed. She must be fairly tough. She looks and sounds so gentle though!_ But he knew better than to judge a woman, attractive or not, by appearances. His sister had taught him that. _I hope she didn't have to go through what Junilla did though..._

He banished the thought and finally tried, "So, uh, what did your father trade in?"

She shot a surprised look up at him. She'd almost forgotten he was there. She had been wrapped up in her own thoughts contemplating escape from her current dilemma. _At least now I'm on the outside of Masada and_ slightly _less likely to be doomed to mass suicide and burning,_ she thought cynically. Inveigling herself with the winning side had placed her in yet another cage, however, and she needed to think how she was going to get from here to En Gedi. She was convinced now that the pocket watch needed to return to the same location for it to work, since it continued to do nothing even when she'd tried here in the Roman camp. Perhaps if she hadn't been attacked and carried off by Joshua and Gad she might've worked it out there and then? But there was no point dwelling on that now. She had to concentrate on getting back there. At least now she was one step closer.

She realised that the Roman was waiting for her answer. "My father?" she replied. "Sorry, what? Um, he traded in spices. From, um, the Far East." _Sufficiently vague, I hope. No one seems to be questioning my story so far. It's incredible how this thing affects people's perceptions. I wonder how far I could push it..._

"Oh," Gaius fell silent for a bit, wondering what to ask next. _Maybe that wasn't the best thing to ask—reminds her that her father is dead._ They walked on in silence.

They didn't have far to go, just back from the parade ground a dozen yards. Silva's command tent was large and presided over the square. It was surrounded by several others, including his personal quarters, which were adjacent, and those of his tribunes. The camp stretched out in an extremely orderly fashion, row after row of tidy tents. Gwyn looked about carefully, aware that she would not have freedom of the camp so it would be a good idea to observe as much as possible of her surroundings while she could. She glanced briefly up and down the main Via which ran north-south, seeing that horses were picketed in one section, mules in another. Men bustled about—weapons practice was taking place in one corner of the parade ground. Everything was regimented and tidy.

A number of Roman soldiers turned to stare at the unlikely pair. The dusty, dark-haired girl in a grubby brown sack of a dress, accompanied by the schmick young attendant; light hair neat, tunic perfectly in place, sandals clean, and an air of eagerness about him. Gwyn wondered sourly what conclusion they drew as she was shown back into the General's tent. Probably thought she was a badly-dressed whore. _Well, stuff them_. Hopefully respect for him would translate into leaving her well alone. So far Silva had seemed fatherly rather than lecherous, and she intended that attitude should continue, even if it was extremely irritating. She would need to keep her wits about her though.

_I just need to survive here for now and then work out how to get away._ They entered Silva's personal tent.

"Um." It was the young man again, hovering at her elbow. He wasn't that much taller than her—she supposed modern nutrition had something to do with that. _Speaking of which._ "Would you like something to eat?" he asked. "I know the General would prefer you stay in here so I can arrange to bring something from the officers' mess. I often do that for him anyway. You look like you could use some food."

She gazed up at him, then her face relaxed and gently broke into a smile. "That would be wonderful, actually. I thought their questions would go on forever. I was getting so hungry."

He beamed back at her, enamoured by her change on expression. "I'll get bread and olives and cheese and some wine!"

"Wine? This early?" She'd managed to get by on rainwater that was stored in the immense cisterns at Masada, sipping wine only at Sabbath meals. _How on earth did the Romans conquer a Mediterranean empire if all they did was drink wine all the time?_

Gaius looked puzzled. "Early?"

"Ah, never mind," she smiled tiredly and patted his forearm once to apologise for confusing him. "If there was any clean water, I'd drink that over wine."

"Oh, I was going to water the wine, don't worry!" he jerked slightly at her touch and then felt mortified. _She must've thought I was going to serve her unwatered wine and try get her drunk! There is no way I am that irresponsible—the General is relying on me to keep her safe!_

"I'll be right back!" he half-turned, then turned back in a rush. "Don't go anywhere, just stay here. It's not safe for you out there. I'll be right back!"

Slightly bemused, Gwyn, nodded her compliance and watched him exit with alacrity. _What did I say?_ She wondered.

The tent was not cluttered, but neither was it completely austere. There was the bronze mirror she'd used earlier, in place on the stand with the pitcher and basin. The couch she'd slept upon was not the only one—clearly Silva could entertain small groups in here should he wish. What appeared to be a writing desk with ink, quills, and a variety of scrolls was surrounded by various chests over to her right. The back of the room seemed to open into another part of the tent, likely sleeping quarters. She wandered over to the scrolls and peered idly at the Latin inscriptions there, making out words like legatus Augusti pro praetore, as well as Lucius flavius silva, and finally legio x fretensis.

She realised she could read it all. The General was Lucius Flavius Silva, Procurator of the Roman province of Judea. The army with which he was conducting this siege was called the Tenth Legion of the Sea Strait. _Huh. That's handy. Guess this pocket watch thing works on quite a few levels of the brain. I'd_ really _love to know how it does it._

She decided not to poke around too much in case Gaius came back in a hurry and mistook her looking about for spying. She perched lightly on the couch, rolling her shoulders and neck in an effort to remove the stiffness resulting from having slept so heavily. _I'd kill for a hot shower,_ she sighed, then tried to push that whimsy from her mind.

The young Roman was back sooner than she expected, bearing a tray heavily laden with the promised meal. He set it down on the table in front of the couches and promptly left again, only to return with a pitcher of wine which he served well watered into the same goblet she'd used the night before.

"Um, would you like some?" she offered, unsure of the etiquette.

"Oh no!" he blushed and stepped back. "I ate already this morning."

_Uh-huh,_ her brain scoffed, _and what teenage boy ever refuses the offer of more food?_ For he certainly wasn't older than her, she decided. Her brother Justin was only thirteen, and he never seemed to stop eating.

"Please," she gestured, "I couldn't possibly eat all this. I mean, I'll have a shot," she grinned and scooped up some olives with her right hand. "I'm pretty hungry, but I'd feel better if you had some too."

He hesitated only momentarily before seating himself on the adjacent couch and tucking in, keeping a watchful eye on the entrance of the tent. They munched away in silence for a while, she just happy to put something more substantial than dates in her stomach, he pleased to get something far better than the usual mess fare. _And with far nicer company too!_ He'd told the cook the tray was for the general's guest, and the man, either not having heard the rumours or not caring to ask, simply served up fresh bread and the better selection of snacks available and sent Gaius on his way. As the general's slave, the lad was often sent to fetch all sorts of things for Silva.

_Packs it away, for someone so skinny,_ he observed. _Wonder if they starved her._ He didn't realise his scrutiny was making her feel self-conscious. She slowed down her eating and tried to sip at the sharp wine, wishing he wouldn't stare so.

"So... Did they treat you badly up there? The rebels?" he finally ventured.

Gwyn glanced at him and pondered upon her answer, chewing slowly on a crust of bread. _Rebels? I suppose they are to him, whereas they see themselves as freedom fighters._ Despite her capture by them, she was still inclined to agree with the Sicarii from a political point of view. _Just not so much so that I want to go down with them._

"Not really," came her reply. "I mean, apart from taking me prisoner in the first place. The women I met there were quite alright." _Most of them._ "I was worked just as hard as them, but they didn't beat me or anything." _Just flicked me over the ear._ But that was easier to forgive now that she was away from it. "I feel quite frightened for them, actually, knowing what will... what might happen to them." Her tone had become quite glum, but then her demeanour brightened, "But hopefully your General will see it's a pointless task and leave them be."

_Careful now,_ her brain whispered. _I know you just want to stop the carnage but is it really your place...?_

He looked surprised and paused halfway through a mouthful. "Choo fink...?" He gulped and swallowed. "You think so? I'd be surprised. General Lucius Flavius is a most determined man. He was given this task by Titus himself, and I don't doubt that he'll see it through." _She's a bit naive if she thinks we're just going to walk away from this. You'd think she'd want more revenge against those who killed her father..._

Gwyn frowned at Gaius, looking concerned, then depressed. "I can only hope. Those women and children certainly don't deserve to die. Would it make such a difference if he left them be?" she wondered, half out loud, half to herself.

_You can't worry about that now,_ she scolded herself. _You've done what you can, you have to worry about yourself now, and get your butt to En Gedi._

# FOURTEEN

## 74 AD

"Have you heard, Marcus?"

"Heard what? No one hears anything in this stinking desert."

"Oh stop moaning, it could be worse."

"How? How could anything possibly be any worse than quelling bloodthirsty Jews in this festering pile of rock and sand?" Marcus sounded resigned rather than bitter.

The first speaker paused, considering. "Well," he finally replied, "we could be quelling bloodthirsty Celts in Britannia. At least it's sunny here. And warm."

Marcus rolled his eyes and conceded the point.

"Anyway, so you haven't heard then?"

"Heard what? What in Hades is it that I'm supposed to have heard!?" Marcus sounded exasperated.

"About the general," the first speaker was smug, having managed to provoke his friend into asking. Marcus rolled his eyes. _Just loves being the one to break the news, does Lucretius—makes him feel important. Never so chuffed as when he gets to break a story to his fellow soldiers._

"What about the sodding general?" Marcus grumbled and continued to darn the hole in his tunic, swearing as he accidentally stabbed his thumb with the bone needle.

Lucretius beamed with self-importance. "He's got some secret plan to winkle out these rebel Jews and kick their backsides without us even lifting a finger to fight! A sorceress is helping him."

"You idiot," putting down his darning, Marcus finally glanced up at his comrade. "It's just some floozy he picked up from the camp followers. I heard it from Festus."

"What?" his friend deflated somewhat. "How would Festus know anything? He wouldn't know if his arse was on fire unless a herald shouted it at him."

"Ha! That's a good one. He had it from old Antony the cook, who chats with Gaius, the general's slave. And as if we're going to march all the way out here and not get a fight from these die-hards. You saw how they fought for Jerusalem. Tenacious buggers, I'll give them that."

"Whatever." Lucretius clung sulkily to his version of events. He wasn't a coward, but his service was due to be up soon and he didn't want to fight more than he had to in this campaign for Judea. He tended to mooch around running petty gambling rings and was notorious for filching valuables from the deceased after a battle ( _enemies only, of course, legate!_ ) His friendship with Big Marcus, as he was called by their tent mates (a nickname derived simply from the fact that he was tall and solid as an ox), stemmed from a childhood growing up together on the Aventine, and endured through military service despite their massively different personalities.

Big Marcus finished his darning and sat back to admire his work. He was a gloomy bastard, but his subdued nature managed to keep Lucretius out of trouble most of the time. He also had developed an ear for approaching authority so was already leaping to his feet when the centurion Drusus rounded the corner.

Drusus barked, "Stand to attention!" Lucretius and a number of other soldiers struggled to their feet in a desultory fashion.

Drusus cast a disapproving eye over his men. "Form up. The general has work for you sorry lot." This wasn't his least favourite _contubernium_ , but the tent-mates from the Aventine still rated low on his list of decent soldiers. He moved on to the next eight men, snapping out orders as he went until the whole century was formed up and marching down the main via of the camp away from the imposing plateau that loomed above.

Lucretius whinged, but Big Marcus just ignored him and wondered glumly what was in store for them now. The circumvallation wall was effectively finished; another century was set to complete the ring of palisade on the northern side of the plateau. _We aren't preparing for an attack I don't think—for one thing we're marching the wrong way._

But he hadn't joined the army in order to think, and all he found out that day was that their century was being marched a fair distance from the plateau to start felling trees and cutting wood. Men and mules carted it back towards the western side of the mountain close to the main camp. Now that the wall was pretty much complete, the General was implementing the next stage to his plan. The men of the tenth legion began to dig, and build, and dig, and build.

Gwyn was more or less left to her own devices for the next few days. After the constant chores of Masada, she was at first relieved to get some rest, but quickly became bored. She was trapped yet again it seemed. This time with more luxuries (or as many as could be expected in a military camp), but still trapped all the same, and now in a smaller cage. Being general did have perks, of course, so as his guest Gwyn benefitted from superior food and slightly more comfortable surroundings than the common soldiers of the legion.

She barely saw the great man after those first encounters, however. He was an extremely active general—often out, inspecting the other camps and directing his centurions and tribunes to various ends—and he considered himself far too busy to worry about her as long as she was keeping out of trouble. She didn't know what he had planned for Masada, but she hoped that his survey of the area was an investigation into the futility of the siege. Upon discovering she could read in Latin and Greek ( _thank you, pocket watch!_ ) she took to perusing whatever unsealed scrolls she could find. He kept his letters and official dispatches locked in a small chest, but she discovered a dusty copy of Herodotus that kept her occupied in between Gaius' visits.

The young Roman man had a number of duties caring for the general's person and his effects, so he spent a lot of time tidying, cleaning, and repairing bits and pieces in the tent when he wasn't running other errands. After some initial awkwardness ( _he still stares a bit)_ they began to get comfortable chatting to each other. In order to distract attention from herself, she asked him questions about his life with the army and back home. He was slightly guarded at first, seeming to want to talk more about her, but finally opened up enough to give her a brief life history.

"My sister and I lived with our uncle in Ostia, but he—he was something of a nasty... person." _Understatement._ "So we ran away to Rome when I was a lot younger and she worked and looked after me." _No need to mention what kind of work. People tend to judge first and understand later... if at all._ "She ended up owing a lot of money, though, so we agreed to sell me to cover the debt." _It was that or follow the same road she had._ "We were lucky—we found a good place for me in the General's household, and I worked my way up to look after him personally, so he brought me with him to Judea. Another few years and the debt should be cleared, and I'll go back to Rome to look after her."

Gwyn was speechless. _Lucky? To be sold to cover a debt?_

"Aren't you angry?" she finally managed. "I mean, selling yourself to cover your sister's debt! That's..." _Barbaric,_ she wanted to say, but she didn't want to offend. The concept was so alien to her it defied understanding.

Gaius gave a little half smile and shook his head. "She did everything for me—kept me fed and clothed and sent me to school. I would have ended up in the gutter if not for her."

_She must've meant a great deal to him,_ Gwyn's heart wrung in pity. _Even in this day and age, it seems a little extreme._ She recalled a lecture at uni that mentioned debt slavery in Ancient Rome, but the details had been fleeting and she wasn't sure how common it was.

"Anyway," Gaius continued brightly, "you remind me a bit of her. Not in looks—she was fair." _But you are still... well, let's just say looking at my sister didn't make me feel like this._ "But she had a determination about her, and she didn't get flustered easily. I don't imagine what you've been through has been easy, but you seem fairly composed."

She raised her eyebrows at that. _Composed, hey?_ _Guess I hide my agitation well. Speaking of which..._ She coughed and tried to sound... well, composed. "Um, thank you. So... what are they doing out there, do you suppose? It's been a week since I told the General how pointless this siege was. I was really hoping we'd up sticks and head north back towards Jerusalem." En Gedi was on the road north, and she held out hope that in a moving column of soldiers she'd find a way to slip off unnoticed amidst all the confusion. _There's no way I want to get sent back to a cousin in Rome who doesn't actually exist._

The young man frowned, "You know, I'm not actually sure. I've heard rumours from the cook, they are building something." He hesitated for a moment. "We could walk down the main Via and see? You'd just have to wear a cloak or something. The General doesn't want you to gain the attention of the men."

_It's always about that, isn't it?_ "Won't a cloak be more conspicuous in this heat?" her tone was dry.

"Oh. Maybe. But still better than having every man stop work and stare at you." _And stare they will—she's a lot prettier now that's she's clean and she's had a few decent meals._ "The General would kill me if I let anything happen to you! I think you remind him of his daughter. You look a little like her." _She's a lot more mature than that spoiled brat though._

"Fair enough," Gwyn stretched and rolled up Herodotus, rising from the couch. "Let's go then. You find a cloak, I'll wear it." _Anything to get me out of this damn tent._

He leapt to his feet.

"Oh, finish the boots first," she yawned, flopped back to the couch. "I don't want to get you in trouble. Can I help?"

Torn between the desire to impress her and knowing a thrashing might ensue for neglecting his duties, he hesitantly passed one boot to her and polished the first quickly and diligently.

_She's not afraid to get her hands dirty either._ Not at all like the General's daughter. _There's a lot more to her than a posh accent and a pretty face._

Half an hour later, a cloak was procured. He'd obviously thought of this when he'd first had to source some garments to replace the filthy rough-spun sack dress Gwyn has been wearing. Silva had acquired various chests of booty after the sack of Jerusalem, including a number of choice dresses, shawls and scarves to take home and gift to his wife and daughter. He'd given Gaius permission to rifle ( _carefully_ ) through one of the chests, and while the lad hadn't grabbed anything that looked too expensive, he found a subtle, dark blue woven wool dress that suited the mysterious guest well, and a grey cloak too. The dress was slightly too big for Gwyn (she'd lost weight since coming back in time thanks to the rather Spartan diet and daily chores in Masada), but she cinched it around her waist with a scarf and it served reasonably well. Thankfully it was nowhere near as ostentatious as some of the silks and damasks that had lain in there. After a cold water and sponge bath (hastily taken while Gaius loitered uncomfortably outside on guard, managing not to peek into the tent at her) she'd simply been relieved to be dressed in an old but more or less clean garment. Her brain had teased her with the thought of a hot shower and a toothbrush, but she grimly ignored it and told herself to be satisfied with what she had.

Now, thus cloaked and in the slowly fading evening light, the girl out of time and the young Roman slave strolled south along the Via and climbed the palisade to bear witness to the busy efforts from the legion over the last few days.

Gaius gazed about, slightly puzzled at the earthworks and constructions. Gwyn, a sinking feeling in her heart, could see clearing despite the dimming twilight. A mound of earth began to form a great ramp. It rose slowly, but its direction was clear. It was aimed squarely at the western wall of Masada.

# FIFTEEN

## 2573 AD

Earth. The original planet of humanity. Once isolated by the extremes of space, this species had nevertheless clawed its way out of the primordial soup and up the evolutionary ladder, barely avoiding self-destruction from war, epidemic, and environmental disaster. Technology and pollution had almost choked the small blue sphere—indeed it had wiped out multitudes of plant and other animal species. But finally that same technology advanced sufficiently enough and humanity endeavoured to slow, halt, and finally reverse the damage inflicted on this world. Some of it was irreparable, though, and humans knew that to survive, they would have to reach out.

Escaping the gravitational pull of their home world, explorers began to shift excess population into intra-stellar colonies, starting with the Moon and Mars. They mined for resources, energy and new materials that lessened the burden on the severely depleted Earth. Light relays from Mercury stored phenomenal amounts of solar energy in giant crystal batteries, replacing the rather inefficient and feeble solar panels that had previously powered spacecraft built in orbit. With faster ships and the power to terraform various other satellites in the solar system (starting with Callisto, Europa, and Ganymede) whole new worlds were opened up, literally, for humans to reach out into the stars. Concentrated efforts to rehabilitate the Terran environment and rescue many species from extinction saw a re-greening of some of the planet, and an improvement in the quality of life of those humans who did not venture space-wards, but many sections remained wastelands—refuge for criminals and the desperate alike.

Michelle pondered on this as the passenger ship began docking procedures at one of Earth's many, many space stations. History had been her major at university, and her line of work meant that she was far more familiar with the story of humanity than most people. She knew how close humans had come to wiping themselves out. She also knew that she was about to venture back through some of the more violent episodes of the Earth's history. But if she kept her wits about her she should be able to make her way back in time inconspicuously, locate the special timepiece, and zip back to the future without too much hassle. _I might even be able to complete my primary mission objective._

Earth's current batch of humans weren't particularly warlike, however. They benefitted from 'origin tourism'—an industry driven by the descendants of those who'd left and set out to colonise the galaxy, but were curious and fascinated to visit the home world. Tourists weren't limited to extra-terrestrial humans, however. Encounters with alien species had varied from benign and even friendly, to wary and, at the worst, hostile. The last few hundred years had seen humans join a rough alliance of several intelligent life forms that was fast solidifying into a strong Alliance of Planets that sought to protect and enhance the lives of its like-minded members. Other aliens were out there, and not all species were communicative, nor friendly. The Shanista were at the core of the Allied Planets, seeking not power but harmonious and sustainable growth. Humans had been a recent, but useful, addition to the Allied Planets, with their ability to adapt to a variety of living conditions and innovate under pressure. There were still some xenophobes, she thought bitterly, but several generations of integration with Shanista, Mayash, Rilans, and Nolii (and dependence on each other for technology, trade, and defence) meant that so-called "Purity Politics" were generally considered stupid and very distasteful.

"Welcome to Earth! Humanity's home world!" The announcement boomed out in cheery tones as passengers began to shuffle off the transport. Reminders not to leave any personal belongings chimed overhead as pleasant music began to play and a soft scent filled the air, contributing to the genial and welcoming atmosphere. It tried, she'd been told, to capture the essence of twentieth century Hawaii, a series of tropical islands in Earth's largest ocean. With friendly faces and relaxed auras, Earth stood testament to a species that never, ever wanted to return to its dark days.

Several hours later she was several shuttle flights on, standing in a beautiful green field in the Province of Scandinavia. She planned to rest, gather some supplies, and prepare in a location far from where any pursuers might expect her. She knew that while she might not be being tracked at the moment, her pursuers might wait for her to find the timepiece then waylay her on her way back into the future. She snorted quietly. They'd taken her by surprise once. They wouldn't do so again. She intended to travel to the Province of Greater Arabia, and then time-hop back to 2011, where that particular area was then known as the Nation of Israel. It would be an extremely time-consuming process, and she didn't know anyone else who could stand so many repetitive time jumps, but it had to be done.

_Here we go_ , she thought.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

# SIXTEEN

## 74 AD

The ramp was an impressive feat, typical of good Roman engineering. Silva had directed his efforts at a natural spur that jutted out from the western side of the plateau, known as the White Cliff. Silva listened to the army engineers and made his decision quickly. No prolonged siege for the Legio X Fretensis. No attempting to starve out their enemy, while disease and hunger took their tolls on his own men. He'd take the fight up to them, and finish the Jewish Rebellion once and for all. Masada stood as a symbol of defiance against the Roman Empire, and Rome would not ( _could not!_ ) permit that to continue.

The backs of soldiers were put to cutting wood and hauling rock. The dry river bed that wound its way west of the spur was filled and packed to form a secure base. Engineers calculated the height of the cliff and determined the maximum angle that could be tolerated by a siege tower as it was pushed up on wheels. The rest was simple mathematics, an exercise in triangles, thus determining the length and overall size of the ramp.

Watching from the walls, Adi felt the familiar dread wash over her. These invaders were like swarming, scurrying ants—when one swatted them, more crept up to take their place.

She'd felt sick with fear since the night Ruth had disappeared. They'd not taken much notice at first, but finally Auntie grumbled that, sick or no, that girl must have fallen in the latrine because she was taking a ridiculous amount of time. Adi had frowned as she'd realised how the time had crept on. She'd searched the latrines, the sleeping chamber, many other rooms and courtyards of the palace, growing more and more worried. Reporting to Auntie that she couldn't find the other girl anywhere, the old woman had been at first irritated (she'd been ready to retire for the night) and then grumpily anxious as she enlisted various other women and children to search for Gwyn.

Nothing. It was as if she'd vanished. Hearing the disturbance, the old Rabbi had ordered them to rest as no doubt the girl would show up in the morning. They had more important things to worry about than a foolish chit who would receive a thrashing for inconveniencing them all so. Joshua stood nearby, saying nothing but disappearing to search on his own, suspicious of the girl's disappearance. Eleazar's wife Elizabeth frowned disapprovingly at the disturbance, pursing her thin lips and muttering that Auntie was wasting everybody's time.

That had been well over two weeks ago. The only trace had been an abandoned rope caught around the wall on the eastern gatehouse. Adi just couldn't believe that her friend would have run off like that. _Ruth hated the Romans_. _They killed her family! Why would she leave us to join them? She was the one who warned us they were coming._

"I knew there was something wrong with her." The normally taciturn Joshua sounded vicious. "She was a Roman sympathiser! That is how she knew of their coming! She blasphemed against the Lord with her lies of visions and warnings!"

"But why?" Adi entreated her betrothed, fearful of this sudden, violent mood. "If she was a sympathiser why tell us anything? Why not just let them take us by surprise?" _It just doesn't make sense!_

He rounded on her and slapped her hard. She gasped and fell back, hand cradling her cheek which stung and then burned.

"Fool! She would have said anything to save her own skin! She sold her people! Now she has scuttled off back to her Roman scum masters to whore for them!" He stormed out of the courtyard, leaving shocked tears rolling down her face and the other women staring in fright, except for Elizabeth, who was po-faced. None of them moved to help her, and when Auntie returned from the kitchen the old woman was for once protective and kind, admonishing the other women fiercely for not interfering.

"He is not her husband yet! She does not have to endure his temper and beatings!" Cool water was drawn to bathe her face and a sweet date was produced for her to nibble while Auntie scolded those around her. Despite her pain and bewilderment, however, Adi noticed that the others, while looking abashed, gathered closer to Elizabeth, who ignored Auntie's admonishments.

_Why would any woman ever get married if she has to endure a man's temper and beatings?_ She'd never seen that side of her betrothed before, and Gwyn's questions about Joshua the other week had niggled awake a serious apprehension in her.

But not as great an apprehension as that which she felt now, gazing down upon the impending hordes. All the defiance and confidence she'd felt for her people holding out against the Romans had fallen away since her friend had seemingly abandoned them.

"What are you doing up here, girl?"

She turned slowly, trying to formulate a reply to their illustrious leader. Eleazar peered down at her in baffled consternation. Several men flanked him. Joshua was not amongst them, thankfully.

"I said, what are you doing up here!? It's not safe! And it is most unseemly for a young lady such as yourself to be unaccompanied! Who is your father?" he demanded.

_He doesn't know who I am._ She felt relieved, then irritated _. There are less than a thousand people up on this rock, and he doesn't even know who I am._ She hid her anger below a respectfully ducked head and meek voice.

"I am sorry, sir. I was looking for my betrothed. Auntie sent me with a message for him. But he is not here, I see. I will search for him elsewhere."

Dismissive, Eleazar flapped a casual hand. "Begone from here, girl. As I said, it's not safe and most unseemly. Send a lad to find him if you need to. You are better off staying by Auntie's side."

"Thank you, sir," she scuttled down off the wall. Would he question Auntie about this? Probably not. The old woman and her nephew were not on good terms anymore. He refused to see her, citing "the critical defence of God's loyal people" as the reason he was too busy to listen to "the gabblings of a nattering crone." _I can't believe how disrespectful he is being to her. No wonder Auntie is so irritable and withdrawn._ Since Ruth's disappearance and the incident with Joshua, Elizabeth's voice was heard more and more often. Eleazar's defiant mood had infected and galvanised almost all who inhabited the mountaintop, so any who thought or felt dissent kept it to themselves, and certainly didn't dare mention it in front of his wife. Adi herself was too frightened and distraught to talk to anyone, and a tiny part of her wished that she had escaped with Ruth. She knew she was betraying the memory of her dead parents and brothers and even Mary, but she had no true ties here, despite these being her 'people'. What was a 'people' anyway, if not a group with like-minded ideas? She didn't like the minds or ideas of any of those around her these days—hysteric defiance filled the very air.

She must be a coward and a traitor for feeling so.

## 2011 AD

Michelle had struck a problem. A big, big problem.

She couldn't find the chronokinetor. Not anywhere. Not anytime.

She'd returned rather circuitously to twenty-first century Israel, to the historic site known as Masada. She'd been cautious, flicking in and out of the day she'd been captured, first determining the exact minutes she'd bolted through. Then she'd gone in after she knew her former self and her captors would be gone and scouted the area where she'd thrown the timepiece down into the bushes. Nothing.

She'd had to be furtive in her search, staying out of the way of tourists and guides who descended sporadically on the Snake Path. She would flick to different hours of the night when she needed to have a rest, confident in her isolation in the darkness. She didn't want to attract any undue attention from any Israeli, military or civilian, who might spot her scrabbling over the area and believe her to be a terrorist planting a bomb (she'd read up on the politics of the time on one of her shuttle flights). And she couldn't afford to trip over herself. While she coped far better than most with time travel, close proximity to a previous or future self made her nauseous. In the highly controlled experiments run by the Agency, even people who demonstrated the ability to time travel suffered disorientation and nausea. Being in proximity to oneself very quickly brought on vomiting and unconsciousness. One of the key reasons Michelle was such a good Agent was her general immunity to these effects. But even this was wearing her down, and she soon ran out of the anti-nausea medication she'd taken from the space-ship.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn!" she muttered as she jumped forward into that night. It was cold, but she'd stashed some blankets and food supplies in the lee of a large boulder. Hunkering down, she munched despondently on some travel bar rations she bought in the twenty-second century (far tastier and more nutritional than anything this time and place could come up with). It was messy and tricky doing so many little time jumps. She'd been awake far longer than the day had been, and the edge of watching her back and keeping out of sight was wearing on her.

"I must be close." She relived her memory out aloud. "I ran down the path, pushed that woman... Or girl? Doesn't matter. Pushed her out of the way and used the motion to mask tossing the damn thing so those thugs wouldn't see. That was here, I'm sure of it!" Saying it out loud didn't make it appear though. She managed a few hours' sleep, and then used the rising sun to extend her search up and down the path, scrambling down narrow openings and peering into cracks in the rocks. Still nothing.

Finally Michelle decided she would risk jumping into the time just before her former self was due to pass. She didn't like doing it, since it would risk attracting not only the attention of those tourists, including the one she'd collided with, but also her attackers. She hoped they'd be too intent on chasing the other her to notice anyone else.

Some time was spent choosing a hiding spot in order to view the area she needed to see. Then she waited for the right time to approach. An hour or so passed as she dozed, feeling varying levels of proximity nausea depending on whether her other selves were in this time or not. She'd noticed the feelings before while searching, but had attributed some of it to anxiety over finding the timepiece.

Voices came first, then two teenagers, a boy and a girl—twins by the look of them—chattered their way past. Her eyes sprang open, immediately alert. Watching the path, she guessed their parents were next to pass, a cheerful looking couple. It sounded like they were debating the viability of a particular species of trees in this region. _Irrelevant._

Then another girl descended the path. Short and with the look of the man who'd just preceded her, she must be an older daughter. She stopped to hold up a small electronic device—some sort of camera? Michelle peered more closely and identified the item as an early twenty-first century portable communication device, known in this time as a mobile phone. It obviously had photographic capabilities also.

Then the sound that made her tense. A clatter of stones, the sound of running feet. Suddenly she felt the shock of seeing herself hurtle into view and shove the girl (rather roughly she realised now, feeling guilty—or was that just her stomach heaving?), masking the toss of the timepiece into the bushes at the same time. Michelle found her eyes drawn after her retreating figure, but forced herself to look intently back at where the chronokinetor had fallen. Not into a hole or down the cliff, but just to the scraggly scrub on the side of the path up near where the girl had fallen. She'd searched there already! Why hadn't she found it?

Frowning, Michelle growled quietly in anger to watch one man thunder straight past and join the other in the tackle that had brought her down. She remembered feeling sick at the time of her capture, and now she knew why, she'd been here watching. Her former self and her assailants faded quickly from sight in a blue haze, and the feeling of sickness slowly subsided. She returned her attention to the chronokinetor lying abandoned by the wayside.

But not for long. The girl was being assisted to her feet by her mother, who was trying to dust her daughter off and pat her over for injuries. Shaking the older woman off gently, the girl first peered intently at the spot where Michelle and the goons had last been visible in this time. Then she retraced her steps slightly and reached into the bushes to pick up her mobile phone... and the chronokinetor, which she examined very briefly, then tucked unobtrusively in her pocket, turning to carry on down the Snake Path in the company of her parents.

More nausea gripped Michelle—she was overlapping again, she knew. She'd already been in this time, but further up the path. Fighting her stomach upheaval, Michelle slid down from her hidey-hole as fast as she could, and trotted downwards, but by the time she reached the bottom of the two kilometre rocky track, the girl and her family were gone.

"Can I help you?" The museum attendant's English was perfect, as was so many Israelis'. It was obvious to him that the woman who had just wandered into the Yigal Yadin Masada Museum was not local, and so he immediately defaulted to English as the most common tourist lingua franca.

"Uh, yes," Slim, dark haired and clad in jeans and a conservative sleeved shirt, the woman looked quite tired and slightly ill. _Probably the heat—the English often struggle in this climate._

"Uh, I think a girl, another tourist, dropped her jacket on her way down the Snake Path. But I was a fair way above her so she didn't hear me call out. I picked it up in case she was still here." the woman managed to explain, proffering said jacket as evidence. _She really doesn't look well._

"Please, sit down." _Never let it be said that Israeli hospitality isn't the best in the world._ "I'll fetch you a glass of water." He guided her to a chair in the museum lobby and scooted around to the restaurant kitchen, returning with said water. She looked as if she was making an effort to rise, but he urged her back into the seat and watched her sip from the glass slowly.

"Thank you," she said. "Sorry, I think I might have overdone it a bit today." _Understatement—I've been overdoing it for several weeks now._

"Yes, it's quite a hike in this heat, even downhill. Have you drunk enough water today? Are you with a group?" His solicitousness was kind yet professional, and she appreciated the natural excuse he gave her.

"Yes, but the other members of my group wanted to take their time at the ruins and then catch the cable car down. I thought I'd try the hike and spend some time at the museum. But I saw this girl drop her jacket on the path—have you seen her? Looked like she was with a family group. She obviously wasn't wearing it because it was so hot but she might want it later. I know I hate to lose something while I'm travelling." _Ain't that the truth!_

The kind attendant had to confess that he believed that family had already left. "They didn't come into the museum; I saw a van pick them up. It appeared as though they had a private driver. You can leave it at lost and found if you like? They might realise, and come back."

"Oh," the woman deflated even more. "I wonder where they might be headed. Possibly the same place as my tour group?" She was hazarding guesses now, she didn't want to confess she had no idea where tours might go next, but it was well upon midday and she was banking on the fact that if they hadn't stopped here at the restaurant, there might be someplace close by that also served food.

"En Gedi perhaps?" he was distracted by several more tourists entering the lobby and returned to his post at the ticketing desk.

"Thank you!" She appeared somewhat enlivened. "I'd better go buy some water. Thank you for your help!"

When he looked up next, she was gone. Shrugging, he went back to work and thought no more of it.

# SEVENTEEN

## 74 AD

"But why? They're holed up in there with no way of getting out and causing trouble—most of them are women and children! What's the point in going in after them?" Gwyn's voice was hushed but intense. Gaius had hurried her back to the general's tent, avoiding the curious glances of the soldiers they passed. Fortunately night had practically fallen and the torch-lit Via was half in shadow.

"You can't question the General!" he defended Silva quietly but resolutely. They'd been arguing in low tones for the last ten minutes, since she'd seen not only the siege rampart but the various bits of towery and machinery assembled—all designed to be pushed or hauled up the ramp and bombard Masada's gate. He went to take her arm but she shrugged him off angrily. Shooting a glare at him, she advised him curtly that she could walk without his assistance and don't worry, she was going inside as quick as she could as so to not get him into trouble for letting her out.

Trailing her into the tent, Gaius was slightly baffled at her anger, and tried to explain. This was war, didn't she see? General Silva was an extremely competent, capable, and determined Roman general, and nothing in the world could stand for long against such a terrific combination. The Rebellion must be completely annihilated once and for all, and this was the last piece of resistance. They couldn't just turn around and leave it. They'd be the laughing stock of the Empire. Of the civilised world! The general and his legion who marched out into the Judean desert only to be defeated by a bunch of religious lunatics and their women.

"And children!" she shot back. "How brave. A handful of crazy men, and their families. Stuff of legends that is." It really was, she reflected, but not for the Romans.

Exasperated, Gaius defaulted to, "Look, that's just the way it is! I don't expect you to understand."

She flung off the cloak he'd filched for her. "I understand better than you could possibly imagine. Career building, regional stabilisation, gaining resources. The rise and fall of the great Roman Empire, just like every other empire before and after it. Sure it's all conquering and triumphs now but wait till you've all gone mad from drinking water out of lead pipes!"

Open-mouthed, the young man stared at her as she sank onto the couch and turned sideways to draw her knees up to her chest, glaring at her feet. _Where did that come from?_ Despite his disconcertion, he found her display of emotion captivating. _She obviously has some strong feelings hidden away there!_

"I'm sorry," she went on after quite a few moments of silence. "I don't think anyone really goes mad from drinking water out of lead pipes. You say I'm composed! You'd think me crazy if I tried to explain. I'm just sick of this place, the dust and heat, the lack of sanitation, the food, this damn war. I don't belong here. I want to go home. And I hate hearing myself whinge like this! Who would have thought history would be so damned irritating?"

Wordlessly, he crossed the tent slowly and sank down to sit next to her on the couch.

"I'm not sorry—I mean, I'm sorry it's so horrible here for you. But I'm glad I've met you." _Because you are brave and pretty and so very interesting...._ "Um." He caught his breath then leaned over slightly to kiss her.

Gwyn was too astonished to even close her eyes. _Where the hell did that come from? Ohhh, that's why he's been staring at you. He likes you!_

He pulled back and they stared at each other for a second. She raised her fingertips to her mouth and brushed them gently against her bottom lip, as if to convince herself the sensation was real. His hand came up and caught hers, and he leaned in slowly again, whether to give her the chance to pull away or out of his own hesitation she didn't know, but her breath caught and her eyes closed...

_She is so soft!_ He couldn't help but wonder how soft other parts of her might be. Rubbing his thumb against her right palm he began to slide it slowly up onto her wrist and arm, pushing under the fabric of her dress. Gwyn shivered with... something—she wasn't sure quite whether it was excitement or nerves. She hadn't kissed many boys before; her social awkwardness in high school had resulted in only two dates. _No idea if I'm doing this right!_ She let her mouth open slightly and he seemed to take that as encouragement, placing his other hand on her leg.

Woah! OK, watch he doesn't get too frisky, you don't want to start something you can't finish!

She tensed and pushed his hand firmly off her leg, sitting up straight. He stared at her for a second, confused for a second but then the look on her face made him turn a beet red.

"Um, sorry, I shouldn't have done that! Um..." He looked a little mortified, but the eagerness in his eyes made her feel a little afraid. _Deep breath, Gwyn. It's ok._

She coughed to cover her embarrassment. "Uh, yes," she said. "You should always ask a lady if she'd like to be kissed." _Dammit I've gone bright red too, I can feel it!_ "And I don't think the general would think too well on it!" _Please let that be enough._ She was acutely aware how vulnerable she was at that moment, it wasn't exciting in a good way like those cheap romance novels made out.

"Yes, yes, um, you're right," he leapt up and made for the door as if the general was suddenly sitting in the room glaring at him. _You idiot! The general will neuter you if he finds out! Junilla would lecture you about respecting a woman. And besides, you're not a free man. Don't forget that!_ Pausing at the door, he turned and retraced his steps abruptly. Gwyn tensed, wary.

"Antonia," he began formally.

"Yes?" she put steel in her voice, endeavouring to warn him that bad things would happen should he make one wrong move.

"Antonia," he repeated, more quietly this time. "May I... May I kiss you?" _She can always say no... Or tell the general. But I don't think she'd do that._

_Oh man, what have I got myself into?_ She wondered. _I really would like to try it again, but... what if he doesn't stop?_

Do you want him to? You have to find out sooner or later...

Yes but I want that to be up to me... And seriously girl, there's enough bullshit in your own time about how and when women have sex. You really think that experimenting in this time is a good idea? Plus you might get pregnant or bloody well catch something!

"Perhaps later," she tried to sound aloof and disinterested, as though she were merely declining another glass of wine.

To her surprise he smiled and blushed again a little.

"I look forward to it," he said, and turned and left.

Surprised, she lay back on the couch and stared at the tent ceiling for some time. _Well I certainly didn't expect that._

"Auntie?"

"What!" the old woman snapped irritably. Adi shrank back into the doorway.

Sighing, Auntie turned and gestured the girl in impatiently. "Come now, I won't bite. What is it you want?"

Slowly she entered, bearing a bowl of soup. "I brought you something to eat, Auntie. You didn't eat at breakfast, nor noon. You need to eat." Even as she spoke the words she wondered why she bothered. She knew as well as the old lady that eating was probably pointless. The Romans had started their barrage with siege machinery, and despite the arrows, spears and rocks of the defenders, the invaders were relentless. Every day they battered the walls a little more, spreading their ballistic fire as if they knew how few men stood to fight and protect each section of the wall. The attack ramp built of earth and stones grew, however, and the target was clear: the western gate. It wouldn't be long until the Romans gained enough height to assault it directly.

Eleazar laughed in the face of the Roman assault. He mocked their efforts and exhorted the men to fight harder.

"A little more of this and they'll be scurrying back to their soft couches and gilded whores! Like waves breaking on a rock, they will founder and melt away. God is with us, brothers!"

One or two men had muttered, concerned that Jewish prisoners of war were being used to construct the ramp through slave labour. They suggested care should be taken when launching missiles from the walls, but their illustrious leader scoffed and decreed that any Jew who chose to assist their enemy was as good as dead. That they should have chosen death before allowing themselves to be Roman pawns. His theme of death before defeat had begun to resound in many of his speeches, but for now he still sounded confident that it wouldn't come to that; that they would fend off Silva and his troops and be victorious.

Auntie, on the other hand, had retreated into herself, not daring to undermine her nephew's authority. _But no longer convinced we can ride out this storm. I'm too old and too cynical and I've seen too much of war to believe in the fierce dreams of young men._

Secretly, Adi shared her doubts. She remembered Jerusalem. The similarities in situations began to seem more pronounced that the differences. But the other women in the household cast scornful looks and frowned disapprovingly if she dared voice any thoughts in that direction. Since Eleazar had basically ostracised his aging Aunt it had discredited her as matriarch, and gradually Elizabeth's rise could not be stopped until finally all of the others followed suit. _They ignore me as a panicky old woman, losing her wits._

Now she sat alone in a dark room. Adi was moved to pity her—despite her fierceness, the old woman was genuinely caring. But she seemed to have lost heart.

"Auntie, what's wrong?" she blurted out. "I mean, apart from the Romans and the siege and—" she felt too disrespectful bringing up Eleazar and Elizabeth's behaviour. She didn't want to rub Auntie's face in her loss of place in the household hierarchy.

"Apart from that? Oh nothing, everything is just peachy." The sarcasm dripped in the dark room, but her tone softened as she took the soup and began to slurp away quietly. "My girl, you have seen some terrible things in this war, and lost your entire family. I fear this family has been a poor substitute in caring for you."

"Oh no!" she didn't want herself to add to Auntie's burdens. "You've been kind to me! You made them wait when they wanted me to marry. You have looked out for me."

"Hmph. I fear kindness is not enough. You should not marry Joshua, he is not a good man. He will hit you and demand your obedience. A true marriage is built on respect, not blind deference. But I fear also that your wedding might never take place, if Masada falls."

There. It was out in the open now.

"You don't really think the Romans will prevail here too? Do you?" For all her bravado to Ruth several weeks ago, Adi knew the enemy was patient and perseverant, and she was losing hope fast.

"I pray to God they won't," Auntie's voice was suddenly tired and creaky. "But do you remember your young friend, who so mysteriously appeared to us with a vision."

"Joshua thinks she was a spy for the Romans," Adi mumbled. No one else had dared to mention Ruth since the rope was discovered at the eastern gate.

"Hmph. Perhaps. But why warn us of their coming? It only gave Eleazar time to prepare and fortify. And do you remember what she said? She spoke of fire and rivers of blood. Whose blood? The Romans? Perhaps. But fire—fire would undo us. Yes, the walls are made of stone but so many of the buildings and made of wood. The roofs are made of wood. Wood will burn and we will burn with it. What if her vision merely forewarned us of our end, and there is nothing we can do to stop it? If it is God's Will, then we shall indeed perish." _Perhaps I am damned for thinking it, but maybe God will find it in his wisdom to forgive a frightened old woman._

Adi shivered to hear her own thoughts vocalised.

"It might not happen..." she whispered.

Auntie stared at her soup. "I hope not, but I am old and I worry. Time will soon come where I place myself fully in God's hands and be judged. Until then I must try do what I think is right, even if others do not want to hear it. Your young life is still in my protection, as the other women in this household and their children, even Elizabeth. I do not think God would wish us to waste our lives needlessly."

_But what other fate might await us?_ Adi wondered. _Perhaps it would be better to die than be enslaved?_ She didn't really know.

Still, at the bottom of all her fear, a spark of anger lit. She wasn't ready to die just yet.

# EIGHTEEN

## 74 AD

Trumpets blew; short, sharp blasts that indicated another attack. While the Sicarii defended fiercely, as had the Jews in Jerusalem, they fell fast and hard, and no one stepped up to replace them. The ramp had reached its full height now, over seventy metres high. Silva's cleverness lay in listening to his engineers then deciding on how best to take advantage of the natural layout of the land. A rocky spur had formed the spine of artificial incline, now wide enough and of steady elevation so that a well-shielded siege tower could be hauled and pushed to the top. With that achieved, and shrugging off any missiles from above, the soldiers concentrated their battering ram on the main western gate, pounding day after day.

All the women and children had been completely moved from their living quarters on the eastern side up into the northern palace, slightly closer to the fighting but more defensible. The men had begun to construct an internal wall around the western palace, cutting that area off from the rest of the fortress. It was built from wood butchered from the surrounding buildings, then they heaped earth on it to compact and solidify their next line of defence.

Gwyn couldn't see this from where she stood, but the shouts and occasional screams of death and injury drifted down from the heights. Men scurried to and fro. They weren't so small as to be ants, like when she'd gazed down from the walls with Adi, but from this distance they thankfully still lacked individual features.

Crash!

Big Marcus was up there though, grunting with effort as he pulled on a rope to swing back the ram again. He'd had to watch Lucretius be carried off screaming, an arrow in his arm—a lucky shot by a defender on the wall. It reminded everyone working on the ram to stay under the fire- and missile-proof ceiling of the siege tower.

Crash!

Marcus was afraid for his friend—he only hoped the injury wasn't fatal and it would exempt Lucretius from further active service. They were so close to being able to go home. Just this last wasps' nest to smoke out.

Crash!

The only problem with trying to kill wasps was that they still could sting you.

Crash!

"Smoke the bastards out!" he swore in his deep voice and the ram was swung back again.

Crash!

"You fuckers won't sting us again!" He—and every other soldier in sight—was sweating profusely.

Crash!

"Three more then change!" Drusus roared the command. A relief contubernium was charging up under the cover of shields, ready to take over the ram.

Crash!

"Put your backs into it, you sons of whores!"

Crash!

"One more, you lazy pricks!"

CRASH!

The changeover was as quick and efficient as could be, despite the exhaustion of the former group and the nervousness of the latter. But the centurion soon had a rhythm established and the battering continued.

Big Marcus was exhausted but didn't dare relax as he and his comrades formed up and raised shields. An orderly march was set to start when the centurion put out a hand and stopped him.

"What did you say in their soldier?"

"Sir?" He was so tired he didn't understand the question.

"About smoke! What did you say?"

"Yes, sir! They're like wasps, sir. They sting, but the only way to kill them is smoke them out of their nest. Sir," he added belatedly in a weary and mournful voice.

"Hmmph. Very well. Form up!" he roared. The contubernium tightened in formation and locked shields above heads, except for the last two men, who held theirs behind to protect the rear.

"March!" They left the protection of the siege tower. Drusus turned back to the new group, berating them for slackening the pace while his attention had been turned.

Smoke them out...

"Sir." The centurion's voice was quiet, but caught Silva's attention all the same. He had just dismissed various tribunes and was looking forward to reaching his tent for a bath and a meal. It had been a long day. But, then, every day for the last several weeks had been a long day. He'd moved around constantly, inspecting and issuing orders regarding the construction of the ramp, the assembly of the siege tower, and deployment of the ballistae, and of course, the finishing touches on the circumvallation wall and its associated defences. By no means a couch-general, Lucius Flavius Silva was much admired by his men for his active involvement in the day-to-day running of his legion. No tribune would ever run rings around him, that was for sure.

It wore him down, though, and he felt the need to compose a letter to his wife to straighten out his thoughts about what to do next. That the Sicarii were penned in, there was no doubt, but he knew that despite their scare numbers they held a position of immense strength by dint of geography, and he might batter his forces against those walls only to see them founder.

"Yes, Drusus," he turned and gestured the centurion to walk with him. "What is it?"

The man was quiet a moment, then spoke in a low murmur. "The ram is wearing down the gate, sir, but it is taking a toll. We lost half a dozen men today from arrows and even stones slung from the walls. I can order more up there, but it is affecting the men's morale. We will break through, but when that happens there will be a pitched battle in a narrow gap, fought by men who are tired and may be easily repulsed by the Jews who have the advantage still."

The general nodded. "This is known to me. Do you have some suggestion for evening up the odds, centurion?" They had reached the tent door and stood there a moment, each man looking back up towards the fortress, where torches burned like fireflies in the distance. Night had well and truly fallen, and fighting had ceased for the day.

"Perhaps." It was typical of the professional soldier to be frugal with his words. Sighing, the general gestured the officer to follow him inside.

"Gaius!" he called. "Bring wine!" He looked about the tent. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He'd ordered a small annex be added to the tent for her to bathe and sleep. He still didn't know quite what to do with her—he was loathe to send her away when it was clear to him the fates or gods had placed her so firmly in his care. Best keep her close to him, where his presence could protect her from Romans and Jews alike. He vowed silently to never let his daughter travel without a massive retinue of servants and bodyguards, and wondered at the idiocy of the girl's merchant father to permit her to accompany him on such a journey to foreign lands. Mind you, with all the upheaval in Rome over the last few years, perhaps the man had deemed the East safer than leaving his daughter in a city where Nero's thugs or rioting crowds might have gotten at her.

He sat not on a couch (time for that when he was clean and ready to relax) but at his desk, indicating the centurion should also be seated. His attendant appeared quickly with a pitcher of wine and poured, watering both cups as his master indicated. Clear heads were required.

"Gaius, where is the girl?" Silva inquired.

"Sir, I believe she is reading," the young man answered. He knew for a fact she was actually bathing quickly in her annexe (he'd brought the water, after all), but he didn't want to say that in front of what he considered to be two crusty old men. _Jupiter knows what thoughts they might have!_ Gaius found his own thoughts on that matter vivid enough—he certainly didn't want to be responsible for heart attacks in his superior officers if they had similar thoughts!

Had they been able to read said thoughts, Silva would have been indignant (he was not a lewd man, and considered his thoughts towards the girl paternal), while Drusus would have been gruffly amused at the boy's consideration that he, a centurion in the prime of his life, was old! He would have shaken his head at the arrogance of youth, but also would have noted Gaius' protectiveness of the girl, and deliberated whether or not it was an asset or a weakness.

"Tell her to bathe and dress to join me for dinner," the paternal one instructed. "I have been busy with important matters, but I have not forgotten her. Also advise the kitchen I will eat in half an hour or so."

Turning back to Drusus, Silva leaned back in his chair.

"Well then?"

Drusus watched Gaius disappear out the tent, then leaned forward.

"Something one of my men said caught my imagination, sir. It was about wasps' nests, and using fire to smoke them out. Fire might be the leveller we need up there. It causes panic and traps people. We'll control the exit, should there be need to retreat, but it's possible we can burn them out."

The great man nodded slowly. "I wasn't aware you had much imagination, Drusus, but apparently you use it to good effect. How do you propose we set fire to this Jewish fortress? There is a lot of stone up there. They are a disciplined lot, no matter what we might like to think, and they'll be quick to quell any flames."

Drusus continued, undeterred. "Still plenty of wood to burn, and fire doesn't burn down, only up. We launch flaming arrows as soon as we breach the gate, aiming behind the defenders. Suddenly they'll have to decide which is more dangerous, the enemy at their front or the flames at their rear. They won't respond coherently at first, and that will be our moment to push in. Once we get sufficient men inside the walls we can spread out and will be harder to pin down. We'll control the gate. It won't take long for them to see the situation is hopeless and surrender."

Silva stared at the maps weighed out on his desk. The immediately surrounding area had been charted by scouts upon arrival in the area, but a smaller scale map showed the region of the East. Judea took a decent size bite of this land, strengthening the land corridor between Egypt and Syria and allowing better control of Nabatea—which buffered the empire from warring desert tribes. Establishing firm control over Judea was his directive from Vespasian himself. A prolonged siege in the desert opened his governance of the realm up for a reawakening of rebellion at his back. Ongoing defiance from these maniacal Jews weakened his authority, not to mention his _dignitas._

He sat back and looked at this reliable officer of his. "It's a good plan, Drusus. Where would I be without men like you in my army? I mean to clean this up swiftly, and everything you say has merit. I will deliberate upon it and decide when to best implement our attack. It will be soon."

Nodding at this dismissal, the centurion drained his wine and rose. "Just doing my duty, sir. I'm proud to serve a good general, and our Emperor deserves our best."

"This one does, anyway," Silva joked. Both men were utterly Flavian supporters to the bone. Their legion had declared Vespasian Emperor, and had faith in him not only as a military leader, but a political one as well. The previous incumbents—Nero, Galba, Otho, and Vitellus—were corrupt, violent, and tyrannical; bankrupting Rome and perpetuating a reign of terror. Vespasian was fresh blood, sensible and endowed already with two grown male heirs, promising stability. He was also notorious for being tight-fisted, which bode well for a crippled imperial treasury that literally couldn't afford any more debauched or excessive Emperors.

After Drusus left, Silva attended to his own ablutions. Gaius knew his general preferred to wash off the dust of the day before dining, even when on campaign, so lukewarm water awaited him in a small hip bath inside his private chambers. A long soak was impossible, and he looked forward to returning to more civilised haunts equipped with extensive bath houses. Not to mention well trained slaves to operate strigils and massage the knots out of his tense shoulders. Still, Gaius was on hand to shave him and lay out a clean tunic. There was no way he was going to wear a toga when he didn't have real company—a girl didn't count. He wasn't that much of a traditionalist.

Gwyn was waiting quietly in the main room of the tent when he walked back in. She had improved in appearance a great deal since her precipitous arrival late that night several weeks ago, wearing filthy rags and exhausted. She was well scrubbed now, and had put on a little bit of weight, though the dark blue gown she wore was too big. Overall it contributed to the impression that she was still very young.

He halted and looked her over, wishing for a second his wife was here to advise him. There hadn't been any trouble with her in the time she'd been at the camp, for which he was grateful as it reinforced his belief that keeping her here was the safest and correct thing to do. Gaius had reported that she'd kept to the tent, occupying herself with scrolls (fortunately Silva himself was an avid reader and he while he didn't believe in over-educating women, a girl who read a lot was the least of his worries here). If she'd been like his daughter, Flavia—whom he loved dearly, but in whom he recognised a propensity for flirtation even at such a young age—he would have been at his wits end to keep her away from his officers who reported to him here. His unexpected charge seemed to be a solitary soul, and Gaius had not mentioned any difficultly in supervising her.

Gwyn, for her part, was surreptitiously examining General Silva from a half-lowered gaze. Stocky, clean shaven, and with a fantastically Roman beak of a nose, he seemed as stolid and dull as when she'd first met him. From what she'd seen of the camp, the circumvallation wall, the ramp, and the siege weaponry, he embodied typical Roman qualities: he was methodical, logical, and thorough. _And pretty boring._ What she'd just overhead from her annex, however, made her realise how completely and utterly she needed to get the hell out of here. _The end for Masada is near_. _I have to try get to En Gedi before he finishes up here and marches everyone_ back _to Jerusalem._

Silva broached the silence just as Gaius re-entered the tent, bearing trays of food.

"Please sit down, Antonia," gesturing a couch. "I know some people don't hold with women eating on couches, but this is an informal setting, and I am not going to hold to old-fashioned conventions in my own army when it doesn't suit me. Gaius, some wine."

The young man watered hers especially, of which he approved. He had placed a great deal of trust in his slave, beyond the usual a general placed in the one responsible for his most personal effects. He suspected that Gaius, quite an attractive youth, might have an inclination for other men anyway, which wouldn't be unusual in the army but certainly wasn't encouraged. _This isn't Greece, after all!_ Aside from that he simply had no one else he could spare for what were effectively babysitting duties. He watched as Gwyn politely thanked Gaius for pouring, and was pleased to notice they didn't appear overly-familiar.

"Antonia, I know this has been a difficult time for you, with the loss of your family and imprisonment by the Sicarii. I feel quite a responsibility towards your well-being since you have fallen into my care. I hope to have concluded this business in the next few weeks and we shall then proceed back to Jerusalem, whereby arrangements can be made for your return to Rome if that is what your family wish for you."

"Thank you, sir." _Gosh, he is pompous_. _Well meaning, I suppose—and better that he is patronising as opposed to a pervert._ "I appreciate you keeping me safe here. It has been... most educational."

The older man raised his rather bushy eyebrows. "That is an interesting way of putting it. Most girls would find this all rather traumatic. I must say if you were my daughter, she would have had a tantrum by now, demanding I send her home with a full military escort. Or at least throw a party for my officers so she wasn't so bored. But she is rather spoilt and a little silly," he half-smiled affectionately. He clearly loved his silly, spoilt daughter.

"How old is she, your daughter?" She followed his lead and started on her meal. It was strange to be reminded in this world of military men that they had families and homes and little eccentricities.

"She is a few years younger than you, I think. You are fifteen? Sixteen?" He hadn't bothered to ask in his initial interrogation of her because it was irrelevant.

"Uh, nineteen, actually." She wasn't indignant—it served her purpose to be seen as young, innocent, and guileless. She also found it amusing to think of how many of her contemporaries from uni tried to look older than their years—she saw no purpose in that. The few times she'd been out clubbing she'd had to show ID as a matter of course, but she'd never tried to get in anywhere before she'd become an adult. _Too shy to be in that party scene_. Maybe the General was bad at guessing ages? She had no idea how old she looked based on the glimpses she garnered from Silva's bronze mirror (it was too blurry for that) but she felt a thousand years older since she'd been catapulted into this time.

"Oh," he looked at her properly for once. He saw a short, dark haired girl who could use a bit more weight, hair pulled back in a slightly mussed knot. Nothing really like Flavia except for the height and hair colour. His daughter was always immaculate, hair curled and pinned attractively, and she was far plumper; always bouncing around in cheery moods or pouts depending on whether she had got her way or not. His current wife had instilled some sense of discipline and duty, but Flavia had spent too long growing up with her socialite aunts while he'd mourned his first wife and built his military career before he'd remarried.

This girl in front of him, however, was serious and intelligent. To regard this entire experience as educational spoke of strength of character he'd not expected in one so young. He wondered if she and his wife would get along—perhaps he'd enquire into her situation back in Rome and see if something couldn't be done for her, now that she was fatherless. Her cousins might not be in a position to support her, and his success over here in Judea meant that he would be affluent enough to at least point her in the direction of an appropriate husband. It was the least he could do to repay her for the inside information on Masada.

"Sir," she was speaking again. "I know you said you couldn't spare an escort, but surely with the siege so nearly concluded you could look towards sending me north, back to Jerusalem? I feel I am a burden here."

"Oh no! I wouldn't hear of such a thing!" He was emphatic. "You are far safer staying under my immediate protection with a legion of Rome's best soldiers surrounding you. We might have subdued Judea, but brigands and other ruffians would still not hesitate to carry you off or murder you. I think you have suffered enough!"

It was hard for her not to show her frustration. She was grateful for his kind treatment but she was also utterly dependant on his word to leave this place. She didn't want to be stuck here forever, and lately she'd been having vivid dreams about returning to En Gedi and reversing the time travel. She hoped it was the pocket watch guiding her back and not just her subconscious projecting her hopes into her sleep. She noticed over the past few days the spiral pattern on her palm seemed to be shrinking a lot faster. _I'm sure I'm running out of time, ironic as that may sound._ Again she wondered if it indicated a limit of how long she would stay in this time or if the battery was simply running out. That frightened her more than anything. _If this thing has no power, then I really will be stuck here until I die. And there are a lot of nasty ways to die in this day and age!_ She couldn't help but glance at Gaius though.

_Would it be so terrible if you were stuck here? There are some positives, surely?_ She quashed that thought. She couldn't afford to get too attached or she might lose the nerve to try to escape.

Unaware of her internal conflict, Silva considered the discussion closed and moved on to ask her about what she was reading. She purported that Herodotus was imaginative, but not methodical in his historical researches.

"He shouldn't have written stuff down and call it history without at least attempting to verify it," she argued, and the older man was astonished to find himself enjoying a debate about genres, and whether it was up to the author or the reader to denote something as fiction or non-fiction. It didn't take long, though, for him to tire of the discussion and dismiss Gwyn without much further thought.

When he had retired for the night, Gwyn lay on a mat in her annex thinking hard. _The General won't let me walk out of here. Can I convince Gaius to help me? How? Steal a mule and ride with me to a random village and... what? Perform some sort of magic spell to make this damn thing work?_ She punched her right fist gently into her left palm, tapping her knuckles on the embedded metal.

_Maybe I can just convince him to disobey the General and let me try escape alone from the camp?_ She wondered how far she would get before another Roman scout captured her.

_Gaius is too loyal to his master to even consider that, let alone deserting,_ she sighed. _What would I have to do to try convince him? Seduce him?_ She did quite like him, she realised, but while she wasn't super-romantic about losing her virginity, she didn't particularly fancy a cold, calculated first time in the tent behind the general's back. It also infuriated her that the most feasible option was the ' _c_ unning woman entraps man through sex' scenario. _No wonder it's a damn stereotype throughout the ages that women are sneaky and manipulative. They aren't given much choice!_ She sighed and rolled over. _Still, I don't want that to be me. There has to be another way._

She lay awake for something wondering, though, what it might be like.

# NINETEEN

## 2011 AD

A friendly tour bus operator felt sorry for the foreign lady who had, by all accounts, been left behind by her own tour group as Masada.

"I'm so terribly sorry, I really don't want to inconvenience anybody—I simply can't imagine how they must have forgotten me! Ridiculous, really. Spend five minutes too long taking photographs, turn around and—whoosh! Off drives your bus with the rest of the group! Absolutely ridiculous!"

After assuring her that, yes, his bus also was headed to En Gedi, he offered her the lift partly out of pity (knowing the public transport in the area was infrequent to none) and partly to shut her up. That seemed to work, though she spent the next twenty minutes muttering quietly out the window. He caught "utterly ridiculous" several times and promptly tuned out.

"Thank you, thank you very much!" she was off like a shot as soon as they arrived at the oasis. Rolling his eyes, he returned his attention to his own tour group who flocked around him like little lambs (some milling near him expectantly, others already drifting off erratically). They were excited to be visiting the lowest place on Earth and ready to bathe in the Dead Sea.

Michelle walked purposefully, but looked about intently as she strode down to the public beach from the oasis car park. She was searching hard for the girl who had picked up her chronokinetor. It was difficult to examine people once they'd changed into bathing suits and were either covered in black mud or floating horizontally in the shallow water. Finally she spotted the two younger teenagers—the ones who'd passed her first. They were cackling and throwing mud at each other while their father admonished them. The mother was chatting to another group of tourists.

But where was the girl? She didn't appear to be swimming, nor mud-bathing. Was it possible she wasn't part of this family after all?

Michelle kept moving, not wanting to attract attention. She was feeling better now she was away from Masada and her multiple selves jumping through time.

_Not in the water, not on the beach. Maybe getting changed?_ Abruptly she whirled and made for the women's change rooms. Once inside, she saw that they were hardly extensive (only two rooms) and no one was in the first. She supposed it was lunchtime so anyone not bathing might be up in the restaurant near here.

Then a sound—so minute as to have been imagined—sent her head spinning in the direction of the back room. It was what had given her warning that she was about to be attacked. Most people couldn't hear it—it had been hypothesised that it really existed on the subconscious level—a blurry, distant roar, like the sound a big ocean wave made as it hissed across a sandy beach, but from far, far away.

It was the sound of time travel.

Even rarer was Michelle's ability to detect the difference between incoming and outgoing time jumps. She didn't know of anyone else who had it, but then there weren't enough Agents to be able to say that it wasn't there in others. She'd tried to explain it to the scientists at the Agency, it was like the difference between the wave coming in and then going out. Most of them had never been out of Vivaldis Central, let alone to an isolated ocean retreat. Waves and beaches were something that happened in holocasts and stories.

The sound of this wave was the retreating kind—someone was leaving this time zone.

Abandoning all attempts at quiet, she hurtled around the corner into the back change room—only to see a fading blue haze with the figure of a startled girl outlined in it.

"Shit!"

_How the hell did she manage to activate it? It should be tuned to me! And when the hell has she gone!? Argh!_ Spitting with fury that she'd been so close to her goal, only to have it spirited away from her, Michelle thumped the wall hard.

"Ow!" she cradled her fist, even more angry at herself that she'd lost her temper.

Right. Focus. When could she have gone?

A strange sense of foreboding crept over her. She thought about her primary mission.

Go to the siege of Masada. Make sure the Romans prevail quickly. If the Romans spent too long subduing the last pocket of resistance then other rebels would take heart from Masada's defiance and regroup to cause havoc. Being forced to continue to quell insurgents would undermine Vespasian's rule and leave Rome unable to solidify their foothold on the eastern edge of the Mediterranean. Thus the future of the Empire and future Western Civilisation would be jeopardised. As biased as that sounded, it was Western twentieth century technology that launched humanity off the planet and into space. If that did not take place at that critical juncture, they wouldn't have been advanced enough to be welcomed into the Allied Planets. And if that didn't happen... Well, let's just say she'd been sworn to top-level secrecy, and understood the importance of this mission, which is why she needed this particular chronokinetor to undertake it. Small time jumps were just too inefficient, too much could go wrong with an agent.

So while it seemed highly unlikely, it was still possible that the pre-programmed destination in time had somehow, incredibly, been activated by this dumb girl, and she'd gone back in time to Masada, 74 AD.

Michelle took a deep breath, cricked her neck and composed herself. She took out her own timepiece and set it to starting jumping.

Flick!

# TWENTY

## 74 AD

"Gaius."

"Yes?" he smiled as he looked up at her, mending yet another article of the General's gear. Tunics, boots, armour—Silva was not a vain man but took pride in being well-presented, so the lad always had something to clean or repair.

It was mid-morning; Silva was out inspecting the goings on of the siege, which seemed to be progressing quickly. As un-dramatic as it was, she'd specifically chosen this time as opposed to the cover of darkness. She wasn't going to invite speculation and misinterpretation. This morning was like any other—she read in the tent while Gaius attended to his various chores.

Except this morning she had a particular agenda. But it didn't help when he smiled like that at her. She really quite liked him, but she knew she simply couldn't afford to get romantically entangled with someone who'd died two millennia before she'd even been born. _Come on, just spit it out._

"Gaius, I need your help. I don't have anyone else I can trust. Only you." _Laying it on too thick? Maybe._ She had to appeal to his friendship if she was to have any hope of succeeding in this escape plan.

The young Roman frowned and looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong?"

She exhaled through her nose. "I need to leave the camp—yes, I know I'm not allowed to! But I think it might be my only hope of getting home. Please just listen for a moment."

He continued to frown, but subsided and listened.

"Gaius, I'm not from here. Don't laugh, I know, neither are you. But... I'm not from here or now. I don't belong here. Let me explain.

"Imagine, for a moment, that you'd discovered some magic that took you back to the Age of Heroes. Hercules, Perseus, Jason and the Argonauts. They are all alive and battling monsters and winning names for themselves.

"There they are, fighting with swords of bronze and shields of hide and thinking that Greece is the whole world. How do you, a modern Roman, explain things like steel and aqueducts? Or tell them that places like Gaul and Britannia are real and conquerable? Back when all you had to do to be a king was to own an island like Odysseus?"

A small smile twisted his lips as he nodded, appreciating the story. "They'd think I was mad. Or a seer. Or a mad seer."

"Exactly. Rome was just a cluster of seven hills back then. How could you make them believe that one day it would build an empire that stretched from Africa to Germania? You couldn't!"

"No, you couldn't," he agreed.

She sighed and looked mournful. "So you can understand how hard it is for me to try tell you that I'm not from this time... That the world is so much bigger than you can possibly imagine. That you'll be dead and buried... or burned, almost two thousand years before I am even born... The Jews in Masada will commit mass suicide before surrendering to Rome. Emperor Vespasian will be succeeded briefly by Titus, then Domitian, who will prove to be a paranoid and vicious ruler just like Nero. His wife will murder him. There'll be other Emperors after him who will expand the Empire incredibly. Rome will have several centuries before its ultimate decline and fall, Europe will descend into the Dark Ages, Christianity will rise and dominate society in a thousand years' time. The world will undergo such incredible changes so as to be unrecognisable in the time I am from... But I have to get back to that time. I don't belong here."

He stared, open-mouthed. His forehead crinkled. "Have you been drinking?" he asked at last.

_If I didn't dislike the taste so much, I think I would!_ Fortunately she had expected such a reaction. "No, I have not been drinking. You've been with me since breakfast, how could I have been? I know it sounds crazy. I thought I was going mad when I first got here. But remember—try to explain to Jason that his voyage for the Golden Fleece only took place in a tiny part of the Aegean and the Black Sea? That the Mediterranean is so much bigger than that! You wouldn't be able to prove it to him, he'd just have to trust you."

Please just believe me.

He huffed in confusion, looking hard at her before standing up and pacing the tent. _Just when I think I know what she's like, she comes out with something so different!_ He spun around to look at her.

"Maybe you have a fever. Or maybe you've eaten something to make you, um, well, hallucinate?" _What could she have eaten to make her hallucinate? Now you sound like the crazy one._

She just nodded solemnly. "Those are all excellent points. You are welcome to monitor me over the next few days to ascertain my physical and mental health." _Calm and logical. How Roman._ He frowned a little in annoyance at her composure. It would have been easier to dismiss her if she'd been ranting.

"Either way, in the highly unlikely event that you are not out of your mind, there is no way I'm going to help you leave the camp! General Silva put you under my protection and you need to be kept safe! There is nowhere safer than a general's tent surrounding by the best Roman legion in the world!" _And near me..._

Gwyn slumped. "Yes, okay, I know. But if I don't try get back to where I'm from, I think I'll be stuck here forever. The only way I can think of to get back is to return to the place I first came through, at En Gedi."

"What's En Gedi?" He was disheartened to see her so disconsolate. _I wonder if I should put an arm around her to comfort her..._

"It's a village north of here, on the shore of the Dead Sea. I was there with my family in my time when this device somehow sent me back in time." She waved her left palm towards him, cradling her face with her right hand, rubbing her eyes.

He peered at the pocket watch, embedded into her hand.

"What is that? It looks like a pattern but..." He reached out gently and touched the device, feeling the demarcation between metal and skin. "How did this metal get into your skin?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "It happened when it sent me back in time. Kinda burned into my skin, but it doesn't hurt. But this spiral pattern used to be much bigger. It's like it's winding down. I think I'm running out of time."

He sat down next to her, holding her hand. Her pulse quickened and she fought the distraction that his touch encouraged.

"I don't know, it seems pretty far-fetched," he said, shaking his head.

"Tell me about it. If it were the other way around, I'd think me crazy too." She sighed.

They sat in silence for a while.

"Titus really doesn't last? His brother is a weasel."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"How long will he rule for?"

"I don't know exactly. Quite a few years I think. I haven't studied more than a semester of Roman history."

He contemplated this. "You've studied Rome? For history? But wait—you said the Empire would decline and fall—why?"

"Lots of reasons. Overstretched resources. External attacks, internal dissent. But many, many years from now. It'll be long after you're dead."

A longer silence.

"Christianity? Seriously? I've seen a few of those whack jobs since I've come to Judea. They think there is only one god and have some other really weird ideas."

She snorted a half-laugh. "Yeah... They think a lot of other stuff that is pretty crazy. It gets better... Eventually." _I suppose. Gets a lot worse first._

He sighed. "I just don't know. Even if it's all true, I'd be flogged at the very least for disobeying the General." _Yes, he might not be allowed to legally crucify me, but in the army a general's word is law and if he had an inkling of what has gone on in this tent..._ He'd taken enough risks because of his attraction to this girl, though he couldn't seem to help himself.

_You can't ask this of him,_ Gwyn sighed. "I understand." She did, actually. _Oh well, it was worth a shot._ She squeezed his hand, and it seemed to send a jolt between them.

He'd obviously felt it too. Raising his eyebrows in slight question. "May I...?"

_Oh well, might as well._ "Alright," she whispered, a smile ghosted across her face, her heart beginning to race, "Just once."

Her lips tingled where his met hers. The kiss only lasted five seconds but when he pulled back she let her curiosity and excitement shove the thinking part of her brain to the back and she leaned in to kiss him again. Once became twice, then more, as she moved her hand to the back of his neck, enjoying the feel of his hair in her fingers. He reached for her waist and the thrill of being touched there made her shiver. She'd had plenty of time to think about it since his first, surprise kiss, and the anticipation meant that she didn't recoil or react with fright like she had the first time. _Plus he did ask this time, and I said yes._ She smiled inwardly. A warm sensation had started to rise between her legs and she guessed by the hardness pressing against her thigh that a similar effect was happening to him.

_This wasn't part of your plan!_ An annoyed voice sounded tinny in her mind. _What happened to not pandering to stereotypes!_

_Yeah, yeah, I know, but... He's already said he can't help me! I'm not trying to change his mind, I just want to find out what this feels like!_ Oh to not have an agenda—she couldn't help but wonder at her real motives.

"Gaius," she muttered breathily. _Oh wow, his hand is getting closer to my, to my..._ Tell him to stop? But she really did want to know what it would feel like when he reached...

"Mmm?" He was kissing her neck now—his left hand had dropped to her waist and was continued its inwards towards her groin. _So close..._

"No." She pulled back with a slight gasp and grabbed his hand in hers. "I can't, I'm sorry. You have no idea how much I want to, but I just can't."

He stared at her, breathless himself, eyes searching her face. _You want to but you can't? What does that mean?_ Heart sinking and acutely aware of the arousal under his tunic, he didn't know what to say. He knew he could force himself on her physically, but the thought of it made him shudder mentally. _I am not one of those men._ He took a deep breath and sat back, gently disentangling his fingers from hers and putting several inches of couch between them.

Gwyn tried to smile to take the sting out of the situation, but failed. _Yep, he is as disappointed as me, I bet._ "Gaius I really, really like you," she said, "but I can't stay here. I just don't belong here. And as much as I want to, well, you know... I don't want you to think it was to try manipulate you into helping me get away from here."

He looked at her incredulously. _Maybe I don't mind being manipulated?_ "You really believe it, don't you? That you're from the future?"

"It's the truth," she replied simply.

## 1911 AD

At her fastest, Michelle could manage a two year time jump every five seconds. That was time to jump, check and reset the time piece. Jump again.

One thousand, nine hundred and thirty-five years to jump: that meant nine hundred and sixty-eight jumps, which in turn meant four thousand, eight hundred and forty seconds of straight time jumping. That was a little over eighty minutes in total.

But no one, not even the Time Space Agency's best Agent to date, could manage that. One hundred years straight was the most she could manage on this homemade chronokinetor.

"Piece of shite," she muttered as she halted in 1911. She always picked the early hours of the morning to stop if she was uncertain about the terrain, so to speak. Fewer people to see her.

She spent twenty or so minutes stretching and breathing meditatively, overcoming her irritation. Then she focussed and began another fifty jumps.

By the fourteenth century she had to stop. Although, relatively speaking, not a whole lot of time had passed for her personally, it was exhausting. One's body was trying to adjust to all sorts of environmental factors, slight atmospheric changes, magnetic shifts in the Earth's field—it was like old-fashioned jet lag, but far worse.

Fortunately one of the other handy items she'd picked up on her way back from Vivaldis was a cute little device that projected an electronic field in a three metre radius. Not quite a force field, not in the sense that spaceships with their massive power sources had them to deflect space debris, but sufficient to obscure anything inside the field and cause a sharp shock to anything outside that touched it. It could be breached, but at least it provided some protection and would alert her out of even the deepest sleep. She'd walked herself one kilometre away from the oasis, trusting to the natural isolation of the area, and rolled herself up in a twenty-second century space blanket, and went to sleep.

# TWENTY-ONE

## 74 AD

Gaius didn't bring up their conversation or their encounter in the following days, and neither did she, but she sure spent a lot of time thinking about it and she was certain that he did too. She'd realised that despite her best efforts as explanation, she couldn't expect any help from that quarter. She would give him no cause for suspicion, but she knew she'd have to go it alone. The spiral had almost run out.

And there was no better time than tonight. The Roman forces had come so close to breaching the wall today, and Silva had decided that at dawn, they'd make the push.

With them so distracted, they'd scarcely be concerned with her whereabouts. She'd taken precautions the whole time she'd been in the Roman camp, secreting bits of food and managing to swipe a water skin. The day after she'd arrived they'd constructed a small annexe to the tent so she didn't have to sleep on the couch, and she managed to hide these pieces under her sleeping mat and some cushions. She estimated she had been at least two to three weeks living in Masada, and a further three to four amongst the Romans. With the amount left on the shrinking spiral, she supposed eight weeks or two months was the timeframe allocated—she still didn't know if that was battery life or countdown, but she was going to find out very, very soon.

So come nightfall, she ate her supper quietly in her annexe while Silva spent his evening in intense final discussions with his officers. She tipped her well-watered wine into the skin and wrapped cheese, bread, dates and olives in some cloth that she'd torn from an under-panel of the dress she wore. She pretended to be asleep when Gaius came to clear her meal and bid her goodnight, staying still and feigning deep breathing even as she felt him stand and watch her for some time. _I wish this was a stupid romance novel sometimes, where the guy declares his feelings for the heroine and they make out passionately. Maybe then I would stop tossing and turning and wondering what I've missed out on!_

The more steely part of her had considered cracking him over the head with a metal wine goblet and stealing his uniform, but she knew that she had no skill at incapacitating people with a single blow, and she'd either end up killing him if she hit too hard, or simply alert him all too obviously that she was making a break for it. No, she'd have to find some way over the palisade and across the ditch herself.

Finally the camp fell quiet, or as quiet as could be expected. Animals shifted in their pickets, while hundreds of men slept, talked quietly, went to the latrine, watched as sentries. It was the sentries that she was mainly concerned with, but she didn't want to run into some random soldier taking a leak either, so she was silent and cautious as she wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and crept quietly out the side of the tent flap she had loosened.

She'd be observant that day Gaius had taken her for a walk around the camp to see the siege ramp. She'd seen defensive ditches and outward-facing wooden spikes around the perimeter, and taken her bearings as to which way was north (that was easy enough,- she knew the ramp ran up the western face of Masada). She'd also made a point of standing outside with him at night—to see the stars, she'd said, but in actual fact noting the phases of the moon. It had been a gibbous moon the night she'd scrambled down the Snake Path, and she'd needed every photon to avoid plunging to her death over a cliff. Tonight was a crescent moon, which was good and bad. Bad because she'd need the light later and it wasn't really sufficient, but good because at least it wasn't shining brightly down upon her either as she crept through the camp.

Ducking through shadows and watching carefully for tent ropes, she carefully made her way away from the plateau which loomed at her back, aiming for the north western corner of the square encampment. Sentries stood guard at each end of the Via which ran north to south, others at the east to west. Her heart seemed to stop several times as a soldier stumbled past in the dark, but no one spotted her and she slowly advanced towards the ten foot high wall.

There was a significant gap between the last row of tents and the wall, offering her no cover, so she crouched in the darkness considering her next move. It was a lot higher than she could jump, she'd need something to step on. And those sharpened points would not offer any forgiveness if she slipped.

She was so intent that she didn't notice the hand coming round to cover her mouth until the last second.

"Mmmph!" she squirmed and thrashed backwards, elbowing her attacker in the ribs.

"Antonia!" The whisper was half-choked. "It's me!"

She stopped and relaxed the fingers she'd been about to try to gouge into eyeballs. The hand on her mouth released and she turned.

"Gaius? What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

"What in Hades are _you_ doing here? Were you about to try climb that wall? Are you crazy?"

"Enough with the crazy!" she breathed furiously. She looked about anxiously, concerned someone would overhear. She leaned in close. "I _told_ you, I have to get back to En Gedi. I have to go tonight because by tomorrow, almost all the Jews in Masada will be dead and Silva will be finished here. I have to go tonight."

He looked at her, gaze unreadable in the darkness.

She sighed. "Please, I don't want to get you in trouble. Just help me get over that wall and I'll be out of your hair. I can walk to En Gedi by dawn, I expect, it's about thirteen Roman miles." She remembered the drive with her family not taking much time at all, maybe twenty minutes, so she guessed it to be about twenty kilometres. Average walking speed of five kilometres an hour, slow it down because of the dark, add in rests... she estimated dawn to be an achievable target. Determination would lend her stamina, she hoped.

"Gaius?" she prompted when he didn't say anything. "Trade you a boost over the wall for kiss?" she tried to inject some humour; truth was, she was getting desperate and she had a feeling he was about to march her to right back to Silva.

Finally he laughed ever so quietly. "I must be the crazy one. You have some nerve. You escaped an impregnable fortress, climbing down that death trap of a path in the dark. Now you want to jump over a sharpened, ten-foot high wall, crawl through a ditch full of spikes and walk thirteen miles—in the dark!—to a village on the edge of a salty lake in the hope that your magical amulet will take you back into the future!"

"Sshh," she shushed him anxiously as his voice rose somewhat, but her heart leapt with hope. "Does this mean you'll boost me over the wall?"

He smiled—she could see his teeth shining in the moonlight—and leaned in slowly, carefully, raising her chin with a callused hand. Hope danced with excitement in her heart as he kissed her gently, then he straightened up and grinned again.

"I must be the crazy one. I'll do better than that," he said. "I'll get you there."

_Hmm, this isn't exactly what I had in mind as a disguise._ She tried to hide her grimace and tweaked her dress to show a little more cleavage. Her cloak hung impractically over her shoulders and she'd teased her hair out, flipping it over her shoulders in what she hoped was a suggestive manner.

Gaius was grinning like an idiot beside her as they waltzed up to the north gate, she hanging off his arm and giving her best attempt at a simper. _Ugh, this is so pathetic._ _Give me spikes and ditches over this any day..._

"Going somewhere?" the sentry smirked as he toyed with his spear. All sorts of innuendo ran through her mind and she tried not to roll her eyes.

Gaius puffed his chest out somewhat. "Got to escort this lovely lady back to her sisters before they miss her! She's had a busy night, entertaining certain high-ups!"

The other sentry joined in with the guffaw at the double entendre.

"She going to make a man out of you before she finishes for the night? We are going into battle tomorrow, after all!" Winks and nods passed and Gaius just grinned all the wider.

Giggling as though she was slightly drunk, Gwyn tugged gently and then stood on tip toes to whisper in his ear as she smiled, "If you don't hurry the fuck up with this charade I will find somewhere very creative for that spear he's holding!" Sinking back, she giggled again and batted her eyelashes.

Gaius' expression froze for a second, then he broke into laughter and moved forward, slapping the sentries on the shoulder and saying, "Got to go lads, she's promised me special treatment, and I've got to get back to my tribune's tent within the hour!"

"It won't take you an hour, lad!" one called after him.

"It might not even take you a minute!" the other joined in. "If we weren't on duty we'd come and show you how it's done!"

Their leers and whistles subsided into the darkness as they reminded him not to forget the camp password, and Gaius and Gwyn veered quickly off the path to the camp followers and took a sharp right once out of sight.

"Sorry," he said after a while, sensing her simmering rage. "It was the only realistic reason I could think of that I might be sneaking out of camp with a girl at night."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not angry as you," she marched determinedly, heaving her cloak back onto her shoulders and wrapping it tightly around her chest. "I just get pissed off at the world sometimes, men treating women like objects, using them, not respecting them. I think far worse of a person who uses and abuses another human being."

"I know—so do I. But it's just the way the world is," he answered lamely.

She shot a glance at him. "But it's not how the world has to be. You will never change the world if you don't think it can be done."

He was quiet for a while as they began to trudge eastwards. Then he said,

"So things are different? In your time I mean? The way men and women treat each other?"

"Sometimes," she replied. "It's pretty good where I live, there are still plenty of things that could be a lot better. In most places it is a lot worse. At least in Rome in this time women are allowed to own property and to divorce. But there is a lot more to it than that. Don't you ever wonder about what's fair?"

"I do." He reached out and grabbed her hand gently, raising his eyebrows in that questioning way of his to indicate that handholding was by no means obligatory if she didn't want it. She didn't pull away. "You see, my sister was a prostitute," he remarked casually, staring ahead. "She sold herself to keep us from starving when we ran away from our uncle. You see, she knew what he was like, she knew I'd try kill him once I found out what he was doing to her. But I was only eleven—he would have killed me. So we ran away to Rome instead, and she gave up everything to keep us alive and keep me from following her footsteps. That's why we got into debt; she borrowed money to send me to school, to give me a start, a chance of making something more of myself so we wouldn't have to end our days in misery."

Gwyn found herself unable to say anything for several minutes, squeezing his hand tightly instead. _Wow, just when you think you've got someone pegged, you find out they are nothing like you thought they were._ She was overwhelmed by the love she heard in his voice for his sister, and the undeniable respect he obviously had for her for making such hard decisions.

"She sounds like an incredibly strong woman," she said at last, after they picked their way over a rocky section and found a narrow track that offered some easier progress.

She could see his smile in the moonlight. "She is," he replied. "But so are you. Being around you is a bit of an adventure." He chuckled to think of their daring escape. It was more exciting than anything he'd done in a long time.

In contrast Gwyn was subdued. _I used to dream of having adventures_. _I'd read and dream. But my dreams usually involved a lot less walking._ They marched in silence for quite some time, until she finally called a break, figuring them several miles at least from the Roman camp.

_OK, here is his chance to turn back._ "Gaius, you really should head back now. I'm well on my way, I know I just have to head east still I hit the Dead Sea then turn north and follow the shore. I don't want you to be missed."

He considered this. "You know, I don't think I can. I'd be forever wondering what had happened to you, whether you'd gotten lost, or fallen and broken an ankle in the dark, or been attacked by bandits. I don't know how you will make this amulet thing of yours work, but I have to see it to believe it."

"But—" she was at once stupidly grateful and annoyed he didn't want to abandon her. _Is it the pocket watch making him think like this? Or his own feelings? He is risking everything._

Maybe it was the quiet recklessness he was displaying, but something infected her mood and made her want to be as daring. They were sitting side by side on the ground, companionably leaning against each other and the large boulder behind them, so she moved until she was kneeling facing him, and gently put her hands on his knees.

She thought his face registered surprise for a second, but it was hard to tell in the dark, and she leaned in a little clumsily and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. His hands only took seconds took reach up and take her face in them, guiding her more firmly as he kissed her back.

_No agenda now,_ her brain whispered.

Moving her hands to his shoulders so balance, she shifted until she was kneeling astride his legs, feeling the heat and excitement build as he ran his hands all over her neck, shoulders, back and hips, both of them making little murmuring noises as they explored each other. He started to rub towards her groin, reaching the same spot where she'd stopped him last time, pausing and pulling back just enough to stare into her eyes, seeking permission to continue. Gwyn placed her own hand over his and gave it a little push onwards, eyes widening as his fingers gently rubbed the fabric of her dress over sensitive skin and she began to breathe more shallowly.

_Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow, oh my God, please don't stop!_ Was all she could hear in her head, hoping like hell he was getting the message because she was too shy and embarrassed to say it out loud. He seemed to be, because he didn't stop, only staring intently at her face, watching her bite her lip and fight not to make a sound. He was so aroused himself, it almost hurt, but fought the urge to push her onto her back and himself into her. _Even though I want to so badly!_ He'd been with only a couple of women before; the first had been a house slave several years older than him who'd taken a fancy to him and hadn't laughed too hard at his clumsy first attempts. He'd learned a lot from her, and while at first he'd been reticent to visit any prostitutes while he'd been abroad (how could he after what his sister had been through?), the urge had been too great sometimes, and his good looks and good manners with those ladies often earned him a discount. He paid in full anyway, feeling guilty for perpetuating the system but knowing it might be the difference between them eating or not.

_Antonia is not a prostitute though! Nor a slave!_ She had none of the casual sensuality of the women who had sex for a living, nor the confidence of the slave in the General's household back in Rome. Her kisses were still slightly hesitant, and her natural reserve still fought to control her reactions, but he was fascinated to watch her gradually start to rise up and shudder, eyes fluttering and mouth half open...

Suddenly she jerked hard three times, making a little whimper and subsiding against him, eyes closed and breathing hard. He gently dragged his hand away and pushed the skirt of her dress up to her waist, fumbling under his own tunic and grasping himself to guide her onto him. Her eyes flew open again, heart racing. _This is it, Gwyn. You can still stop if you want to._ But she was past that. She let him push against her, feeling it slip slightly, then return to that point of resistance. _Um, I'm not sure it's going to go in..._

"Ow!" She froze as an incredibly sharp pain ripped between her legs. _My God that hurts!_ Tears sprang to her eyes as she gasped in shock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Gaius gripped her shoulders and kissed her. "Are you ok? I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you!" They were suspended awkwardly, her still straddling his lap, his... _Say it, Gwyn, his dick_ still half in her, she not sure whether pulling away or staying still would hurt more.

"It's ok!" _You idiot, you knew it would hurt the first time._ She was slightly mortified—everything had been going so well! "Um, I just didn't expect it..." _To hurt so much._

"Here." Gaius raised her gently by her hips and off him, settling her on his lap. _Ah dammit._ He so wanted to finish this. "It's ok, I'm sorry." He kissed her gently, hands rubbing her shoulders, trying to get her to relax. "You don't have to. I don't want to hurt you." _No but I really, really want to put it back in you!_ He knew that he couldn't force her, though, couldn't turn himself into something he despised.

She took a slightly shuddery breath. "No, I want to," she whispered. _I do, I just don't want it to hurt! Just need to get past that._ She kissed him back, trying to recapture the feeling she had before, the one where her brain wanted to explode. _Maybe if he..._ She guided his hand back to that spot it'd reached before, only this time it was on her bare skin, not through the dress, and he followed her lead, rubbing gently, and then harder as a small moan escaped her lips. Kneeling up again, she tried to position her hips so he could guide himself in.

_Ow!_ It still hurt like hell, a sharp, stabbing pain, but she pushed down onto him, trying to concentrate on his fingers rubbing her instead. The pain subsided a little, but it still was stronger than the nice feelings she'd had before, which were fading fast. She grabbed his wrist, making him stop, and looked stared down into his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just don't think I can. It hurts too much." She lifted herself off him and sat to the side, pushing her dress back down. Tears of embarrassment, disappointment, and pain welled up in her eyes and she bit her lip hard to try stop them from pouring out. _What a fuck up. Your first attempt at sex and you can't even go through with it._ She stared at the ground, too mortified to look at Gaius.

"Hey," he leaned over and turned her chin towards him. "It's okay, it's not the end of the world! I'm so sorry I hurt you!" Her distress was diminishing his erection fast, and he felt ashamed that he had let her keep going. _She did say she wanted to... But her body was saying something else._ He hugged around her shoulders and rocked her gently. "I'm sorry."

She sniffed slightly, wiping her nose on her cloak. "Surely that's not what all the fuss is about?" _Because if it is, you can leave it!_

"Uh, no," he turned over his past experiences in his head, especially the ones with the house slave. "I think the first result is the bit people fuss about. I think it can get a lot better for women. I didn't realise... I'm really, really sorry." His tone was so dejected that she half laughed, then sniffed again.

"I knew it was supposed to hurt, the first time, but everything I've ever read makes it seem like you can just get past that quickly and then it's amazing. Guess books lie."

He digested that. "You read books about it?" He sounded a little shocked.

"Not many!" _Why am I sounding defensive? You're an adult, you can read what you like!_ "It doesn't matter. Anyway, we should keep moving." She half smiled as him and then pulled herself gently out of his embrace and stood, fussing with her skirt to smooth it down. "I'm just going to go, uh, find a rock or tree or something."

He was standing waiting when she returned. The moon was overhead now, half the night had passed. She gave a lopsided smile and offered him the water skin. He took a sip and they started to walk.

"You still can go back, you know," she said.

"I know," he replied.

They marched on into the night.

## 551 AD

Dzzzt!

"Baaaa!"

Michelle sat bolt upright and tensed for a fight. Then she snorted quietly with laughter as she watched the startled sheep scamper back towards its shepherd. She saw the boy peer confusedly towards her—the electronic field obscured everything under its dome, including her, but in the pre-dawn light she knew he would be able to see a strange shape, so she quickly disappeared in a blue haze.

She was almost there. It was the sixth century AD—she'd stopped to eat and had even managed to sleep for quite a few hours. Refreshed, she managed the next fifty jumps and then had to jump once more to avoid a band of startled bandits creeping towards the oasis in the dark hours before dawn.

She continued to rest then jump in series until the year 111 AD.

_Only thirty-five years to go,_ she thought _. Eighteen jumps._

Food and another short nap. This kind of time travel was extremely draining and she wanted to have her wits about her when she got to the right time. Only problem was, she wasn't sure the exact day, week or month she was aiming for. That information had been stored in the other chronokinetor. She didn't want to overlap herself again either, so she figured she'd start at the end of the year and use the translator on this timepiece to ask if anyone had seen a strange girl appear in the village, then she'd aim for closer to that time. That meant she'd have to start appearing in the day time. _Oh well, I could use some sun after these centuries of night._

When she got to the village of En Gedi at the end of 74 AD, however, she was stunned by what she saw.

# TWENTY-TWO

## 74 AD

Ashes. The whole place had been burnt to ashes. Some of the buildings still stood in pieces, burnt-out ruins hosting the ghosts of those who'd lived, and died, here at the oasis of En Gedi.

The dawn breeze blew gently off the Dead Sea, moving from the cooler water over the land as the ground began to heat up, rustling the palm fronds that hung brown and desiccated from the blackened trunks. Gwyn and Gaius stood staring at the scene of desolation that lay before them.

"What happened here?" the young man asked at last. "We never came this way." The 'we' he referred to was the Tenth Legion.

"It was the Sicarii," Gwyn answered. "This is where they took me. It was a raid. But I didn't realise they'd destroyed everything and..." she trailed off as she spotted the charred bones of a crumpled skeleton lying where the doorway of a hut had once stood.

"They killed everyone. Why didn't they kill you?" he asked.

_Sheer dumb luck?_ "I'm not entirely sure," she answered. "I think this may have had something to do with it," she waved the pocket watch hand vaguely. "It seems to affect the minds of those around it somehow—maybe making them less likely to kill me. It's how I can speak Ancient Latin. And Hebrew. The Jews in Masada had no trouble understanding me. It may even be why you are helping me, despite the trouble you are going to get in when you return."

There. She'd said it. It had plagued her through the night—every time they'd stopped to rest she'd badgered him to return to camp before he was missed. It didn't follow that the pocket watch would assist in persuading him to help her escape but then ignore her persuasions for him to return. Maybe once set on a course, a person's mind wouldn't be deterred? All she knew is that he was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble over this. Sinking to the ground she sat and took the weight off her blistered feet. Used to marching, Gaius was unaffected by their nocturnal tramping.

He sat next to her nonetheless and replied, "You think so? Maybe I just couldn't resist my own adventure with an amazing girl." His light gallantry made her laugh briefly but then worry. It was too late by now, she knew, the General would have missed him. When he reappeared he'd be severely punished for deserting, particularly on the eve of battle, even if he wasn't a soldier. He was trying to ignore this fact for now, and concentrate of why they had come here.

"Now what?" he asked. "How does this amulet of yours work?"

She looked at it. "I honestly don't know. I don't know exactly where in the village I was—they hit me over the head so fast I didn't see anywhere outside that hut. I guess I should just try something."

She took a deep breath and pressed the spiral.

Nothing.

Tracing patterns, trying to twist it between her palms, clapping it, poking it—nothing worked. She tried speaking to it, whispering at it, swearing at it—Gaius was astonished at her range of vocabulary—nothing worked.

Finally she slumped back to the ground, muttering in frustration. The sun had risen high by now; heat was bearing down on them oppressively. Gaius had located the village well, but it was fouled by the corpse of a sheep. Gwyn had gagged at the smell, and even the Roman lad pulled a face.

"Terrific," she stated. "We are going to die of thirst in this blasted hell-hole, your name will be remembered ignominiously by the General and all your comrades as a deserter, and my family will never know why I disappeared without a trace. God damn it."

Gaius had been starting to have similar thoughts, though he tried to hide it. _What am I doing here?_ Began to creep into his mind despite all his positivity before. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but after a long night's march and its... complications, then this bleak scene of horror, the excitement of it all had faded and he felt more and more like he'd thrown his future with all its prospects away on a whim. He was starting to feel a bit sick, actually.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, struggling to keep the dejection from his tone.

"Well, for a start, young man, you are going to not make sudden moves. And you, young lady, are going to stop trying to break the most advanced and expensive bit of time-space technology ever created to date!"

The voice came from several metres behind them. Gaius disobeyed his directions immediately by leaping up and moving defensively in front of Gwyn, while she complied effortlessly, since she could only stare in astonishment.

"What the...?" she managed.

"Calm down, lad, I'm not here to fight," the woman replied. _Though by the looks of her, she could probably handle herself_ , Gwyn thought, recognising her as the woman from the Snake Path at Masada. _I'm sure of it_. She _knocked me flying and dropped the pocket watch before disappearing._

Gwyn scrambled to her feet and pushed gently past Gaius, then stopped. She had so many things she wanted to say, to ask. She'd been at the end of her hope, and suddenly this beacon had appeared. Finally she settled for,

"Please tell me you know how to work this thing and send me home?" her voice cracked plaintively and she reached out with her left hand, showing the pocket watch with her palm facing up.

Something akin to pity crossed Michelle's stern features. She relaxed a little and advanced slowly, watching Gaius carefully in case he decided she was dangerous. He was confused, but since she wasn't armed he didn't see her as too much of a threat. He did see some astonishing similarities between Gwyn and the strange lady—hair, facial features, build. The stranger was at least ten years older, however, and much tougher looking.

"Who are you?" he blurted out, once again trying to move protectively in front on Gwyn. She neatly nudged him to the side again.

Michelle shot him a look, then looked at Gwyn.

"How long have you been in this time, girl, that you've already acquired a boyfriend?"

Both young people blushed fiercely, and Michelle had to choke back a laugh and arrange her features in a more serious expression, stepping forward.

"No, really," she asked as she took Gwyn's hand gently and examined the timepiece, "how long have you been here?"

"Uh, seven weeks, I think. Maybe a bit more, or less. I lost track."

Seven weeks. Untrained, unaccompanied, unprepared—how did such a tyro manage to survive seven weeks in this time and place?

Probing gently, Michelle noted the spiral had all but disappeared. _Almost out of time._

"And how did you manage to activate the chronokinetor?" she asked.

"The what?" Gwyn asked.

"Time-mover." The two women turned with surprise to the Roman. "What?" he said. "I picked up a little bit of Greek. You have to, at this end of the Empire."

Gwyn sighed resignedly. "I have no idea. I'm so sorry I ever picked it up. It is yours, isn't it? You dropped it on the Snake Path."

"Yes." _I wish I knew how she was able to use it to this effect. It must have helped her survive this time and bend people to helping her, like this boy. Hmm, this will require some thought._

"Well, first of all we have to charge this thing."

She pressed the back of Gwyn's left hand and concentrated. Then there was a weird popping noise, and Gwyn gasped at the creepy sensation of metal leaving her skin. Suddenly the pocket watch, or chrono-whatever thingy was free. The chain left her wrist, and it sat innocuously on her palm, just like that.

"How did you do that!?" she demanded.

"It's a knack," the older woman replied. "Come on, there isn't much time."

Gaius uttered something unintelligible to Gwyn and she turned to stare at him in puzzlement.

"What did you... say?" she stopped as he stared back at her. Her brain turned over the words in her head.

You're speaking English. Not Latin. He's speaking Latin. You can't understand each other without the pocket watch!

"Ah, hang on a minute and I'll fix that," Michelle repeated herself to Gaius in Latin, then starting walking away.

"Eh?" he replied as he trailed after the two women. Michelle marched down from the oasis towards the Dead Sea. It was at a much higher level now that it was in the future, not that any of them realised that.

She stopped on the shore edge and plunged the chronokinetor into the water. "It was almost out of power. If you let it run out completely it's stuffed, so you and I are very lucky it's got a bit left. Water is its main power source. Salt water is best—this should work a treat. Lots of ions."

"You are kidding me, right?" Gwyn asked. "Do you know how careful I was not to let that thing get wet in case I broke it?" Her tone became agitated. "Argh! And you say it was almost out? I would have been trapped here forever! Unless... how did you get here then? Who are you? You didn't answer before."

Michelle chuckled and pulled the timepiece out of the water to examine it. "Right, that should do it. Here, hold out your hand." Gwyn saw there was another pocket watch sitting in the woman's own left palm, which she popped out in that same strange way and placed it in Gwyn's.

"Just a tick," she pulled out a tweezer-like object, tinkered with the edges and then pushed it into Gwyn's skin. It buzzed warm and melded in there, feeling weird but not painful like last time.

"What is going on?" Gaius' voice broke in. He had been watching the exchange, and was looking baffled and a little annoyed.

"I understand you!" Gwyn was delighted. "So it does somehow translate."

"Yes," Michelle advised, "but I've blocked any fourth dimension functionality, so you shouldn't be able to activate it. Don't try it anyway."

"I don't even know how I did that last time."

"Hmm..." The woman's gaze was thoughtful. "Well, let's get a bit away from here and sit down in the shade and we can try work that out. You two look like you could use something to eat and drink?"

"The well is fouled," Gaius pointed out.

"That's alright, I have some supplies. Come on." They made their way further down the shore to a cluster of palm trees. The breeze blew straight across from what would one day be Jordan, so the smell of death and decay from the village did not reach them.

Gwyn was bursting with questions, but she had to wait until they were settled cross-legged on the ground, gladly drinking the water offered by the woman. It occurred to her that she had to keep this person on side and make sure she took her back to 2011, and maybe even get Gaius back to the Roman camp before the battle so that Silva never realised he'd been gone. _You need to find out if she can even do that first,_ she whispered to herself. _Then make sure she_ will _do it. You don't know what her agenda is yet. At least she doesn't seem pissed off that I took her device._

For the first time in weeks, hope truly bloomed in her heart. It was marred, however, by the fear of being so close to getting home and finding it still just out of reach. _It's not over till it's over._

The woman introduced herself as Michelle, an agent from a future organisation that dealt with Space and Time.

"So this is common?" Gaius wanted to know. "This travelling between times?" He shot a puzzled looked at Gwyn.

"No," Michelle replied. "I am from several hundred years in her future. The technology has not been developed in her time. It is only relatively recent in mine. And few people cope with it—there are side effects. Fewer of us cope well. How did you feel when you arrived in this time?" she asked Gwyn. "Were you vomiting, nauseous? Did you pass out?"

"Not by my own devices," the girl replied. She explained the circumstances of her dramatic entrance into the First Century AD. "I was confused, but I don't remember feeling sick. Then I was cracked over the head and knocked out." The tale that followed was more or less what she'd told Silva and Gaius, with the addition of her impersonation of a prophetess. She became more and more anxious as she recounted it all, hesitating in spots until Michelle prompted her and pressed for more detail. Gaius was riveted to hear it all anew and in context. Finally she relayed the previous night's escape and journey here (Michelle was most particular is ascertaining the time they left and the layout of the camp). But all through this her heart was sinking as a thought grew louder and louder in her head:

What if I've done some terrible damage and history is all skewed because of this? What if this Michelle woman tries to take me back to 2011 and it's not the same?

Finally she fell silent. Michelle sat back and looked thoughtful. She nibbled on a ration bar (she'd shared them out of her backpack earlier, they were delicious and most rejuvenating) and leaned back against a palm tree, legs crossed in front of her, gazing out over the Dead Sea. The quiet was peaceful, and seemed almost surreal after this tale of war and siege.

"You've got quite a talent there," she said simply.

Gwyn looked puzzled. Gaius beamed proudly.

"She is one of bravest women I've ever met," he asserted.

Gwyn's eyes fell on the chronokinetor, resting innocently in Michelle's own palm now. "I think that had a lot to do with it," she said slowly. "It affects people somehow, doesn't it? Makes them more susceptible to suggestion. How does that work? Some way of influencing the brains of people in the vicinity? Is that an inbuilt feature of all chrono-thingys?"

"Chronokinetor," came the gentle correction. Michelle stood and stretched, then looked down at the pair. "I've been wondering all this time how you managed to operate it in the first place, nothing in your story has really explained that, but I have a suspicion you have a great deal of inbuilt talent relating to time travel. I'd like to test that."

The girl barely heard that last comment. "But can you take me home?" she blurted out. "Back to my time? My family will be wondering where I am, they'll be frantic. And Gaius here doesn't deserve to be flogged for deserting. Can you get him back in time for the battle? Will there be a battle? Have I wrecked history?" _Not logical, you duffer... if she can get him back in time for battle surely she can get you back to Mum and Dad before you are missed. Unless you really have screwed up history..._

Michelle's smile was kind. "Relax," she said. "We have plenty of time."

She swung her backpack onto her shoulders and reached her right hand towards Gwyn, pulling the girl to her feet. Gaius scrambled up as well.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Where are we going," she corrected. "I'll take you back to your camp," indicating him, "then I want to check out Masada itself, then we'll see about getting you," a nod at Gwyn, "back to your family. You might want to say goodbye now, it could get a little hectic later."

The two younger people stared at each other in the sudden realisation that this was it.

"Um," said Gwyn, looking at the tall young Roman soldier. "Thank you for all your help. I couldn't have got out here without you. And thank you for looking after me in camp. It made a real difference having a friend there."

"You're welcome," he blushed and looked miserable. She felt a wrench in her heart. She really quite liked him. Maybe if they'd existed in the same time something could have come of it, but it wasn't like they'd fallen madly in love in such a short space of time. She wasn't about to stay with him, and he wasn't about to come with her—stuff like that only happened in books and movies.

But with a sudden impulse born out of her sense of narrative, she moved forward and reached up to take his shoulders in her hands and kissed him. It was a better kiss than their others, and despite the raised eyebrows of their amused observer, it was unembarrassed and sincere.

Gwyn broke off gently and sank back, blushing. She patted Gaius gently on the shoulder.

"You take care of yourself," she said. He nodded and clasped his hand over hers.

"You too," he whispered.

The moment was broken when Michelle moved forward and announced,

"Holding hands already? Good. Everyone hang on to each other, and me. Especially me." She placed her right hand over their already-joined ones, reaching slightly awkwardly and trying not to look too amused. She raised her left hand with the chronokinetor ready in her palm. A blue haze started at the edge of her vision and the whooshing noise opened up in her ears.

Flick!

# TWENTY-THREE

## 74 AD

The crashing that characterised the sound of the ram striking the western wall woke Adi from her sleep. It was still fully dark, and that in itself was unusual—normally the Romans began their attack around dawn. Even though they were in the northern palace, the fortress wasn't so large that the distinctive sound couldn't be heard from anywhere in Masada.

She hastened to dress and ran to check on Auntie. The crone was already awake, looking more aged than ever.

"This is it," she foretold portentously. "Our last dawn." _Of this I am sure._

"Don't say that," Adi begged, but was distracted by Elizabeth entering the room and ordering imperiously,

"Everyone is to go to the throne room. My husband's orders. Come now." She turned and left without bothering to seek acknowledgement.

Auntie straightened from the chair where she had been sleeping,

"Help me now, Adi." _These old bones have never felt older._ "Let us go and see what my nephew wants." _Thought I think I know._ The cares of the world seemed to weigh down upon her, shrinking her in stature and in presence. Adi had never seen her look more reduced.

They found the rest of the household hustling out of doors, disturbed and anxious, frightened by the ominous booming from the wall and from the predawn awakening. Adi's own nephew, Joel, was suddenly in front of her, crying because his adoptive mother had been separated from him in the rush.

Frowning with dislike and exasperation, Adi scooped him up and jiggled him, making soothing shushing noises. The two year old stared at her, then began to wail all the louder and she was highly tempted to put him straight back down to fend for himself. Instead she grudgingly carried him _(the squalling brat_!) down the hallways until they finally squeezed into the back of the great hall which was now brimming with Masada's entire population.

The eight year old girl who was Joel's adoptive sister saw the toddler crying and Adi looking disgusted, so she pushed back through the crowd, her four-year-old brother trailing after her. She appropriated Joel, who quietened upon seeing a familiar face. Adi turned her attention to trying to find a seat for Auntie, but the hall was jammed and they were shuffled by the crowd to a small alcove near the door.

Auntie cast a pitying gaze upon the children. _They don't deserve this. None of us do, but certainly not them. God is cruel sometimes, but men are crueller._ The thought made her angry, and for a moment she felt a spark of her old fire rekindle. _Stupid decisions by cruel men and the children suffer. It is not right. How can I go to my grave with that on my conscience?_ In the dim light of the throne room, her eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened. Someone had thought to light a few torches, the shadows still made it hard to see. Eleazar's voice, however, rang out clearly from the centre of the room.

"The hour is upon us, my brave brothers and sisters! God has seen fit to test us, time and time again, and we have proved ourselves worthy! We have thrown back the Romans, we have resisted their efforts to breach our walls, we have been defiant in the face of their unholy invasion and enslavement of our race!"

A ragged cheer broke out and echoed through the shifting shadows. Adi noticed Auntie stiffen in apprehension.

"What's wrong, Auntie?" she whispered.

The old woman merely shushed her with a wave of the hand and concentrated on her nephew. He waited until the cheers died down, let the silence reign for a moment, then the echo of the Roman ram boomed again in the distance.

"But that is the sound of Death knocking at our door!" he continued. Waited again.

Boom!

"And the Devil marches with him!" Silence.

Boom!

"Now we could wait for the Devil to come into our homes, butcher our men, rape our women, and enslave our children... But I say no!" This last was delivered at a shout, and the cheer rose once again with him, a defiant "No!" resounded in the chamber, drowning out the distant _boom_ of the ram.

"We can cheat the Devil of his prize, cheat those murdering, heathen scum of their slaves! We can march ahead into Death before the Devil has the chance to reach us! We are not afraid! _We are not afraid!_ " His voice rose to a hysterical pitched and more cheers joined him, but decidedly fewer than before. Fierce mutterings broke out amidst the dozens of families clustered near Adi, and by the flaring of Auntie's nostrils she guessed the old woman had foreseen this.

But what was this? What was it that Eleazar was actually proposing? March into Death? In a flash it was on her.

_He wants us all to die before the Romans break through. If no one is left alive that cheats the Romans of any slaves, cheats them of parading us through their God-forsaken cesspit of a city._ She'd heard about the Triumphs, as they were called, whereby victorious Roman generals displayed booty and captives taken from defeated nations. She knew she'd be raped and made a slave, or raped and then simply executed in front of a jeering Roman crowd if she was taken. She shivered. Surely death was preferable to that?

Others in the crowd were also following this line of thought. Shouts started to break out and argue, and it was several minutes before order was regained and Eleazar could speak uninterrupted.

"I know there are some who question this! I understand! But that is your fear talking!" More mutterings, none of the men liked to be accused of cowardice—they were brave men who'd fought the Romans fiercely for years, risking lives and family in the process. Anxious mothers gathered their children close. Adi saw Joel's foster mother casting about, spotting her children over in the alcove. She started to struggle towards them but the crowd blocked her inadvertently.

"But think on this, my brothers. We men may fight fiercely and die a brave death on the Roman sword, but what about your wives? What about your children? Would you consign your dearly beloved to the Roman yoke? They will possess your wives and daughters—yea! Even those so young! Sullied and soiled, would you risk a heathen bastard to be got on your precious women?" Murmurs of anger rippled through the hall, and many women recoiled in fear, shaking their heads, Adi amongst them.

"And your sons! Those not slaughtered as men, cut down protecting their sisters and mothers, they will be enslaved! Would you suffer your proud sons to pass under the Roman yoke, to be sold off like cattle and sent far from their homes? And as slaves, subject to the worst cruelties and degradations the filthy Roman mind can think of? If you think what might be done to your pure innocent daughters is terrible, think far worse on what the Romans might do to your sons..." His voice ended low pitched and quiet, trembling with disgust, and the crowd rose first in indignation and then in fury as minds worked out what Eleazar meant.

He let the furore die down and gestured for silence. His audience was captive.

"This is what will happen, my brothers and sisters, if we wait until the Romans come through that wall... WILL YOU LET THAT HAPPEN!?"

His sudden shout triggered a massive roar of

"NO!"

And the spirit of defiance rippled through the air.

Adi suddenly found her hand gripped hard by Auntie and the old woman pulled her ear low.

"We have to leave now, my girl, here is our chance." _For I will not sit by and let us all burn. I must do what I can, little though it may be._ The weight of the last few weeks sloughed off her and her mind was finally clear from its depression.

For a second Adi didn't understand, then she saw a man she didn't know struggling through the doors from outside, shoving his way through the crowd towards their leader.

Adi stared between the exultant Eleazar and then back to his Aunt who suddenly did not look so beaten and weary. Aged, yes, but determined—with a flinty look in her eyes.

To die or risk a life of slavery and degradation...

Adi's mind whirled for several seconds, then she made her decision.

The man struggled through the doors of the throne room. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd and managed to reach Eleazar, who bent to hear the man's message. He straightened and gestured for quiet again. It took some time, but finally he bellowed,

"The fortress is breached! Our wall across the palace will hold them for a time, but we need to act now. Listen to me carefully!"

He began to issue instruction on how this wholesale death was going to be best carried out. Each man was to take a sword, and turn it on first his children, then his wife. They would then draw lots to assign ten men to kill all the other men. Another lot would decide which of the ten would dispatch his nine comrades, then set fire to the palace and finally turn the sword on himself. It was an ironic reversal of the Roman military punishment of decimation, not that any there realised that.

Eleazar ordered the final man to make sure the food stores weren't fired.

"We will show this Roman filth that we did not succumb to hunger nor thirst, our deaths will show not desperation, but defiance!"

While this organisation was going on, families began to say their farewells. Tears began to flow, embraces were exchanged. Most of the youngest children didn't understand what was going on, but copied the examples of their siblings who began to cry in fear. Adolescents tried to be tight-lipped with bravery, but the sight of their fathers breaking down set them off too. A cacophony of wails began to sound throughout the chamber.

In all this Joshua stood straight and stern by his revered leader's side. His eyes cast about the hall, searching. He had a responsibility towards one person in particular...

His sharp gaze suddenly spotted her, right at the back of the chamber, slipping out the door!

Adi had made her decision. Whether this was madness or extreme sanity, she didn't know, but she knew in her heart that she wasn't ready to die just quite yet. She would risk life.

She'd nodded determinedly at Auntie and raised the old woman to her feet. Glancing up, she caught the eye of Joel's foster mother, who was still struggling to reach her children through the crowd. Seeing Adi move, the woman stopped struggling and looked beseechingly first at Adi, then and the three children squished into the alcove. Silently her eyes begged a question.

Don't let them die, please. Let my children live. Give them a chance.

Adi felt tears spring to her own eyes and she nodded once more, scooping Joel up gently this time and smiling at him.

"Come on, nephew, time to go. Maria, take your brother's hand. We must be quick but quiet."

The eight year old looked back at her mother and with a maturity that belied her years, gripped her brother's hand firmly and followed Auntie and Adi gently pushing their way out to the main door. They were deft and Auntie's agility astonished Adi, the old woman slipping between distracted people with the younger ones following quietly behind. So much confusion was in the hall that it seemed that no one noticed them gone.

Almost.

Adi turned back one last time and saw her betrothed leaving Eleazar's side and start to push his way through the crowd towards them. Eyes wide with fear, she pushed her way out the door and began to hustle the other escapees down sudden emptiness of the hall.

"Quickly," she whispered. "I think Joshua saw us. He will try stop us. We must hurry!" Her sense of urgency was infectious, Joel began to whimper and little Maria hastened her steps. Even Auntie hobbled along at an increased rate.

They turned down various corridors, quiet as could be but close to panicking. Now they were away from the hall, they could hear a strange crackling roar coming from outside the palace. Adi could smell smoke.

"Fire!" she whispered in fear.

"We cannot run, we have to hide." Auntie was starting to wheeze from her exertions.

"He will find us!" Adi was struggling not to panic. "Even if he does not we will still burn in the fire!"

Fire... In case of fire...

The words echoed through her head. Who had said that?

If the Romans break through... In case of fire...

"Ruth!" she exclaimed.

"What?"

"Auntie, the water cisterns! We could hide there!"

"Quickly then!" the old woman lost no time is changing direction, away from the Romans and the fire. They hurried across courtyards and down corridors, heading down steps, the stone walls getting cooler as they went down a level.

They stopped quickly to decide which turn to take next.

"It is right, I believe. Come now," Auntie gestured, then froze as she heard the same sound that chilled Adi to the bone. Footsteps scraping on the stairs. Someone was following them.

The young Jewish girl turned and without hesitation passed her whimpering nephew to his foster sister, who stood wide eyed, with her other brother clutching at her skirts. She reached out and squeezed Auntie's upper arm.

"Go," Adi whispered. "I'll lead him the other way."

Tears welled in the old woman's eyes as her mouth twisted in grief.

"I've failed you, my girl."

"No, you haven't. But don't fail them," she indicated the children. "Go!"

The once proud matriarch and the three children scuttled off to the right where the cooler air indicated the water cisterns awaited. Turning, Adi placed her back to the wall and held her breath.

# TWENTY-FOUR

## 74 AD

As the blue quickly faded Gwyn became aware of a retching noise. Gaius was doubled over, hands on his knees and sounding like he was about to be sick. Michelle had turned away and was examining their surrounds, so it was left to Gwyn to help her friend as he heaved and gasped for air.

"Urgh," he finally straightened and clasped Gwyn's arm for balance. "That was awful."

"What's wrong with him!" she demanded of Michelle, who motioned her to shush. They were just outside of the General's tent, next to her annex. It was fully dark, the stars were twinkling overhead and the camp was mostly quiet.

"Side effect of time travel," the woman whispered. "Fairly standard for most people, I've seen a lot worse. Sit him down, he'll be alright in a few minutes."

Gwyn pushed the tent flap and guided Gaius inside, plonking him down on what had been her pallet.

"Take it easy," she said quietly, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Come on, Gwyn," Michelle crouched guardedly beside the tent. "Let's get out of here before anyone spots us. Good luck, young man, we might see you in the morning, but chances are you won't see us."

"Wait!" Gwyn turned back to her Roman friend. "Gaius, after the siege, there may be several survivors. Everyone else will be dead already—they will have killed themselves. But some women and children might still be alive."

She wasn't sure how to put it. Might it be Adi who survived? Would she remember what Gwyn had said about hiding in the cisterns? Or was it someone else, someone Gwyn didn't know?

_They still deserve better than slavery, whoever they are,_ her brain reminded her.

"Gwyn..." Michelle's voice held a tinge of annoyance.

"Please," she gripped Gaius hands. His eyes focused on her. "Try help these women, and the children. Don't let them suffer at the hands of the soldiers. One of them... she was my friend up there. She knew me as Ruth." _Please let it be Adi who survives._

Gaius stared for a second, then nodded. He still looked dazed. She had to hope he'd understood and would try help. She kissed him briefly on the forehead and whispered,

"Good bye." And then backed out of the tent quickly.

"Time to go." Michelle gripped her wrist and

Flick!

Joshua came down the last few steps slowly, holding a torch that threw eerie dancing shadows against the surrounding walls. His tread was determined, a hunter sure of its prey. His dark eyes lit on Adi, backed against the wall at the base of the stairs.

"Where did you think you would go?" he asked softly. His voice was menacing.

Not answering, she began to sidle along the wall down the corridor opposite to where Auntie and the children had gone. He advanced upon her.

"You cannot escape from here! Or did you think to try to whore yourself off to the Roman scum like that little bitch friend of yours? Is that it? Your own people aren't good enough for you?" His voice dripped hatred and barely suppressed fury.

She increased her pace, still half facing him. The corridor darkened. It was practically a tunnel down here, cut into the rock of Masada itself. She hoped it would lead out to one of the lower terraces that protruded out from the northern point of the plateau. Perhaps there she could entice him close to the edge, and even grapple with him so that they both fell. If death truly was unavoidable, she wanted to at least prevent him from causing it to others.

No such luck. In the gloom she bumped into a solid wooden door. She fumbled for a handle, found one, but it refused to turn. Desperately she pushed, but to no avail.

Joshua's figure loomed. He carefully placed the torch into a bracket then stepped towards her. She tried to dart past him but he was too quick, catching her wrists and shoving her hard against the door.

"You are _my_ betrothed, and you shall do as _I_ say," he hissed. "How dare you try abandon your people for those heathens? You are only a woman, so I expect you would be afraid of death, but you should obey regardless!"

She struggled uselessly—his hands were like clamps on her small arms. Kicking at his shins was also ineffectual—he was too strong and too tough a brute to be bothered by her desperate flailing. She knew trying to talk to him would be pointless; in the months that she'd been betrothed to him she'd seen a man who, once fixed on an idea, would not deter for any reason. His hatred of the Romans she understood—she'd once admired it in him—but she now saw that hatred encompassed anything and anyone who did not fit in with his view of the world. He would not tolerate a future wife who had her own ideas, nor one who did not obey him completely, and his anger at her insubordination was incredible. It made her wild-eyed with panicky defiance in return.

"I do _not_ have to obey you!" she hissed from between her teeth, voice cracking with hysteria. "You are not my husband, you never will be!" He was going to kill her, she knew, but she knew finally that she didn't have to go meekly.

Furious, he shook her and pinned both her wrists above her head with just one hand. With the other hand he ripped at her dress, tearing the material down to expose her breasts. She screamed in fear and indignation as he squeezed them roughly then hiked her skirt up her legs. Thrashing in panic only served to make him angrier, and the blow to her face snapped her head sideways, rendering her dazed. A rushing noise sounded in her ears.

He fumbled with his own robe. "You will learn obedience like a proper wife!" he snarled. "You will do your duty as a woman, then you will die as I see fit!"

Suddenly the shadows spun wildly and she heard an almighty _crack!_ The pressure on her wrists released and she slumped to the floor, sobbing in pain and terror. It was completely dark, the torch must have gone out. She heard a bewildered grunt, a scuffling sound, then a sickening _snap_ and suddenly the tunnel was quiet except for her own ragged breathing and...

"Adi!" a shape morphed out of the darkness. Hands patted her gently, trying to find her head. "Adi, are you alright? My God, what did he do to you?"

"R-Ruth?" Adi couldn't believe it, but it was her voice, distinctly. "What are you doing here? What happened to...?" She peered into the shadows.

"He won't be hurting anyone anymore." Another woman's voice spoke just as a small glow emitted from her hand. She stood over the fallen body of Joshua, neck lolling sideways at a strange angle as he lay there on the ground.

Adi was seriously confused. "Ruth, who is she? What happened? Have you been down here the whole time?" Her head spun from her friend, to the strange woman, to Joshua's fallen form. He was dead, it appeared, but there was no blood, no wound that she could see. It looked as if his neck had been broken, but how could that woman have been strong enough to do that? And had Ruth not left Masada after all—had she been hiding down here for some reason all this time?

She heard the other girl sigh. "It's a little hard to explain. Are you able to get up? I'm so sorry we didn't get here sooner. That bastard."

Her voice shook with anger, but her hands were gentle as they tried to straighten Adi's dress, covering her up by draping the shawl across her front and tugging her skirts back down.

"You poor thing," she muttered. _There but for the grace of God..._

"Come on Gwyn," the other woman gestured. "I'm afraid she's going to have to hide down here. I believe the Romans will break through shortly. It's not going to be pretty."

"Auntie!" the Jewish girl burst out. "She took the children to hide in the water cisterns. Just like you said, Ruth!"

"Where is she?" her friend hoisted her to her feet.

"Back that way," she pointed. "But Joshua came after us so I tried to lead him away. He... He wanted to kill me. Eleazar is making everyone kill each other, so no one will be left alive when the Romans come. But Auntie and I escaped with some of the children. They went down that passage while I came down here."

The other woman half smiled. "You are a brave girl, Adi is it? I'm Michelle. Let's get you back to your Auntie and the others... they are children, you said? Now isn't that interesting..." The last was half to herself.

Stepping over the deceased Joshua, Adi closed her eyes and let Ruth guide her. She didn't look back, so she never saw the blood pooled at the back of his head or the cast-aside torch that had been used to crack him in the skull. They made their way back along the tunnel by the light of that mysterious glow from Michelle's hand. Passing the stairs, they continued down the other corridor which sloped downwards, back into the rock of the plateau.

After whispering, and then calling, they discovered Auntie and the children wedged up on a ledge beside one of the water cisterns. It was a natural collection point in the rock, one of the lowest on the plateau that began at the southern end and continued in a series until this final one that serviced the bath house in the palace here. The rocky pool was brimming, and they were lucky to have not slipped in and drowned. None of them knew how to swim.

"Adi!" Auntie was relieved, then astonished. "Ruth? Where have you been, girl? We have been worried sick about you? And who is this?" she indicated Michelle, looking outlandish in her garb of loose, lightweight trousers and a strange shirt.

"I can't explain," Gwyn apologised, "but you have to hide here until everything is over. The Romans have fired the wall, they will be coming soon."

"But what will happen to you?" Adi wanted to know, looking distraught. _I've only just found you, now you're leaving?_

Gwyn stepped up and gave Adi a big hug. "I'm going to go home. Thank you for taking care of me, you and Auntie." _It seems so selfish to abandon them here. But if I don't go with Michelle now, that's it, I'll never get home._ She nodded at the old woman. The three solemn faces of the children stared out uncomprehendingly. She stepped back and put her hand firmly around Michelle's wrist. "If you can find a young Roman man called Gaius, make him understand that you know me, that you are my friends. He serves the General. But only after everything is all over. Until then, stay in here."

"Ruth, I don't understand," Adi almost bleated. Gwyn felt so sorry for her. She'd just been beaten and almost raped, she was frightened and confused, and about to be abandoned again by a friend she'd only just regained.

"I'm sorry, Adi," tears sprung into Gwyn's eyes. _If this is what I wanted, to escape from this place, why do I feel so shit about it?_ "Be strong. I hope it'll be alright."

And suddenly a blue mist rose up around her and Michelle, and they were gone.

# TWENTY-FIVE

## 74 AD

Dawn was a hellish affair. Gaius had had almost zero sleep in the last thirty-six hours, and now he was reliving some of those hours again feeling exhausted and nauseous as all hell. The usually kind-worded Silva was impatient and snappy at his slowness.

"Hurry up, Gaius! This will be the defining battle of my career here in Judea, and if you don't find my greaves right away I'll be forever known as the general who couldn't get dressed in time to conquer the Jews!"

Bleary eyed and horribly disoriented, Gaius struggled along, dressing the general and almost crying with relief when he was finally dismissed at almost a snarl. He stumbled back into what had been Gwyn's annexe and collapsed on her pallet, falling straight asleep.

Not five seconds had passed when he was rudely awakened by Silva's shout,

"Gaius, I expect you ready for running messages at the gate by the time I walk through it or I will have you flogged! What is the matter with you, boy?"

Electrified by the threat, he struggled up and lurched to the gate in a daze. He observed a scene of minimal torches and men were ordered to silence as they assembled in various positions up Silva's great ramp. The vanguard formed the arrow point of his attack, artillery arranged to target the wall either side of the where the ram worked (designed to cause mayhem rather than actual breaches—the cliffs there were far too steep to provide access even if the wall did come down). The ram was in place and all was ready for the final attack.

CRASH!

The ram finally smashed through the weakened wall shortly after dawn. Big Marcus charged through screaming, short Roman sword ready to slash, hack, and skewer. Flaming arrows sizzled past his ear from behind to strike...

No one. Several arrows thunked solidly into the palace buildings but Marcus' sword failed to maim, kill, or even menace a single Jew. Not one Sicarii awaited the Roman assault.

The roar of assault petered out and the murmur of confusion crept awkwardly into its place. The centurion Drusus stomped through the shattered remains of the wall and glared about at his men milling about, sword points drooping towards the ground.

"Form up!" he roared. They scrambled to obey. "You think that just because there isn't a sword in your face means that you can drop yours? The enemy is cunning! Advance cautiously and find out where in the hell they are!"

It was bizarre, Big Marcus thought as he and other soldiers spread out in units, spears and swords at the ready. There wasn't a single defender in sight. But it didn't take long for them to discover that a wall enclosed them in the palatial buildings that stood over the Western Gate. They reported back to Drusus, who brooded briefly then sent a messenger sprinting back down the ramp to General Silva.

By now the sun had risen, though its rays had yet to reach this side of the plateau, so where Gaius stood as part of the general's personal guard was still in shadow. He was more awake now, seeming to have passed beyond the bounds of extreme fatigue into an odd alertness, running on adrenaline buffered with the bread he'd managed to snatch and scoff on his run to the southern gate.

Silva was watching the attack, messengers sprinting back and forth between his artillery, infantry and scouts that ranged around the plateau, as well as the other divisions that held positions to ensure that not one single Jew would escape this time. It seemed for the first time to Gaius like massive overkill, a Roman war machine that sought to crush a bug for daring to buzz in its face. He knew logically that it had to be done, that the pride and honour of the Empire was at stake, but Antonia's—Gwyn's—voice echoed sarcastically in his head and he began to wonder where the honour was in fighting women and children and a few crazy, desperate men.

He was about to find out. A runner hurtled down the mountainside towards them. Suddenly his arms pin wheeled and he lurched sickeningly to the side, only to crash down hard and slide quite a few yards before he stopped. The General hastened towards him even as other soldiers tried to pick him up. The messenger was clutching at his ankle, which was bent as a strange angle, face white under the gravel rash that was becoming fast spotted with blood.

_He should have been more careful running downhill in shadow,_ Gaius hurried forward with the others.

"Report." Silva could see the man had a broken ankle and was in a great deal of pain, so he wanted to get information quickly in case the man passed out. Tight-lipped, the messenger reported to the great man that the wall was successfully breached and many of their men were inside.

"But there are no Jews there to fight, sir!" he gasped.

"What? They have killed them all already?" Silva's voice was questioning but unflustered.

"No, sir," the runner breathed heavily but controlled his voice. He had an aptitude for making clear reports even after running, which was why the centurion had sent him, and no amount of pain or injury was going to prevent him from trying to fulfil his duty. "No Jews met us to fight, but we appear to be encircled by an additional wall that prevents us from advancing any further. The wall is undefended, but it is going to be difficult to assault."

"Of what is the wall made? Stone?" He had not heard of any reports of an internal wall from the Roman garrison who had held Masada before the Sicarii had overtaken it. He was forced then to assume that it was only recently built as an additional defence during the siege.

"Wood and earth, sir." The broken man was dismissed and hobbled away on another soldier's shoulder. The General considered very briefly, then turned to his young attendant.

"Gaius. My orders to Drusus are: continue with assault, using fire arrows to burn this wall, then search every corner of that fortress until all the Jews are found. All women and children are to be captured. Kill all men over the age of fourteen. I don't want any future slaves who might foment rebellion. Go now, as fast as you can, but for Mars' sake don't break your damn ankle!"

The young man nodded and obeyed, running carefully up the steep ramp. Silva's words drummed through his head as his arms pumped for momentum.

All women and children are to be captured. Kill all the men.

But then another voice sprang into his mind.

There may be several survivors. Everyone else will be dead already.

His legs began to ache but he kept running.

I have to find those survivors.

# TWENTY-SIX

## 74 AD

Smoke drifted gently across the surface of the plateau, belying the carnage that lay below it. The Western Palace was gutted by fire, and not a few Roman soldiers were suffering a nasty cough caused by smoke inhalation.

It had been a close call, a very, very close call. Drusus had followed his general's orders but in doing so had almost trapped and killed his own men. The fire that was set to burn the Sicarii's internal wall had turned and threatened instead to ravage the men who had laid and lit it. While not panicking, the crusty old centurion had experienced the gripping fear that he'd doomed himself and his men to a horrible death. He also feared—more importantly in his mind—that he'd doomed them to failure.

But Mars' breath blew for them at the last moment, and the wind changed direction to force the fire back onto the wall, consuming it. It was several hours before sections had died down enough for safe passage across, and in his direction of operations Drusus had no time to notice where the General's young messenger had gone. Back to Silva, he'd assumed, not realising Gaius had braved the still-hot earth and ashes to clamber over and venture into the rest of the fortress.

The lad had stopped feeling nauseous finally, and took the chance to find out if what Gwyn had said would be true. He hoped beyond hopes that he might see her again, remembering Michelle's words.

Might see you in the morning...

Was that what she had said? It was all rather hazy in his mind. Perhaps he'd dreamed it all? He had to try to find out. And if there were indeed survivors, he wanted to find them before anyone else did. _Maybe they'll have some answers._

The two women stood in silence, watching the young Roman man venture into the northern palace, following the stench of death. He never looked up, never spotted them in the tower, looking solemn (in Michelle's case) and somewhat sick (in Gwyn's).

"It's done," the older woman finally said quietly. "The momentum will carry it forward. At this point in history, the Roman Empire will continue to grow and prosper, which will shape the future of Europe for quite some time."

She knew she'd fulfilled her mission, but it wasn't easy to overcome the vision they'd seen of all the Jews who had commit suicide rather than become subject to that empire.

"All those people... families, kids." Gwyn whispered, still fighting the urge to shudder and be sick. "They're all dead. It's just so... brutal. So unfair. They just wanted to live in their own country according to their own customs. They didn't ask for any of this." She knew she was stating the obvious, but she couldn't help it. She had to voice it to convince herself that, if this was so devastatingly unfair, fair might still exist somewhere else in the world. _Just not here..._

Michelle patted her shoulder awkwardly. _Poor thing. I guess she's never seen anything like that before. Even for me it was pretty horrific._ She sighed. "I find that throughout history, people never ask to be butchered and oppressed. Other people just do it."

"Does it ever change?" came the question. "Are people still doing this in the future? Endlessly being cruel and greedy and full of hate?" The scene of the dead had affected her profoundly. She simply couldn't escape the images of the ghastly array of corpses in their hundreds. Never having seen such violence outside of the movies, nothing could have prepared her for the smell, the heavy feel of the air, the permeating aura of death.

Michelle realised she needed to move Gwyn on before the shock of it all filled her mind to the exclusion of everything.

"It does change, eventually, in a lot of ways," she said. "And look, your friend has finally managed to find the survivors." She pointed down to where Gaius emerged with a slow-moving Auntie, a dazed Adi, and the three children. Soldiers had begun to appear, and Gwyn saw Gaius stand off against one man and prevent him from advancing any further towards the group. Gesticulating pointedly, it became apparent to all onlookers that he was insisting on taking them to the General, and would brook no interference with his 'prisoners'. His determination was quite remarkable for one who wasn't a soldier, and it seemed to baffle the other Romans, who stood around in a rather deflated fashion after their near brush with a fiery death and no enemy left to fight.

"They will tell the story of Masada," Michelle observed. "Or as much as that twat Josephus gives them a voice. Not much of a historian, in my opinion."

"Mmhmm." Gwyn wasn't listening, gazing instead at her friends, one Jewish, one Roman, standing within a stone's throw. _I could almost call out... Just to let them know I'm alright..._

Michelle interrupted her thoughts. "It was a good hit with the torch, by the way. When you rescued that girl. I wouldn't have guessed you had such a swing. And good use of the materials at hand."

"Huh?" Gwyn was distracted. Then she felt sick just remembering it. "Oh, yeah..."

Had she killed him? Or had that been Michelle, stooping over and doing... something to his neck? She had heard the snap. It had been all shadowy, and no doubt he'd deserved to die, but she didn't think she'd ever forget the feeling of swinging that torch in a murderous rage. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with guilt and exhaustion, seriously feeling her own lack of sleep. She swayed unsteadily on her feet.

_Hmm, maybe that didn't help,_ Michelle realised. _Not everyone's a fighter._ "Time to get out of here," she said abruptly. "Hold on."

_We're going home!_ Gwyn's brain chimed through the fatigue. _But... but... I didn't really say goodbye properly..._

Flick!

Up in a tower Gaius thought he saw a flickering of a blue haze. He stopped and his eyes snapped upwards, causing Adi to follow his gaze and ask in Greek,

"What's wrong?" She remained suspicious and wary of this Roman who claimed to be Ruth's friend, but he had a distracted air that made him seem less dangerous, and he had stopped those soldiers from coming too close.

He continued to stare briefly upwards, then slowly replied,

"Nothing." _And no answers either._ "Just thought I saw something..."

# TWENTY-SEVEN

## 2572 AD

It seemed like a long time that the rushing, whooshing azure haze enveloped them. Then the lurching stopped and Gwyn found her vision clearing yet again.

_Where... No, when the hell am I?_ She wondered as she looked about. They were in a room with shining white walls, interspersed with screens or... _Holograms,_ she realised, seeing them project slightly out from the wall. The pictures shifted and changed, showing bright colours, happy looking people and grand vistas. _It looks almost like... advertising?_

"What's going on?" she turned to Michelle, who quickly strode to the doorway and peered out suspiciously. "This isn't En Gedi. I thought you were taking me back to my time? When is this?"

Satisfied that no one was out there, the other woman moved to a wall and waved her hands in front of it, activating a stream of water that flowed into a backwards-sloping bench. _It's a sink._ Gwyn realised. _This room is some sort of bathroom._

"What's going on?" she demanded. "Where are we? _When_ are we?"

"We are in En Gedi, actually," Michelle splashed her face and neck, washing up her arms as well. "Just not in your time. Sorry." She stood straight and a warm jet of air blew gently onto her face and outstretched hands.

"Sorry?" Gwyn was still exhausted and not a little frightened. She'd just contributed to the murder of Joshua and then had to witness the harrowing aftermath of the mass suicide by the Sicarii—now this time travelling agent hadn't even taken her to the right time? _I've just about had enough and I'm_ this close _to losing my shit!_

"Yes, I'm sorry," Michelle turned to face the younger woman. "I will get you back to your own time, I promise, but I have to clear up a few things first and I need your help. You've proved your ability to deal with time travel exceptionally well. I need someone who can do that so that I don't end up in the same place as I did before."

"You want me to help you?" she couldn't believe it. She'd been _this_ close to going home, and now this highhanded future woman was pretty much kidnapping her. "Just take me home! Please! How could I possibly help you?" Her voice raised in pitch and became plaintive. _What use could I possibly be to this, this time-space-whatever agent who zips about casually watching the world come crashing down around people's ears._

"Gwyn." Michelle rested her hands gently on Gwyn's shoulders. "I promise I will take you home, but please let me explain why I need your help first. Here, wash your face, it'll make you feel better."

Obediently, like a child, Gwyn washed her face in warm water and allowed it to dry. It did make her feel better, but she glared sulkily up at her new captor all the same.

"Let's go sit outside," Michelle suggested. "I don't like being stuck in a room with only one exit."

They walked out and Gwyn gazed about in astonishment. She recognised the scene to a certain degree. The beach lay before them, sun rising over the horizon. It was early morning with no one else about, though it was plain to see that multiple hotels encircled the area. They were ecologically blended into their surroundings, faux rock and much greenery incorporated into their design, so they weren't eyesores, but clearly hotels all the same.

"It's still a resort," Michelle answered Gwyn's unspoken question. "They managed to avoid draining the Dead Sea entirely, and rehabilitated it to a certain extent. Very popular tourist destination for Earth dwellers and off-worlders alike. Come on, there's a nice spot to watch the sun rise."

It seemed to Gwyn that it was almost the same spot they'd sat more than two thousand years before. Of course, the tree couldn't possibly be the same, but another just like it grew in its place. In her exhausted state, Gwyn felt the weirdness of déjà vu.

The story Michelle told was extraordinary. She started by recalling Gwyn to their first encounter on the Snake Path at Masada.

"I was attacked and captured," she explained. "They were after this." She held up the palm with the chronokinetor. "It's the most advanced, valuable timepiece ever to yet exist. I dumped it to keep it from them when I realised I wasn't going to escape. Believe me I tried. But they just kept appearing! I never expected anyone to ever find it, let alone be able to use it! It's more than a physical thing, you see—it requires a mental connection. I have no idea how you formed that connection without training. I would like to find out, but first I have to get this back to the Commissioner of the Space-Time Agency before anyone else can get a hold of it.

"That's where you come in. I'll be the decoy, the one they are looking for. You can waltz on in without any symptoms of time-travel sickness. I'll work out a way for you to get to the Commissioner, she can rescue me and bust these crooks at the same time. Then I'll take you home."

The words rolled through and over Gwyn's head. She had so many questions! But eventually she understood, or at least she thought she did, that this was the only way to get back home. She didn't know how to operate the timepiece that sat blended into her hand, and even if she did, Michelle had mentioned that she'd "blocked any fourth dimension functionality" so she figured that meant that independent time travel was out.

"Alright," she said, finally. "What do I have to do?"

The other woman smiled. "You are a serious hardshell," she said. "I appreciate your help. But first things first, both you and I need some rest, food, and clean up time. I think the hotel reception over there should be open by now. Let's check in and gather ourselves, then we'll go from there. Just let me do the talking."

Gwyn woke from the deepest sleep she'd had in weeks. The bed had seemed so soft at first it was like drowning in a marshmallow, but that hadn't mattered after the first two seconds—sleep had washed up over her and she sank into oblivion like a stone to the bottom of a deep, still pool.

Waking slowly, she luxuriated in the squishy pillows and comforting doona. It smelt clean, the smell of fresh linen, and she realised in amusement that she'd had the strangest dream—a dream about time travel, ancient battles, strange people from past and future. She was home, of course, it must be the weekend for Mum and Dad to have let her sleep in so long.

_That's strange,_ her brain was groggy but insistent in its logic. _I thought they were away. Aren't they working overseas, in Israel?_

Israel! En Gedi! Masada...

She dragged her reluctant eyes open to take in the strange looking hotel room in which she resided.

Gaze falling on the faux rock walls and decorative flora, combined with discreet but extremely modern facilities (screens; soft-toned lights; the short, wheeled robot rolling in with a tray of food) reality hit her and she spoke aloud.

"It wasn't a dream." Dejection hung over her as she realised that she was still a long way from getting home.

"No, it wasn't," Michelle strode out from behind an opaque panel and assisted the robot in unloading the tray. "Thank you," she told it, and it whirred briefly before executing a neat three point turn and rolling out of the room. "Something to eat? You must be hungry, you slept for so long!"

Gwyn was starving, she realised, and clambering out of the soft, beautiful bed she could smell something unidentifiable but tasty—it looked like bread rolls with mini pastries stuffed with egg and spinach, bordered by colourful fruit and topped off by a glass of some sort of juice. She glanced down at her attire even as she seated herself at the small table where Michelle now sat helping herself to breakfast.

"Where did this come from?" she asked. She was in soft white shorts and a singlet. _Pyjamas_.

"Mmm, standard hotel-issue sleep attire. I sent the dress you were wearing to be incinerated, I'm afraid. It was in pretty bad shape. I've ordered some clothes—hope they fit." She indicated a small pile next to the bed. "You were pretty zonked by the time we were all checked in, I don't know if you remember, so I shoved you in the shower and then put you to bed. Hope you don't mind—I figured you'd rather be clean."

And clean she was, unbelievably so compared to the standards she'd been forced to endure during her time in the past. She vaguely recalled showering and collapsing. _Huh,_ she snorted. _All that time dreaming of a hot shower and clean bed and you were too tired to enjoy it. Oh well._

They finished the meal in record time, both women eating voraciously. Michelle showed Gwyn how to operate the bathroom facilities by herself and she enjoyed properly her second hot—and very fantastic—shower, not to mention teeth cleaning and brushing her hideously tangled hair.

The clothes did fit; the simple, lightweight trousers and sleeved shirt much better than anything she'd worn while at Masada. She emerged after a lengthy period to find Michelle stretching elegantly on the semi-enclosed balcony that overlooked the beach and the Dead Sea.

"Ok, so what now?" Having steeled herself to helping this woman in her mission in exchange for passage home, she was determined to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

"Now?" Michelle straightened up and twisted her back, hearing a satisfying crack of her spine. "Now, we need to get back to my own time. I'll instruct you on what you are to do when we reach Vivaldis Prime and how you are to get to Commissioner Hera. She is the director of the Space-Time Agency and the only one who can get to the bottom of this mess. I want to know who attacked me and tried to steal the chronokinetor, and I want them caught and tried."

"How on earth am I going to find this Commissioner without help?" Gwyn wanted to know. "I couldn't even operate the toilet in there without you telling me how. I'm out of my depth in this time! And where is Vilval... Vivalda... where are we going?"

Michelle smiled. "Vivaldis Prime. It's the capital world of the human reach of the Allied Planets. Most of Earth is akin to a nature reserve now, the parts that aren't simply wasteland or radioactive. Heritage listed, you might call it. And you managed alright out of time before. This time you will have help. I'll send a message to a friend of mine. He'll meet you and escort you to the Agency Headquarters, and get you in too. The code words you have to remember are 'time to find missing person'."

Gwyn stared at her. "Another planet. You're kidding, right?"

"'Time to find missing person'—remember that!" Michelle admonished gently. "It'll be fine. We're going to skip forward to a time where space travel is frequent and direct, then make the last time jump on Vivaldis. I suspect they'll try capture me again if I go anywhere near the Agency, but they won't look twice at you. You've demonstrated no signs of time-travel sickness in all our jumps, no disorientation. You'll blend in, and my friend Owen will take it from there. All you have to remember are the code words—that'll get you access to the Commissioner, then you explain everything to her."

Gwyn's mind raced. "But you said they were just after that," she pointed to the chronokinetor, lodged in Michelle's palm still. "Won't they just take it off you when they nab you?"

The other woman smiled. "But it won't be on me. It's going to be with you."

# TWENTY-EIGHT

## 2572 AD

To the best of her knowledge, Gwyn figured she was the first person from her era to have ever travelled so far from the Earth. And so easily too! No intense training to be an astronaut, no years undergoing selection for missions, no attempts at the moon. She was light years from home. So far that to have travelled by the fastest means of space travel in her time would have been impossible. So far that even if speed of light travel had been achieved in her time, it would take hundreds of years, and by the time she reached her destination everyone she knew would be dead.

They were dead, she realised, and it made her sad to think of it. Hundreds of years dead, in this time. She wondered if she had descendants living now, and where they were, and who they were.

Michelle interrupted her melancholy train (or spaceship) of thought.

"We'll be docking soon. Do you remember what you have to do?"

Gwyn barely turned from the view available to passengers: the planet that was filling the panoramic screen in front of them. It was incredible, but surreal. None of the familiar landforms she had learned from movies to expect from space. The oceans were smaller, the continents strange. This was not Earth.

She recited to Michelle, "After we land you and I will jump forward to your time, approximately several hours after you escaped from the Detention Centre. We'll split up immediately and I'll make my way to the Arrivals Gate in the Spaceport. Your friend Owen will be waiting there to meet me. You will attempt to reach the Agency, but in the event that you are arrested or similar, Owen will assist me in getting to the Agency, whereby I will ask to speak to Commissioner Hera, and advise that it is "time to find missing person." This should gain me access to her and then gain her confidence that I have been sent by you. Tell her that you have been captured in an effort to steal the chron... chronokinetor," she still stumbled over the awkward words.

"And then?" Michelle prompted.

"Then tell her that Owen can locate the one that you have, that you used to come back and find me. They locate it, find you, bust the baddies and you take me home." _Seems simple, it's just all happening so fast, after weeks and weeks of lying low and hiding._

"Hmm," the other woman exhaled softly through her nose. "Let's hope it's all that simple. I have a strange feeling there is something else I don't know, something critical, but I can't work out what. Still, it's the best plan I have. The Commissioner holds the ear of some of the most powerful people on the planet. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's her. She's ex-military, tough as tough can be, fought the Clarish on behalf of the Allied Planets when humans first were permitted to join."

"She sounds impressive," Gwyn observed unenthusiastically.

"She is," Michelle smiled, ignoring the younger woman's reaction. "She sponsored my entry into the Agency, even though I was the youngest by a decade. I didn't have any parents to help me, I had to study and work hard and bust my arse to get ahead. The Commissioner noticed me, and argued for my joining even though most of the other senior members of the Agency said I was way too young. But no one else had my aptitude for time travel. In actual fact, I've never seen anyone cope with it as well as me—until I met you. Those goons who ran me down back in your time must have been doped up to the eyeballs on anti-nausea drugs to have kept up with me. I could hear them slur even before they tackled me."

Gwyn filed this information away in her mind, leaving it to ponder upon later. _She isn't exactly arrogant, just matter of fact. Still a little annoying that she's so confident about herself. I suppose I should find it reassuring._ She wondered why she had this natural ability, same as Michelle. Perhaps they were related somewhere along the line? _Distant descendant, perhaps?_

She didn't have time to finish that line of thought, however, the ship was docking as they spoke. They shuffled off onto the main Space Station orbiting Vivaldis, the same one Michelle had utilised to make good her escape, albeit in a different year to this one. Descent to the planet's surface was straightforward, if a little tedious (grey walls of the space elevator made for boring viewing but Space Port officials found that the sight of the rapid transition between the ground and the station affected most people badly, so while plain walls were unexciting, they did not induce vertigo or visually accentuate the change in the atmospheric pressure that passengers experienced during the trip up or down).

Having gained the ground, Michelle ducked into a hygiene facility to swap chronokinetors with Gwyn. The basic one she'd acquired from Owen had remained lodged in Gwyn's palm all this time, except when Michelle decided it needed charging.

"Safest place for it," she explained. "You can't drop it, lose it, have it stolen. It's literally part of you."

"Yes, but you haven't taught me how to get it in or out." She still couldn't fathom the simple way Michelle managed to concentrate, then pop the timepiece out with minimal pressure.

"We'll get to that later, I promise." It made Gwyn uneasy the blithe way the woman from the future promised things so easily, but as of yet had not delivered on anything. _Can you really trust her...?_

Still, somehow the original chronokinetor, the one that had taken Gwyn back in time, felt far more comfortable than it's more basic cousin. It was weird, maybe weeks of wearing it had engendered a familiarity. _Michelle did say there was a mental connection. I wonder how that works?_

Michelle seemed to notice the quickness with which the timepiece melded back into Gwyn's skin, but while her lips tightened in a slight frown, she didn't say anything.

_I need to run some tests on this girl before I let her leave,_ she thought to herself. _It's uncanny how this supposedly tuned-to-me device is bonding so effortlessly with her. The other one I could understand—it's a far more basic model. This is just weird. I don't like it._

It was lucky Gwyn couldn't hear what the other woman was thinking, or she might've baulked at the next part of the plan. As it was, she took a deep breath and nodded that she was ready.

Flick.

They jumped back into Michelle's time.

## 2623 AD

The blue haze had barely faded when Michelle pushed her way past Gwyn and disappeared out the door. An astonished-looking man stared at them in the mirror, speechless at the appearance of two women out of nowhere.

"Um," Gwyn hesitated, then said with some incredulity, "Did you see that hologram? Malfunctioning if I ever saw one." _Wonder if he'll buy that. Aaand obviously these toilets are unisex. Would have been nice if she'd mentioned that!_ After the separation of the sexes in Masada and the all-male environment of Silva's camp, she wasn't used to men and women sharing the same space so casually.

"What?" the man turned to stare after the departed Michelle and Gwyn made hasty her own exit from the opposite door. She found herself in a busy windowless corridor, a replica of the one she'd disembarked into from the space elevator, but with some newer furnishings that didn't quite disguise the slightly more worn floor surface and wall colours. It _was_ several decades on, she supposed. _You think they'd have at least changed the colour scheme._

She tried not to look tentative as she made her way along with the general flow of people along the corridor and down some sort of travelator to a lower level. It was all she could do not to stare when she saw her first alien. It was more or less humanoid: bipedal with two arms but blue, much shorter than her and furry with a tail that twitched back and forth as it paced quickly by, putting her in mind of a cat in a hurry. Michelle had warned her, in an offhand fashion, that while Vivaldis was predominantly a human planet, various other members of the Allied Planets had embassies, businesses, schools, and exchange programs here.

"The Shanista are the most important, if most elusive," Michelle had instructed her while on their space flight from Earth. "They are highly scientific but with strict ethical and moral codes. They were key to the development of the Agency, and have a facility adjoining our headquarters. They tend towards tall and dark, bipedal like us but with two pairs of wings for extra limbs.

"Don't get into an argument with a Mayash—they can get easily agitated and have a tendency to smack things with their tail. Rilans and Nolii are less common. Rilans are amphibious, and can ooze if left out in the air too long—you'll know one when you meet one. They are a lot bigger than humans and slide about on their tails. The Nolii don't like to travel much—they grow a really heavy shell upon reaching maturity, makes them a bit clumsy. The younger ones like to come to our schools though. Great sense of humour."

Head buzzing with all this information, Gwyn had tried to memorise the details and gave up. She just favoured a slightly bored look when inside her mind was screaming,

It's an alien! Oh my God! We are not alone in the universe! I can't believe it—I'm on another planet and casually sauntering past real live aliens! Just act cool, just act cool.

"Gwyn?"

She'd reached the arrivals gate without realising, following the crowd until it dumped her into a general morass of people that pooled and eddied as friends sought friends, families reunited, and business people marched patiently through the flow. More hologram advertising flashed around her, overwhelming the senses.

"Gwyn?" The speaker was a tall, dark haired young man, a few years older than her, who looked somewhat nervous and uncomfortable, twitching slightly as he peered back over his shoulder.

"Ah, yes. Owen?" _Well who else would be expecting you?_ He fit the description Michelle had given her. _Tall, pale skin, and dark hair. Needs a new shirt._ It was rather shabby, and seemed to be inside out. She wondered if he realised.

"Yeah," he gestured for her to follow and they edged their way through all the people, following another corridor to a crowded platform. It seemed to be a bus or train stop. Music chimed as an announcement warned all Citizens to stand back as the transport approached. No wheels or track were apparent, the carriage just glided along with a swishing noise. Owen handed her a crystal, indicating that she should copy him and wave it over a sensor as they boarded the carriage. They travelled about ten stops, him too edgy to say anything, and she both too hesitant to initiate conversation and too enraptured by the scenes around them to want to try. They flashed past buildings and open spaces, leaving her little opportunity to study anything in detail, but each stop saw a general shifting of passengers on and off that left her engrossed. At first it was just the aliens, but the variety of humans and their apparel left her feeling quite drab by comparison. She forced herself not to stare as a massive dark-skinned bearded man strolled past in a hot pink mini skirt and bowed a greeting to an Asiatic-looking woman in a grey patchwork overall. She bowed back and they began chatting avidly. Nobody else batted an eyelid _. Maybe clothing choices aren't a big deal here and now. That's kinda cool, actually._

Owen tapped her elbow. He finally seemed satisfied that no one was following them or eavesdropping, and he leaned close to ask in little more than a breath,

"Is Michelle alright? She's in some sort of trouble, but she wouldn't say what. Just that I had to help you get to the Commissioner of the Time Space Agency."

"Um," Gwyn muttered back, still absorbed in people-watching. "Yeah, she is, I guess. That's why she wants me to try get help. How much further is it?" She glanced at him.

He pursed his lips nervously. He was kind of good looking, not in the earthy, capable way that Gaius had been, but more of a tall, dark and moody kind of way. Looked like he needed a few good meals and some sunshine to bring him out of himself. Then she felt a pang of guilt for even looking at another guy, so soon after leaving the kind young Roman man in the past.

"Next stop," Owen advised, and swiped his pass off as they disembarked the transport. They were standing in an impressive square with large, beautiful buildings adorning it. An elaborate fountain shot sparkly, colourful liquid in the centre of the square, and people (humans and aliens) milled about; talking, sitting, some even seemed to be tourists, taking photos of the surroundings. At least, that's what she assumed they were doing, judging by the poses, since she couldn't see anything that resembled what she'd recognise to be a camera, but they were throwing these strange crystals up in the air which floated down in a rotating fashion. _Could just be a weird game? You have no idea what people do for fun in this time. I'm definitely getting a tourist vibe though._ More holograms leapt up out of the ground, spruiking what appeared to be accommodation and restaurants, tours and credit facilities. Everything was clean, too—she watched impressed as a child, not more than five she guessed, waved her empty drink cup in the air and a robot trundled over and opened a receptacle for the girl to place the cup into. _Even the kids know how to not litter._

"This way," Owen muttered and tugged her jacket sleeve gently. They crossed the square, and scooted down an alleyway to a slightly grubbier looking entrance on a plain walled building. _Oh. I guess I thought the Time Space Agency building might be one of those fancy ones out in the square. Obviously not._ The only thing that indicated any difference between this doorway and the few others that lurked in this alley was a small spiral symbol etched just to the top left of the portal. Gwyn stared at it for a second, then quickly glanced at the timepiece embedded in her palm. The same spiral resided there.

"It's the mark of the Agency," Owen noticed her staring at the symbol on the wall. "Kind of like a corporate logo, I suppose. It only appeared in the last few years. But I make a point of keeping up to date with Agency developments."

"Why?" she wanted to know. "You don't work for them just yet, Michelle said. What's the interest?"

He started, and quickly shot glances behind to see if anyone was nearby. The alley was deserted.

"What do you mean, just yet? What did she tell you? She can't travel beyond her own future, no one can! So how can she know about my future?" He demanded to know, leaning in close, wide eyed with frustration and fear.

She leaned forward suddenly, forcing him to jerk back into his own personal space.

" _I_ don't know!" she spoke fiercely. "And I've had enough of dudes getting up in my grill and being all aggro and shit, so back off! I just want to go home, and apparently the only way to do this is talk to this Commissioner lady, so let's go get it over with!" _Wow, okay, calm down Gwyn. Guess I'm a bit touchy about personal space after all everything that's gone on recently._

He stared at her, astonished out of his own self-preoccupation.

"Uh, okay..." He was silent a moment. "Who are you anyway, and how do you know her? She basically told me she was protecting a timepiece, that you knew about it and that people were trying to abduct her and steal the piece. And that the Commissioner needed to be told or there could be serious ramifications for the entire Allied Planets." He didn't add that she'd said she thought her life was in danger also—it was that that had convinced him to help, despite his great reservations.

She sighed. "It's a long, confusing, convoluted story. I just got mixed up in it by accident." She didn't mention that she had the protected timepiece. She kept her sleeve pulled down over her hand just in case. She figured the fewer people who knew, the better, just in case Michelle was wrong about whom to trust.

"Okay. Well the sooner we find her the sooner I can wring the truth out of her. I'm really not happy about this." He turned to the door and tapped on a covered panel. It slid back and he tapped in a code on a screen, and the door slid open. He stood back, indicating that she should enter.

The room was relatively small, a reception of some sort, with a squish- looking couch occupying one wall, and a high fronted desk opposite it. A breath of air made her turn and realise the door had closed behind her, and for a second she thought that Owen had abandoned her and run away, but then she saw he'd merely crossed to the couch and had seated himself in a broody fashion.

"Can I help you?"

An androgynous-looking human with short green hair was seated behind the reception desk, uniformed in a black skin-tight coverall with the Agency spiral emblazoned on the sleeve. Gwyn couldn't tell the person's gender, so opted to address the person as,

"Citizen, I need to speak with Commission Hera as a matter of extreme importance and urgency. It is time to find missing person." The words tumbled out just as she'd rehearsed them with Michelle. 'Citizen' was the polite address considered correct for all species of the Allied Planets, eliminating the risk of incorrect or offensive titles.

Despite the polite and correct address, however, the receptionist looked blank upon hearing the prepared statement.

"I beg your pardon? Do you have an appointment with the Commissioner? She is an extremely busy person and I'm afraid if you don't have an appointment she can't see you."

"Yes, I have an appointment. Please check with her secretary." _Buy time,_ Michelle had instructed. _You'll have to get past the gatekeeper, but 'time to find' should trigger a response from higher up. There will be an audio sensor in the reception._

Citizen Receptionist smiled in polite puzzlement and spoke quietly to the computer, tapping the screen occasionally with long, elegant fingers.

"I'm afraid there are no appointments scheduled for the Commissioner this afternoon," Gwyn was informed. "Your name, sorry?"

"My name is Gwyn, Gwyn Turner." It felt slightly strange to be using her full name again after so many weeks of aliases. "Perhaps the appointment isn't showing. I really just need a message passed on immediately: time to find missing person." She was trying not to feel anxious. _Come on,_ her brain urged silently. _It was a simple plan. Please let it work! Pass on the message._

Receptionist looked doubtful. "I'm afraid I can only forward your message to the Commissioner's secretary. If you don't have an appointment I can take your contact details and ask Secretary Romero to get in touch, but you'll have to submit an application. The Commissioner doesn't see just anyone, you see."

Gwyn could sense Owen getting agitated behind her. She was afraid he'd just walk out, and she knew that without him they wouldn't be able to locate Michelle. Why he was so afraid of the Agency she wasn't sure, Michelle had only briefly alluded to the fact that he'd had a run in with them during their university days, and he preferred to keep under their scanner, so to speak. His demeanour had discouraged any questions she might have tried.

"Please," she tried again. "It really is a matter of extreme urgency and importance. I really need the Commissioner to get that message. Someone's life could be in danger."

Receptionist shook his or her shapely head. "Then you really ought to alert the police, this isn't a matter for the Time Space Agency. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please."

"Time to find missing person," she blurted out again. "I'm sorry, I can't leave. I have to get that message to the Commissioner." This was not working out how it was supposed to. Michelle had said those words would trigger the Commissioner to respond, but the receptionist was blocking her all too effectively.

"Come on, Gwyn," Owen was at her elbow, muttering. "This isn't working, we have to go." He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, keen to be leaving these premises. Frustrated, Gwyn glared at him and turned back to the receptionist, struggling to arrange her features into a more conciliatory appearance.

"Please," she said quietly. "I'm aware this is highly unusual and you don't think we should be here. But I really do promise you that there is no one else who can help us in this situation, and if the Commissioner doesn't get that message, terrible things could happen."

Receptionist's beautifully arched eyebrows snapped together, gone from annoyed at Gwyn's persistence to extremely displeased.

"Please leave now," they were ordered abruptly. "If you think to threaten an employee of the Agency you are mistaken. Get out."

"I'm not threatening!" Gwyn insisted, shrugging off Owen's slightly whining voice that was pleading that they leave. "I need your help. I need the Commissioner's help! Please just pass on the message!"

It was turning ugly. She couldn't quite keep the desperation out of her voice. _Shit, shit, shit!_

Suddenly another door opened, admitting two black-uniformed figures, also bearing the spiral symbol of the Agency. One was human, burly and female; the other an alien she recognised as a Mayash, blue, short and furry, just like the one she'd seen in the space port. Its tail twitched back and forth, as if it were sensing the mood in the reception area.

The Receptionist looked relieved. Obviously this was security of some sort, here to eject them from the premises. Owen was already edging conspicuously towards the outer door, but Gwyn held her ground, facing the newcomers. _I might be getting kicked out of here, but damned if I'm going to skulk out with my tail between my legs. Figuratively speaking._

"Gwyn Turner?" it was the Mayash who spoke.

"Yes," she returned, squaring her shoulders slightly.

She couldn't believe the words that were spoken next.

"The Commissioner will see you now." The female security guard stepped back and indicated the door through which he'd just come.

"What?" The Receptionist was not particularly pleased.

"What?" Owen had stopped by the outer door and was staring suspiciously at the guards.

Gwyn managed to nod her head. "Very good," she said, sounding like a po-faced butler from the nineteenth century. "Thank you." _At last, we're getting somewhere!_

"Is he with you?" the alien pointed its tail at Owen.

"Yes," she replied before he could get the chance to say anything otherwise. "Yes, we are both here to see the Commissioner."

# TWENTY-NINE

## 2623 AD

She'd been sedated heavily this time, and her mind wandered back and forth in a haze as she struggled to fight the drug-induced bewilderment. Someone had quite expertly relieved her of the chronokinetor she'd had in her left hand, but swearing and threats from an angry man—he'd been one of the guys who'd chased and captured her the first time, she was pretty sure, or as sure as she could be of anything in this state—confirmed that her captors realised this was not the timepiece they were after.

After leaving Gwyn at the Spaceport, she'd made her way swiftly to the centre of the city by air taxi, registering her name in order to pay for it by credit. _That should get the attention of anyone scanning the system._ The computer-driven taxi took off and patiently merged into the streams of air traffic that criss-crossed Vivaldis on routes carefully marked by colourful hovering beacons.

As she approached the Time Space Agency's entrance she made no efforts to hide herself or conceal her trajectory as she crossed the Central Square, passing the fountain and skirting the crowds of tourists. She was not even halfway into the alley when an electroshock from behind sent her plummeting to her knees _(What a cheap shot!_ her mind exclaimed as a wave of pain swept over her) and two guys dressed in the black uniform of Agency security guards appeared out of nowhere and bundled her into a hovercar clearly stamped with the spiral logo.

This more than anything worried her. She'd been surprised they'd taken her so blatantly, impersonating Agency staff right in front of the building itself, and just off the public square. Like the first time she'd been captured, that stank of corruption high up and someone powerful abusing their position. _Surely someone witnessed it and reported it?_ There were hundreds of people in that square. But if they thought it legitimate why would they question it?

_Because citizens of the Federated Planets aren't used to arbitrary arrests,_ she'd mused to herself. Vivaldis and the other human inhabited planets were democratic and generally safe places to be, barring certain areas. To snatch someone straight off the street would mean some kind of cover up story for the media—that they were arresting a terrorist about to stage an attack on a public building would be the easiest story.

It still worried her. Her head lolled back on its shoulders as she slumped against the corner of the room. After Angry Man had left—he'd wait until she was coherent before coming back to question her—she'd been left under surveillance. She could see the scanners in the ceiling, but it definitely wasn't an official holding cell like the one she'd been in last time. The scanners were rigged up in a temporary fashion, and the smell in the room was one she associated with space cargo—slightly stale and mechanical—making her wonder if they were near the spaceport. There was nothing else in the room, however, to give her a clue, and as her wrists and ankles were electro-cuffed to the bench, she couldn't even attempt to explore. They weren't taking any chances this time.

Despite the wooziness, she wasn't unhappy about the sedative. They might think it was preventing her escape, but in actual fact it was buying her time. She'd play up the effects for as long as she could. She only hoped that once Gwyn and Owen had reached the Commissioner, they'd work fast to locate her. She didn't fancy undergoing questioning by Angry Man, he'd already demonstrated he was a little too trigger happy with the shock baton.

_Come on, Gwyn,_ she urged silently as her thoughts became clearer _. I know it's ironic, but I really am running out of time._

Gwyn's first impression of Commissioner Hera was a stern, tall figure, still fit and hard despite her greying hair and weathered brown skin. The office was large, but her presence filled it and left you in no doubt who was in charge here. Dim holograms flickered on the walls, and the far wall appeared to be one large window, looking out over rooftops. Gwyn could just see the corner of the square they'd crossed before.

The window dimmed, and Hera turned to face the visitors. Gwyn noticed something odd as she nodded dismissal to the security guards who'd escorted. The Commissioner's face twitched, nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she faced the Mayash guard who lingered just a moment too long before exiting the room.

_Woah, she really doesn't like that guard, it would seem?_ Gwyn wondered. _Insubordinate, perhaps, or a personal beef?_

She wasn't given a chance to wonder further as she found herself and Owen the subject of intense scrutiny; stern eyes swept briefly over Gwyn before resting on her companion.

"Owen Chang," he was addressed, and he nodded nervously in response. _He really doesn't want to be here,_ she realised. _All those nerves, the edginess as we were travelling here—this is what he was afraid of: being in this room facing this woman. Why?_

The stern old woman suddenly smiled. It was an interesting effect. It was no grandmotherly smile, kind and indulgent. Rather it was a satisfied smile, like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. It made Gwyn uneasy and seemed to have the same effect on Owen.

"Owen, it's been a long time since that misunderstanding over your university exploits," Commissioner Hera gestured magnanimously for them to sit down. They sidled into two swivel chairs facing the big desk that took pride of place in the office. The mention of university made Gwyn feel like a naughty student called to the Dean's office. _Why is the Commissioner so interested in him? I was the one kicking up a ruckus in the reception._

"Ah, yes, misunderstanding," he nodded hopefully. "Does that mean I'm not in trouble anymore?"

_That's why he's so nervous about being here,_ Gwyn figured. _He's had some sort of run in with the Commissioner in the past and doesn't want to relive it._

"In trouble? Of course you're not in trouble. If I'd been in the Commissioner's chair at the time there never would have been this hassle. Skills like yours are much too useful to be restricted by university policy." Owen looked relieved, though Gwyn didn't find it completely convincing. But she suddenly found herself the focus of that steely gaze.

"Now," Hera seated herself in the rather imperious looking chair behind the desk, "who do we have here? Your name is Gwyn Turner, I understand? You were rather keen to get a message to me."

"Uh, yes," Gwyn tried to regain the confidence she'd felt in the reception. "Time to find missing agent, uh, I mean, person." _Get it right, you muppet!_

Hera leaned closer, her dark eyes focussing directly on Gwyn. "There is only one missing Agent, of whom I am aware, and I am aware of everything that happens in this Agency. We have been frantic trying to locate her, but lack the resources and staff to mount a search party, not to mention our policy is that Agents are meant to be completely self-sufficient. But a strange message surfaced at the City Detention Centre several days ago, which would imply that she was active but in some sort of trouble. Can you tell me why she hasn't reported in?"

Those eyes bored into Gwyn, intent of finding answers. Fortunately, she had some.

"She's been detained," the young woman explained. "She was attacked and captured, but she managed to escape her captors. She knew they'd try again, so she sent me to inform you so you could locate her. She knew you were the only person who could make something happen quickly enough to both retrieve her and find out who these people are."

"She doesn't know?" the question surprised Gwyn. Surely Michelle would have said if she'd known who had kidnapped her? _Maybe. But then she seems to keep her cards pretty close to her chest. I get the sinking feeling I'm some sort of dupe but I'm not yet sure why..._

"Not that she told me." Gwyn shifted in her seat. "But I think she's in trouble. She was meant to get here first, but since she's not here I'm guessing they recaptured her. She thought that might happen if she tried to reach you, which is why she sent me. Us." She glanced at Owen. "You see, she thinks the reason she was attacked in the first place was to try steal the device she had. But she hid it. She has another, but it's nowhere near as good, but Owen can use it to locate her."

"Indeed! She hid it! But can she find it again? That device is a prototype—worth more than the Agency's yearly budget!" Hera was becoming slightly agitated, though it was hard to tell under her steely quasi-military aura. Gwyn could sympathise. To discover that your best Agent (she was assuming, since who else would they trust with an expensive prototype?) had been captured by an unknown group in order to steal said expensive prototype on your watch would be extremely embarrassing and stressful. But all the same she clenched her left fist around the same expensive prototype and keep it out of line of sight in her lap, shielded by the desk. Some instinct that had been awakened during her fourth dimensional travails made her decide it would be best if she kept something to herself rather than lay it all out there.

Why is she being so open about how important this thing is? She doesn't know me from a bar of soap. I'd be a lot more circumspect if some random showed up in my office making allegations like this.

But she was still able to answer Hera truthfully. "Yes, she can find it. But we need to find her." She hoped she was doing the right thing. She didn't entirely trust Michelle, but the woman had rescued her from siege, fire, and either death or a lifetime in ancient Rome... _Which might not have been terrible..._ She suddenly pictured Gaius in her mind, _but certainly not to be preferred over to family, home, and clean sanitation._

"If you can allow me access to some of the Agency computers," Owen piped up. "I can attempt to locate the device she has on her. Even if these kidnappers have taken it from her it should at least narrow down our search options."

The Commissioner pursed her lips seriously, and then nodded at Owen's suggestion.

"Very well," she rose, and they automatically followed. "Come with me. We'll use the programming room to search for her."

"What's taking so long?" Gwyn whispered as Owen tapped furiously at the computer screen before reaching out to rotate a hologram. She was trying not to stand too close to anything in this room—it all looked technical and expensive. Screens and holograms and columns of little lights on the metal walls made it look more futuristic than anything else she'd seen so far in this time, save an actual spaceship itself. Even those had been confusing—the one she'd arrived on had been egg shaped with several spindly protrusions, putting her in mind of a half-bald sea urchin. Nothing like the streamlined, forward-facing craft she'd envisioned, with large engines at the back. _Why would they need to be streamlined if they never enter an atmosphere?_ She asked herself. She'd forgotten to ask Michelle what propelled them. _Actually, you forgot to ask her a lot of things, which is a bit weird._

"It's not that simple," Owen replied shortly. "Every agency chronokinetor emits an automatic signal every twelve hours, and with the right equipment you can pinpoint where it is. Together with the tracker implanted in the agent—which emits a different signal every time the agent makes a jump—you can use a very complicated algorithm I designed to roughly locate the agent in time and space. But you have to know when to look before you try for where. Fortunately for this timepiece I know that the when is now."

"Why not just combine the two?" Gwyn wanted to know. "Why have two separate tracking devices?"

"It's something to do with interference, and the way each timepiece is tuned to the bearer," he answered, tapping some strange-looking symbols into the computer. "I'd have to spend some time looking at their systems to know for sure. But it looks like the implanted tracker is also designed to act as a backup in case the agent is separated from their timepiece. A rescue team could be sent to the correct time, and then search manually from there."

_That would explain why Michelle's attackers couldn't find the pocket watch on its own, I guess. They might have known where it was, but not when._ She realised Owen was still talking.

"This, however," he went on, "is not an agency timepiece, but one of my own, so I'm having to modify the algorithm because I used a different kind of signal. I didn't want them to be able to find it. So it's taking a bit longer." _And I'm taking the time to embed an erasing program so they can't find it again without me._

"Oh." She fell silent, not wanting to ask further questions in case she gave too much of her ignorance away. She'd been warned by Michelle to keep quiet about coming from a different time.

"They might not want you to go back," was the cryptic warning. "The Agency has an agenda to keep certain timelines on track, and they wouldn't want to risk you going back and destabilising any of them."

Oh, there was so much she didn't know about this world and time! If she'd felt overwhelmed back in ancient Judea, this was ten times worse! Fortunately the chronokinetor in her palm seemed to be doing its own trick again of allaying the suspicions of those around her. Despite his reservations, Owen had helped her. The Commissioner hadn't questioned her on where she'd come from, or how she knew Michelle. Strange that it hadn't worked on the receptionist. Maybe some people's minds were more resilient? _Should really have gotten Michelle to clarify that._

"Hmpf!" Owen exclaimed quietly, then shot a dark look at Gwyn, who was still hovering awkwardly at his elbow. Flicking his eyes back to the screen, he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "No wonder I'm having trouble finding the signal from the timepiece I gave her, you're interfering! Why didn't you say you had it?"

"Had what?" she muttered back, trying not to look back at where the Commissioner stood a little way away, speaking quietly into some sort of communication device. No one else was present in the room. "She gave it to me to keep safe. I don't know how to use it."

Owen was still frowning, but didn't say anything to alert the Commissioner of her possession of the chronokinetor. Despite the great lady's assurances, his paranoia over the trouble he'd been in at university meant he automatically defaulted to mistrust of any authority, especially that of the Agency that would have arrested, tried, and convicted him for serious crimes with serious penalties. His resurfacing had been a matter of great courage on his part and extreme persuasion on Michelle's. _She's always been persuasive, but I believed_ _her when she'd said it could be a matter of life and death, not just for individuals, but for entire worlds. Something big is going to go down._ He also wanted to know how she knew, and how she had any information about his own personal future.

He reconfigured his search algorithms, accounting for the chronokinetor in Gwyn's possession. He didn't bother explaining the process to her, and chances are she wouldn't have been able to understand it anyway. Some of the scientific principles (taught in primary schools now) were hundreds of years in the future for her. Not that he knew that, he was simply absorbed in the process.

"Ah ha!" he straightened, pleased with himself.

"Yes?" Hera appeared at their side. "You have managed to locate her?"

"I've located the chronokinetor she was using," he said. "Chances are she's still near it, but in any case it gives us a place to start looking. We ought to hurry before it moves."

"Yes." The door to the programming room slid silently open and Hera gestured to the same human and Mayash security guards who'd been standing to attention outside. Again Gwyn noticed the semi-concealed distaste for the non-human guard. _Is she xenophobic or something?_ "Where?"

He frowned. "Looks like the industrial area near the spaceport. Here." He used finger and thumb to drag the image on the screen, enlarging a map.

The Commissioner dispatched the human guard to assemble a small squad and proceed immediately to the location Owen had found. The Mayash she ordered to form part of the backup perimeter with the other squad. Speaking into her communicator, she ordered that her vehicle be made ready.

"You two, come with me," she ordered Owen and Gwyn. They trailed after her through a corridor and up a lift to the roof, whereupon they board a small hovercar. It did not resemble any automobile from Gwyn's time, having a comfortable but functional interior and short, stubby wings that had little to do with lift in the traditional sense of wings. Anti-gravity engines allowed the car to take off and accelerate to well above the legal speed limits, but the emblazoned Agency logo meant the Commissioner could pilot through low air traffic without being held up, much like a standard police car. Gwyn gazed out the window, watching buildings and low to ground vehicles zoom by, interspersed with tiny pedestrians. The city stretched on without limits, it seemed, though plenty of green space was dotted out across it. Some of the parks appeared to be extremely large, with strange tall trees that tended towards a blue-green rather than the green she normally associated with foliage. Despite all the parks, or gardens, or whatever they were, the buildings just continued on to the horizon without any sign of city limits.

The scene underneath began to change, however, as the building Owen had located was in the industrial area—a solid slab of grey and brown structures with no parks or anything to brighten it up except for garish hologram signage. They descended on what appeared to be a warehouse, judging by the words flashing on the roof: _Sensitive Space Freight._ The manager on duty scrambled out onto the rooftop space as they landed, but was brushed aside rather brusquely by the Commissioner, who advised the Agency needed to search the building so could he please assemble and account for all staff immediately?

Gwyn looked around curiously as the first squad landed in a car just after them. Rooftops were by and large flat and rectangular, even if the building below had curves to its walls. Lights marked out landing areas for hovercars and pedestrian walkways, making it clear this wasn't wasted space. There were no cranes to lift freight, but as they descended into the building they passed through a massive warehouse space and she could see floating platforms trundling slowly about, guided by human staff carrying what she guessed to be remote controls. Much yelling and confusion started to ensue as the warehouse manager announced over an intercom that all staff were to halt activities and present to the main dock. Hera ordered the humans from the first squad car to spread out and search everywhere, but the original female guard stayed with them and they marched downstairs into the warehouse.

_She seems to know where she is going..._ Gwyn was uneasy as she and Owen trailed after Hera. They took a lift down two basements levels and followed a corridor, Hera tapping open doors which clamped shut automatically behind them. It was poorly lit, down here, and had the dank, stale air of being disused space. Gwyn sniffed nervously but the presence of the guard behind her discouraged her from pausing, and she was forced keep up. Finally they reached a locked room, and the Commissioner nodded to the guard with them, who spoke into her communicator.

A man opened the door, and they proceeded inside.

"Michelle!" Gwyn and Owen exclaimed at the same time, spotting the woman on the far side of the room, hand- and foot-cuffed to the bench she was sitting on.

"What the...?" Owen was flabbergasted, but Gwyn reacted quicker. She whirled and ducked under the outstretched arms of female security guard who had accompanied them, but made it only as far as the doorway when an electric current hit her legs and she went down hard. Groaning, she was unceremoniously dragged back inside the room and propped next to Michelle. The man who'd opened the room for them had already cuffed Owen and was affixing him to Michelle's bench.

"Well, then," Commissioner Hera spoke. "Seems like we have our missing Agent and some rather inept sidekicks. Now, Michelle, they told me you know where the chronokinetor is, so give it up now before anyone else gets hurt."

Michelle's heart had leapt when she'd seen the Commissioner walk into the room. She'd just undergone half an hour of questioning by Angry Man (shock baton enabled) and she'd barely managed to keep the dopey-headed, glazed eye appearance in the face of the electric currents. She reacted, but slowed everything down and gibbered slightly as if her brain couldn't comprehend the source of the pain. It was hard, though. But then he'd stopped his torture after receiving a communication and contented himself to glare in a frustrated manner at her while she continued to let her head loll, even drooling slightly out of the corner of her mouth. She wanted him to think she was incapable of answering any questions.

So when Hera strode through that door preceded by Owen and Gwyn she thought all her travails were through. _They found me!_ But immediately she realised it was all wrong, that her captor had willingly let them in, that the Commissioner wasn't arresting or tasing him. In fact, the confidence with which she'd walked through the door made it seem almost like she'd known where Michelle was all along...

_That's because she did,_ her mind whispered disconsolately. _You wanted to know who the high up, powerful person was pulling strings in this affair—you've found her._

"It's no good, Commissioner," the man gestured violently. "She's still doped up from the sedative, nothing but shit and dribble coming out of her mouth."

"Is that so?" Hera cocked her head at Michelle, and she knew there was no point in pretending. This woman had overseen her training, after all, she knew Michelle was playing dumb.

"Why?" she asked the Commissioner quietly but clearly. The man looked shocked, then furious, to realise he'd been duped. The other guard stood stolidly by the door, expressionless, and Owen and Gwyn sat silent, eyes darting between Michelle and their captors, trying to work out what was going on. That this was not part of the plan, Gwyn was certain, realising from once glance as Michelle's dejected face. They had not come as a rescue team after all.

"Why?" Hera smiled in amusement. "Do you really expect me to spend time providing exposition while you try work out how to overcome me and escape? I trained you, Michelle, I know how you operate. I watched you come up through the university, a child of the state, brilliant and hardworking, with a natural aptitude for time travel. I got you into the Agency, advanced your career. Why do you think you always got the cutting edge missions? The best assignments?"

Again, Michelle's voice was steady and quiet. "Because I'm the best. The best Agent, the best at time travel. My missions are always successful."

Hera stopped to consider her. She answered quietly too. "Yes, you were the best. But I don't need the best. Not with this new chronokinetor. You've proved it works, but I can put it to far better use than tipping history in small and insignificant ways. So you are going to tell me where it is."

"What better use?" Michelle wasn't just stalling for time. She genuinely wanted to know. She was upset and disappointment beyond belief that the Commissioner she'd looked up to and trusted was behaving in an illegal and immoral fashion, and she wanted to know why. The calm, calculating part of her also realised that Hera obviously didn't know Gwyn had the timepiece.

Hera sighed, but suppressed her impatience. She'd been extremely irritated when the agents she'd sent to capture Michelle and the timepiece (all done well out of sight of any authority of this time) had come back with the Agent, but not the extremely valuable chronokinetor. They'd spent several days trying to run search algorithms for the time in which they'd captured Michelle, but first it appeared the timepiece had moved, and then disappeared completely somehow.

Then when Michelle had mysteriously disappeared from the Detention Centre and her tracker had gone dead, the Commissioner had made an educated guess that the woman had gone to retrieve her timepiece somehow. It appeared she had obtained an illegal, homemade one from Owen Chang (who'd managed to stay off the scanner since the university debacle—Hera was not unhappy about his reappearance because a programmer of his brilliance would be extremely useful). So all the Commissioner had to do was wait until Michelle reappeared with the chronokinetor.

Which she had not done.

"It is for the good of our species and our future," Hera asserted with a slight edge to her voice. "Humans have been subordinate in this mish-mash of Allied Planets when they should be running the place. Our rights have been suppressed in favour of aliens. I'm sorry you had to get caught up in it—you'd have been recruited to our organisation if you hadn't showed disturbing tendencies towards xenophobia that rendered you ineligible. And if you hadn't started running from my men this would have been a lot simpler. You just would have been relieved of the device and escorted back to our time."

"What?" Michelle screwed up her face in a sneer of bafflement. "You gave me the damn device! You gave me a mission. No one was supposed to interfere with that. When I heard those dopes trying to sneak up on me, of course I ran! I wasn't hanging around to chat! Especially not to some Purity Politics nut-jobs!" For this had become clear to her the second Hera had started talking in terms of humans versus aliens. She was an extremist. A Xenophobe. _Humans first and all that shit. Like we weren't the last guests to arrive at this party!_

Hera turned to the man who'd been holding Michelle prisoner.

"Rickas, you told me she'd never know you were coming. She has just made it clear that she did." She spoke flatly, but it was clear she was nearing the end of her patience and wanted someone to blame.

"I don't know how she managed that!" Rickas protested. "But that doesn't matter now—she just needs to tell us where the damn timepiece is!" He was fingering the trigger of the shock-baton again.

Hera turned back to the Agent, her face stern. "You heard him. Where is the chronokinetor?"

"Don't know, must have dropped it," Michelle spoke sarcastically.

"Don't fight me on this," Hera warned. "These two," she indicated Gwyn and Owen, "came to my Agency and told me you knew where it was. If you don't cooperate with us..." she left the threat hanging.

"Or what?" came the half-snarl back. "Trigger-happy here will shock me some more? You trained me, you said so yourself. How much time will you waste trying to break me while that timepiece is getting further and further away from you?"

Gwyn saw the flash in Hera's eyes at this—triumph, then uncertainty. _She doesn't know if Michelle is just baiting her or if that was a real slip,_ she thought.

"No," Hera replied. "But there are other people in this room who don't have your Agency training..." She left the threat hanging, and Gwyn, Michelle and Owen all knew what she meant. Owen started hyperventilating quietly, while Gwyn's eyes simply expanded slightly in fear. She was still aching from the zap she'd received just before, and the memory was worse than being shocked by an electric fence as a child. If these guys had already tortured Michelle, what was going to stop them from torturing her and Owen as well? No one knew they were here, no one was going to rescue them—they were the rescue party, for heaven's sake! _And look how well that turned out!_ Her brain said sarcastically.

_I've got to get us out of here,_ she began to think desperately. _Michelle's plan has utterly failed. Owen is next to useless. But they don't know I've got the chronokinetor._

_So what?_ She demanded of herself. _You don't know how to use it. You've never been able to, Michelle never taught you to. And it's only by sheer luck that no one has yet noticed it in your hand because you've been bloody careful to keep it hidden! But they'll find it pretty soon when they start zapping you! And then the show's all over!_

Rickas came forward and grabbed Owen by the arm, dragging him onto his knees.

"Hey!" Michelle struggled in her cuffs and tried to kick at the man, but couldn't reach. He administered a light zap to Owen's nose, resulting in a scream of shocked pain and a stream of protests that he didn't know, he didn't know, he just got dragged into this, he knew nothing!

Gwyn stared at Michelle in horror. It wouldn't be long before Owen fessed up. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't get close enough to Michelle to try give her the thing undetected. Besides which Michelle's hands weren't free to get it off her. _I have to make this thing work somehow!_ But how could she? It hadn't ever worked when she'd tried back in Masada.

_This is the part in the books or movies where the hero reaches their most desperate moment, and suddenly the thing works!_ She agonised. _But it never worked for me no matter how desperate or frightened or hopeful I was..._

She looked at Michelle, frantic, but the woman had tilted her head back and closed her eyes, breathing calmly. _How can she be so calm!? What is she thinking?_

_Thinking._ Gwyn's heart skipped a beat. _Michelle said this thing forms a mental link. A mental link involves thinking. Not desperate emotions. I have to be calm and think._

She closed her eyes and tried to remember what she was thinking when she'd activated the chronokinetor for the first time, back at En Gedi. She'd been curious, wondering what it was, what it did.

It was no good—Owen's scream cut through the air as the Commissioner looked on impatiently. She was too frightened.

_Try think of something that will make you calm!_ Her brain commanded.

It was hard. She was trying to shed emotion in order to clear her mind, but the feelings just kept crowding in. She ran through her mind frantically for thoughts and notions to try distract her from her current situation. But thinking of her family only made her feel anxious. Thinking of her house in Brisbane brought on fierce homesickness. Even the thought of a hot shower and soft bed reminded her in a desolate fashion that she'd had to do without them for so long (bar the one at En Gedi Hotel) while trapped in the past.

Suddenly Gaius' sunny face rose in her mind. The cheerful, polite young Roman, who'd been interesting and courteous, brave and kind...

She focussed on that feeling of easy friendship she'd had with him. Not the romantic interest, though it hovered on the edges. Just that soul-cheering realisation of meeting a kindred spirit. She almost smiled. Outside sounds dulled, then faded, her breathing slowed, her mind relaxed and then— _there!_ On the edge of her mind she could feel the timepiece.

It was incredible how she hadn't noticed it before. Her brain had been so full of confusion and fear and the fight to survive in a time that wasn't her own, but there, shining like a beacon, was this _thing,_ like a bionic limb—part of her, yet so much more.

She concentrated on reaching out mentally to it. It was elusive at first, like reeling in a fish that still danced on the line. She probed it gently—there was so much to it. She knew it could move her, sink her through the soft spots of time and space to emerge in a new place, an old place, a different place. It was all there, like opening a book that had once been in another language, only to find that one simply had to turn the book upside-down to make sense of it after all. She just had to find the right page.

"Alright! Alright! I'll tell you!" Owen's scream sounded loudly in her ears. Her eyes snapped open and she almost lost the link. But having found it, she knew logically it was still there. The fear and panic could only rabble around the edges—she acknowledged them, but didn't let them control her. She focussed on what she had to do.

"Her! Her!" Owen pointed frantically. "She's got it!"

All heads in the room swung up to stare at Gwyn.

Flick!

# THIRTY

## THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER

"You two, come with me."

The blue haze faded and she experienced real déjà vu. It was Commissioner Hera's voice she heard echoing out in the corridor, and she experienced a slight lurch of sickness and she watched herself walk out of the programming room, and then she was alone.

She stared about her at the flickering computer screens and dimly lit rotating holograms. She was back in the programming room at the Agency.

_Well done,_ her brain whispered. _You travelled through time at will. Now what?_

It was a good question. She needed to get help. But who could she trust? And why would they believe her?

Just then the door slid open and the Mayash guard who'd been deployed to organise a backup perimeter re-entered, then stopped in astonishment.

"What in the name of the Two-Tails...? You just left! I saw you leave!" Its tail twitched in bewilderment and its blue fur hackled.

_She hates aliens,_ she remembered. Judging by Michelle's comments, the Commissioner had a pro-human agenda, and her almost-rudeness towards the Mayash guard earlier had been obvious to Gwyn. _The enemy of my enemy..._

"I did," she blurted. "I've come back in time from half an hour from now. It's a trap. I need your help. The Commissioner is—" _How to tell this person that their superior officer is a politically demented criminal who tortures people?_

"The Commissioner is...?" The guard's eyes narrowed and the tail waved more violently.

She took a deep breath. "The Commissioner is corrupt. She is torturing a Time Space Agent and a civilian in order to find... well, this." She brandished her palm at the guard, displaying the chronokinetor embedded in her palm. It felt so comfortable there, it was incredible.

The Mayash leapt towards her in one bound. _Oh shit._ Tail snaked around to gently encircle her wrist while clawed fingers delicately held her hand as it examined the timepiece.

Dark, dark blue eyes raised to meet hers, unfathomable and, literally, alien. She wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake.

Then the guard smiled, sharp teeth displaying, and the tail patted her gently on the shoulder.

"Help you shall have, young Citizen. Come with me."

Brrrys, as it turned out his name was (and it was a he—she found out by paying astute attention to the conversation between the other Agency guards he'd assembled, though some of the pronouns used were unfamiliar to her), Brrrys was probably the best possible person she could have found to help her.

Turned out he was part of a group that had suspected the Commissioner of corruption for quite some time now, but her power and intelligence had thwarted them from finding solid evidence. They (five Mayash, several humans and a scaly young Nolii) had been recruited by the Shanista scientists in the Agency to watch the Commissioner's activities and try uncover corrupt, immoral or illegal behaviour.

Gwyn's appearance out of thin air had been just what they needed. Lacking hard evidence, and frustrated in their efforts, they'd watched as certain humans had been promoted where there had either been a more qualified Citizen of another species, or a human whose tolerant politics had been unpalatable to Hera and her subtly growing group of cronies. At first it had been subtle, but in the last year the restructuring of staff had accelerated, and non-humans or tolerant humans found themselves increasingly sidelined in less important projects. Michelle had been the last tolerant Agent left on important missions, due to her brilliance and skill for time travel. Her support crew and programmers had gradually been shuffled, but she spent so much time, well, in another time, that she hadn't given it too much thought.

Brrrys explained this as their hovercar (not as flash and sleek as the Commissioner's) rose up and they sped towards the industrial area. Several standard police vehicles rose up to flank them. He'd questioned Gwyn intently, seemingly not deterred by the chronokinetor's usual function of dispelling curiosity about the wearer. She commented on it, hoping to get answers, and he smiled that sharp toothed grin again.

"My brain doesn't respond to it. They tested it. Some people simply have a natural resistance to the waves it emits. Very rare for a human to have it, and no one of the Rilans or Nolii have ever demonstrated it. But a few of us Mayash, and of course all of the Shanista. They built the thing, after all!"

She was very curious to meet one of these Shanista. None had been in evidence anywhere she'd seen in the Agency Headquarters, and certainly none made up the team she was travelling with now. But they seemed to direct and have great influence upon the goings on of the Agency.

"Commissioner hates it," Brrrys observed when she voiced that opinion tentatively. "She keeps trying to get humans into their labs, but they won't have it. So polite they are, always gentle. Not much good in a fight, but smart as anything. And impeccable morals. They are the true leaders of our Allied Planets." His tone was very respectful and proud.

He'd been astonished to learn that she had time travelled from several hundred years in the past (she knew she was taking a risk, but once she realised he wouldn't be deterred from questioning her she didn't want to appear deceptive), but took it in his short, furry stride, tail a-twitching as they'd boarded the hovercar. Now as they descended upon the warehouse, she wound up the extremely summarised version of her accidentally going back into Michelle's mission, Michelle's getting captured, escaping, rescuing her ( _well, the jury is still out on_ that _one_ ) and bringing her to this time in the hope of blowing this plot wide open.

"It's going to happen now," he smiled once more, but fiercely this time, and turned to issue orders to the other members of the team.

"Stay close to me," he instructed as they leapt out of the craft.

"Hey! You're meant to stay on the back-up perimeter!" a human Agency guard yelled as they approached without hesitation. He was guarding the rooftop entrance to the warehouse, and took a moment to realise that there were far more vehicles and figures approaching than warranted for a backup that hadn't been called in.

Even if the guard hadn't delayed, he never would have reached his com in time. One of Brrrys' female colleagues moved like a whirlwind and—tail lashing out—administered a crack to the skull that incapacitated him immediately. Collapsing unconscious, he was dragged away by the regular police officers that had swiftly landed on the warehouse, swarming out of their vehicles and moving swiftly to secure the premises. Working with Brrrys' team of Agency guards, they arrested the personnel Hera had planted, reassuring the warehouse manager that everything was okay, but they'd need to take statements from each and every staff member and anyone else on the premises. They wanted to find out why this warehouse was being used, and who had authorised it.

"Hurry," Gwyn muttered as she urged Brrrys onwards, remembering the route she'd taken not thirty minutes before... Or only a few minutes before, depending how you looked at it. It was hard to realise that for everyone else, less than ten minutes had passed since the Commissioner had passed through. No wonder the warehouse manager was confused as hell.

"Stop," Brrrys hissed, holding up a clawed, blue-furred hand. Gwyn did so, swaying slightly as she felt increasingly sick. Michelle had mentioned something about feeling sick if you were in the same place at the same time as yourself. _Of course, I'm still there, in the room. I haven't gone yet._

The Mayash peered in her face. "Are you alright, Citizen?" his eyes flashed in alarm.

"Yeah," she muttered, leaning a hand on the hallway wall. "I'm still there. I can feel it."

"Ah, yes. Proximity sickness." He considered momentarily, then whispered.

"There is a guard up ahead. The one who was with me when I came to collect you from the Reception. I can smell her. The second you stop feeling sick, I'm going to rush her and take her out, then enter the room. We will have the element of surprise, because you will have just disappeared, and they'll be distracted by that. Grrrel will cover me," he indicated the lightning-fast female Mayash who'd taken out the first guard. She'd come up behind them silently—fortunately Gwyn was too nauseous to make any sound of shock. Instead she nodded her understanding and paid close attention to her stomach. Grrrel and Brrrys crouched, readying themselves.

The sudden relief from the sick feeling was wonderful—she almost forgot to signal. The nausea lifted and she chopped her hand down in the ancient gesture to charge. Like missiles, the two Mayash shot around the bend in the corridor and she heard another _crack!_

Following as fast as she could, she stepped over the unconscious human guard and into the room.

"Gwyn!" Michelle's cry of astonishment was tinged with delight. Hera and Rickas had spun as the Mayash had burst into the room. Rickas managed to raise his shock baton in defence but he was no match for Grrrel and was quickly overwhelmed by another of those whip-cracking tail shots. Michelle had lashed out with both feet when the door slammed open, striking the Commissioner hard in the shins, sending her flying off balance and then easily rendered unconscious by Brrrys' tail. She'd been surprised at Hera being foolish enough to stand so close—she'd trained Michelle, after all, and knew how dangerous she could still be despite being restrained—but she'd obviously felt triumphant enough to let her guard down when Owen had blurted out the chronokinetor's location, and Michelle had wasted no time in taking advantage of that.

"Michelle!" Gwyn raced to the other woman's side. "How do I get you out of these things?" Grrrel leapt to her side and showed Gwyn the release code for the cuffs.

"Agency issued," she purred. "Nice bit of evidence, thank you very much!" She bagged them and pulled Michelle to a stand. The older woman gripped Gwyn's shoulder and smiled.

"You did it," Michelle's tone was proud. "When did you go? Can't have been long ago."

"Not even an hour," Gwyn glanced around at Owen, who was sobbing silently as Brrrys helped him up.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," he was distraught. "I didn't mean to tell. I'm so, so sorry."

"S'all right, Owen," Michelle patted him on the shoulder. "Brrrys, boy am I glad to see you. Can we get a medic down here? They roughed him up pretty badly."

"Of course," Brrrys glanced at Michelle's dishevelled state. "Looks like they had a go at you too. We'll need to take holos for evidence."

"Evidence? Against the Commissioner? Of course. I couldn't believe it when I realised..." The shock sunk a little more and she glanced down at the woman she'd looked up to all her adult life. The leader she'd admired, mentor who'd advanced her. The person who'd betrayed, used and threatened her.

"How did you get here so quickly?" she wanted to know. "What did Gwyn tell you?" She was circumspect—she wasn't sure how much the little Mayash guard knew.

He laughed. "She told us enough about Hera to warrant an immediate response. We've been set to watch her for quite a few months now. The Shanista in the Agency suspected her of corruption, but weren't sure how far it went, and needed solid evidence before moving against her."

For the second time in five minutes, Michelle was astonished. "The Shanista sent you? No wonder you acted so fast. What about the other guards up there in the warehouse? She seemed to have quite a number acting in her interests—all human of course—but whether they were part of it or just following orders, I couldn't tell."

Brrrys grinned his toothy smile. "All taken care of. We'll find out soon enough who was in and who was just following orders." He listened quickly to his com. "Someone's called the media. There are hover scanners all over this place. I'll try find out if there is a more discreet way out of here."

He listened to his com again, and replied in the affirmative.

"Now," he directed his attention at Gwyn. "There are some very important Shanista who are quite keen to meet _you_."

# THIRTY-ONE

## 2623 AD

Gwyn wondered if Michelle had seemed a little miffed at the Shanista scientists being more interested in herself and not the time travelling Agent. But little seemed to faze this woman, and she took it all in her stride and spent the hovercar ride deep in discussion with Brrrys about the implications this event would have for the Agency. They'd managed to bring a vehicle inside the warehouse so they could board away from the media scanners that flocked about the building's airspace. The arrest and subsequent disgrace of the Commissioner would do little for the profile of the semi-secretive and somewhat controversial organisation.

"There'll be an investigation," she heard Brrrys say.

"The Government will question the Agency's operational powers," Michelle replied. "There might be some big changes. They've always been afraid of what we can do."

Listening in, Gwyn thought to herself how it wasn't simply technology that made living in another time challenging and confusing. She didn't have enough knowledge about the last few hundred years to grasp the nuances of the politics, let alone the social attitudes. The rough outline Michelle had given before they'd come to this time had only been her point of view, too, and listening to Brrrys speak made her wonder at the variety of opinions and beliefs that must be held in this truly multi-cultural universe. She tried to line up her thoughts to ask some questions, but again didn't quite know where to start, so her minded drifted during the ride until they landed in an enclosed underground hanger.

Curved walls and rounded edges made these rooms in this building different to any other she'd been in so far. It reminded her of the egg-shaped spaceship, and the way corridors wound their way with a variety of alcoves put her in mind of a bee hive. Colours were also much more varied—patterns of shapes featured—whether decorative or purposeful she couldn't tell.

Several hard-shelled Nolii and one very squishy-looking Rilan had met them in the hanger and politely escorted them up quite a few levels to a pleasant, large domed garden that stood atop the building they were in. The garden mostly consisted of _very_ tall flowers rising up on single stems, with several smaller bushes that sprouted an array of blue-green fern-like tendrils instead of leaves. Looking up at the covering dome, she realised it was the first rooftop she'd seen that didn't have a flat surface to be utilised for hovercraft. She also noticed that she and Michelle were the only humans present.

Several very tall, almost impossibly thin and dark people came forward to meet them. They reminded her in some ways of the Masai people she'd seen pictures of in travel magazines spruiking safaris in Kenya, but at the same time put her in mind of dragonflies, with faceted eyes and gossamer wings that fluttered gently at their sides. They were beautiful but eerie, and clicked gently to each other before addressing the group made up of Brrrys, Michelle, and Gwyn. Owen had been taken away by a medic in the hanger to be treated for the electronic torture he'd endured.

"Welcome, Citizens, thank you for coming to our facility." The one who spoke had a pink and orange shimmer to the wings, and wore a white flowing outfit with hues of the same streaking it.

"Citizen Colsa, you know Agent Michelle," Brrrys gestured. "Our companion is Gwyn Turner, about whom I reported while undertaking to apprehend ex-Commissioner Hera." He explained to Gwyn, "I had a live feed on once I realised what you were. Colsa is the head scientist here. It and its colleagues are aware of your situation."

Gwyn felt the attention focus on her. It was not threatening, not like it had been when she'd been interrogated by the Rabbi and Joshua, not patronising, like when Silva had questioned her. It was just... intense. She could feel their interest, and she realised oddly that the clicking that took place quietly between them must be communication, but for once the chronokinetor wasn't doing its translation trick. Yet she could understand and speak the language used between the Shanista and Brrrys. It was not the modern English she spoke, and but timepiece had no trouble translating that straight into her brain. _Why not the clicking?_

Colsa nodded gently at Gwyn. "Forgive our intense scrutiny, young Citizen, you are an anomaly we did not predict. Yet we owe you our thanks for your critical actions in apprehending the misguided Hera, whose political agenda would have threatened our society."

"Um, you're welcome," Gwyn replied after several seconds of silence, as a response seemed warranted. _Wow, they are really formal. But they seem to be in charge so here is your chance._ "Um, may I ask a question?"

"Of course," Colsa fluttered its wings, sending ripples of air into the surrounding plant life. The exotic flowers and strange shrubbery waved gently in the breeze created, and a gentle perfume rose in the air. Its effect was relaxing, and Gwyn felt more confident as she went on.

"I'm glad I could help, really, I am. It's just that," she glanced at Michelle, "I really would like to go home, or at least get back to my family. I don't belong here; I had an agreement with Michelle here, that I would help her, and she would help me get back to my time. And while I can use this thing," she waved her palm and the timepiece, "it isn't mine, and I need help to get back to Earth so I can get to the right place _and_ time."

Quiet clicking ensued amongst the Shanista, but not for long. Colsa spoke again for all of them.

"If that is your wish, then of course we will help you return to your own time and place. But, as you correctly point out, the chronokinetor in your possession is not yours, however it seems to have bonded to you quite intensely. May I?"

Gwyn stood quietly while the cool, almost metallic hands of the scientist touched several points of the timepiece in her palm. She expected it to pop out like it had when Michelle had removed it from her back by the Dead Sea. It failed to do so.

Colsa turned to Michelle. "You made this young Citizen assist you in a dangerous situation when you had in your power the means to return her to family? This was not an ethical bargain, Agent Michelle."

Michelle had the grace to look embarrassed. "I know," she apologised to Gwyn and to the Shanista. "I am sorry, but I made the decision to use the resources at hand, and she was one of them. Plus I knew you would have to examine her—she formed a link with a chronokinetor with no training or knowledge whatsoever! That thing was supposed to be tuned to me! I thought perhaps by testing her we could determine why some people have a natural aptitude for time travel and seek them out. There aren't enough Agents. Cracks are beginning to show in some timelines, and that is going to be dangerous."

"We know," Colsa's voice continued to be gentle, but uncompromising. "The Shift is coming. However we will not keep young Gwyn here against her will. And it appears also that this timepiece has fixed itself to her."

"Huh?" Gwyn exclaimed.

"What?" Michelle and Brrrys were simultaneous.

"Does that mean this thing is stuck in me?" Gwyn thought about panicking for a second, then just felt resigned. _Seriously? It just doesn't stop, does it? Every time I think I'm closer to getting home something else comes up to prevent it! Now they'll want to run tests and try get this thing out of me. Or is it all just a ruse to keep me here? Michelle did warn me that people here might not want me to go back. Guess she forgot to mention she_ is _one of those people!_

She didn't realise Colsa had spoken to her. "Huh? Sorry." She blushed.

Clicking and a fluttering of wings signalled gentle amusement amongst the Shanista.

"I said, that does not pose a problem if you will undertake to return to us at some point in our near future." The other Shanista nodded as Colsa went on. "It would be cruel and unnecessary to keep you here when you so clearly wish to return to your family, but if it is acceptable to you, after several weeks we can dispatch Michelle to collect you and have you visit a facility on Earth. Of course we would require you to guarantee not to use the chronokinetor, as that could seriously affect timelines that have critical turning points."

"But what about the timepiece?" burst out Michelle. "It's one of a kind!"

"We will build another. The technology is not lost. But there will be a serious investigation into the Agency and ex-Commissioner Hera's corruption, and that will include a thorough examination of all Agency technology. It would be best, perhaps, if this chronokinetor stays in a safe place until that furore dies down, or it will merely draw attention from more... unsavoury parties. We cannot afford to lose momentum before the Shift happens."

_The what?_ But before she had a chance to ask, all but one of the Shanista clicked and whirred their wings, bowing a farewell to Gwyn, Michelle and Brrrys. _Guess that interview is over._ She tried to feel frustrated at the lack of answers but somehow she just couldn't be bothered. What was wrong with her?

One Shanista remained. It introduced itself as Arenns, a doctor who would give them a brief medical examination in order to ascertain they suffered no serious harm from their travails. They were taken to another level where Michelle was treated for minor burns from the shock-baton torture, and a painless blood test revealed that Gwyn had a couple of nasty—and ancient—parasites that she had no doubt picked up from her time in Ancient Judea. They hadn't manifested themselves as anything serious yet, but did go some way towards explaining her exhaustion as her immune system sought to fight the drain on her body. A very light radiation bath and a carefully administered dose of what she understood to be futuristic antibiotics, followed up with a balancing dose of probiotics, reset her immune system as good as new. Gel patches covered up several scrapes and bruises—the doctor advised her that by the time they boarded the spaceship back to Earth they would dissolve and her skin would be healed completely.

_No STIs, at least._ The thought of Gaius made her feel sad. _It was never going to work, I know, but it would have been nice to just have a bit longer with him. What are the odds that I'd meet someone so ahead of his time two thousand years in the past?_ She fought her dejection, trying to focus on the positive. _Come on, Gwyn, you are going home! Finally..._

# THIRTY-TWO

## 2623 AD

The doctor had taken some blood, Gwyn realised, and she wondered idly what other tests they might run on it, and what it would tell them. _They didn't really invite questions but I'm a bit annoyed I didn't find out more. I guess they don't want me to know too much about the future._ They didn't seem to want her to stick around to ask either, bundling her and Michelle straight onto a private transport to the Spaceport and bypassing normal security and protocols to put them on the first ship back to Earth.

And she was almost back! She stared out the viewing deck of the spaceship at Saturn's rings and they cruised past at what would have been an impossible speed in her time. It was incredible. Both the view and what she'd been through. In the past two months she'd travelled into the past, the future _and_ across the galaxy, meeting ancient humans and aliens from other planets. And now it seemed that she was set to return to only a few minutes after she'd left. It was a lot to take in.

_Will it all just seem like a dream, I wonder?_ But then she looked down at her palm, and the outline of the timepiece that once again looked like no more than a shiny henna tattoo traced onto her skin.

"It's a big deal, isn't it?" she turned to ask Michelle who stood silent on the viewing deck beside her. "Them trusting me to keep it? How do they know I won't try use it?"

The older woman considered this. She'd been turning the question over in her own mind since they'd boarded the ship bound for Earth.

"I don't know if they have a whole lot of choice," she said at last. "They weren't kidding about the investigation—there are a lot of people who are against time travel. Say it's meddling. But I know that what we do is important. If history doesn't happen the way it's supposed to there are serious ramifications for all of the species of the Allied Planets."

"Like what?" Gwyn started to say, then the announcement came over the ship's system to prepare for docking by securing all personal items and returning to one's allocated pod. It was remarkably similar in principle to the instructions she'd received on the flight into Israel. She didn't get a chance to talk privately to Michelle again as passengers swirled around them, entering Earth's largest space station, most of them connecting on to the planet's surface.

The shuttle ride down also distracted her from questioning Michelle further. No space elevator here. Familiar land masses took shape underneath the gently rotating clouds. She was almost there.

Private transport was arranged and the penultimate leg of her journey was quick—hoverjet returning them to the popular tourist resort of En Gedi. It was busy and crowded, and Michelle's demeanour discouraged any chit chat. _You know I actually think her timepiece might be doing that thing on me... Preventing too much curiosity... I feel like that should annoy me but I can't be bothered, which logically suggests that I'm right. Oh well_. The knowledge didn't help her overcome the apathy, and she entertained herself again by people watching.

They ate a quiet evening meal in the hotel restaurant, and waited for night to fall before wandering down onto the beach, away from tourists and partygoers.

"Well," Michelle finally said as they contemplated the stars, dim compared to the brilliance of those Gwyn remembered seeing two and a half thousand years in the past where light pollution had been nil.

"So... How are we doing this?" Gwyn wanted to know. "I mean, I think I can probably manage the jump, I can feel how it works and all."

"Oh no! Wow—no—I wouldn't make you do that!" Michelle looked astonished and then somewhat distraught. "Anything could happen to you—that would be very irresponsible of me!"

"Oh." Gwyn subsided. _And here I thought that I was supposed to be a responsible adult..._ She had already begun reaching out mentally for the timepiece's connection, but she stopped and looked to Michelle for direction.

"No, no—I'm going to take you. Or rather, you are going to take me, since yours is the superior device." She had hung onto the homemade one Owen had created in his apartment. Rickas had confiscated it but obviously never made a record as her imprisonment was illegal. She'd retrieved but not reported it, so the Agency didn't know it existed. Colsa had deemed it best that things remained that way—just as they'd left Vivaldis a freeze had been put on all Agency staff, missions, and materials. Michelle had escaped that by being off planet, but she would be facing questioning—as would everyone involved—when she returned. _I'll have to hide it before I get back, but right now it's my ticket home._

"So," she began. "You are going to take my hand, then connect and concentrate on the time you want to go. I suggest aiming for a few minutes after you left, reduces the risk of crossover—you should be able to feel when that is. Talk it through with me. When you are sure and ready, squeeze my hand and we'll make the jump. Once we are there, I'll check to make sure we are in the right time and place, but then I won't stick around. I have a lot of jumps to make to get back to now, and I don't want to waste time." She grinned at the pun. "Keep it safe, disguise it if you can, and remember to charge it every week. Keep an eye on the spiral. Plain water is fine. Salt water is better, since it charges slower when still attached to someone. But you won't be using it, so it shouldn't run down in a hurry. And I'll try and get in touch with you in your near future. I don't know what will happen exactly to the Agency, but I might be hamstrung for a while. But that won't affect the relative time for you."

"Give me a couple of weeks, at least," Gwyn mumbled nervously. _This is it. This is it!_ Her brain shouted. _Going home! Well, kind of._

Michelle flashed a smile. "Of course. Otherwise you will age too fast relative to your time. But I will be coming back for you."

Gwyn wasn't quite sure if that was a promise or a threat. Either way, that was a future... a past future... that was a problem she would deal with when it happened.

"Okay, let's do it," she said, reaching out for Michelle's hand.

She made the mental connection—it was analogous to plugging into a power-point. The surge of energy made her brain buzz with excitement and possibility. She took a deep breath, then started to sort through the impulses and concentrated on where—on when—she had to go. It took a while, but she found what seemed to be the right time in her mind. Her brain forced it to shift forward by a few minutes. She squeezed Michelle's hand.

Flick!

# THIRTY-THREE

## 74 AD

Waves washed gently against the sea wall of the port, and for a moment there was a sense of peace amidst the overhead screaming of seagulls and the distant clatter of unloading ships further down the dock. The lack of answers Gaius had found over the last few months had contributed to his overwhelming desire to be gone from Judea, and back home to Rome.

Fortunately, Silva was also inclined to send him back, pleased with the overall success of his campaign to finish quashing the rebellion, but disappointed in his servant for losing the mysterious Antonia—she'd vanished during the breach of Masada and no trace of her remained. Still, he was far too important a personage to waste time chasing teenage girls in the desert. No doubt she'd managed to get herself involved with a soldier and it had ended badly, despite his best efforts to protect her. He conveniently forgot that nothing in the girl's personality had showed her inclined to make those sorts of decisions and just sighed that not every woman could be as sensible as his wife.

The Jewish survivors were another matter. Titus' sycophant Josephus arrived in camp shortly after the siege had ended, and Silva permitted him to question the two women briefly about the events inside the fortress leading up to the breach. He didn't glean much, except that it had been decided that suicide was preferable to surrender, and Silva had to admit he admired their collective courage. He'd sent the two women and three children to Jaffa with Gaius under orders to take the first ship to Rome. The girl and the children were young and could be absorbed into the slaves of his household, and the old woman had to go with them to avoid any kind of focus for future Jewish rebels. Besides, keeping them alive did his _dignitas_ no harm. He could afford to be magnanimous now—he was headed for a Consulship, after all!

"There are lots of Jews in Rome," Gaius had tried to reassure Adi. She'd begun learning Latin and was teaching it to the children, realising that the ability to communicate would serve them well in their new home.

_Yes, but we are slaves now._ Still, they were alive and relatively unharmed, and after so many brushes with death she was learning to just take each day as it came. She'd been sceptical of the tale Gaius told of Ruth, that she was from another time and had used magic to go back there, but neither of them could come up with a better explanation. Auntie had commented that the Roman was pining for their mysterious friend, and it was on this strange absence that a kind of comradeship was formed between the Roman boy and the Jewish girl.

_Maybe one day I'll see her again._ Gaius finally turned from contemplating the sea and strode down the docks to board the ship. After all, who knew what the future held?

# AUTHOR'S NOTE

I've always found history fascinating—it is so rich with incredible people and places, and has served to inspire me to write this particular story. I feel that while certain social, political and economic trends cause history to trundle along in a cyclical fashion (empires rise and fall, people migrate and mingle, war both decimates and drives change), I love the idea that perhaps there are turning points where things could have gone quite differently, and those turning points may have been influenced by quite subtle factors.

This is the driving idea behind _The Siege of Masada—_ that despite inertia, the right pebble in the right stream might be enough to make a difference to the course of the river. For the sake of the story I have taken liberties with historical facts, timeframes, and locations, but I tried to capture the essence of the event, and of course any inaccuracies and mistakes are my own.

I am indebted to the following books and websites for providing information and background about the era and region:

  * Blech, Rabbi Benjamin. _Eyewitness to Jewish History._ John Wiley and Sons, Inc. Hokoben, New Jersey, 2004.

  * Dougherty, Martin J, Haskew, Michael E, Jestice, Phyllis G and Rice, Rob S. _Battles of the Bible 1400 BC – AD 73: From Ai to Masada._ London, Amber Books Ltd, 2008.

  * Jewish Virtual Library: Archaeology in Israel: Masada Desert Fortress. http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Archaeology/Masada1.html

  * Josephus. _The Jewish War._ Translated by G. A. Williamson. London, Penguin Books, 1959.

A massive thank you to the following wonderful people: my husband Daniel, my mother Janet, and my brother Nick _—_ none of you ever doubted I could write a book, and your encouragement has been an incredible support.

Thanks to the three awesome readers! Shannon, James, and my sister Carolyn _—_ you plugged through drafts and gave terrific and enthusiastic feedback on my ideas, characters, and plot.

And finally a particular thank you to Trevor, for embarrassing me into starting in the first place. You made me realise that dreaming of being a writer is not enough—if you want to be a writer, you have to write!

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