 
THE GODHAND

By Hayden Pearton

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Published by Hayden Pearton at Smashwords

Copyright 2019 Hayden Pearton

Cover image royalty free. Purchased from Photo 19954911 © Lambroskazan - Dreamstime.com

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Discover other titles by Hayden Pearton:

The Chronicles of New Eden

Awakening

Sunrise Sapling

The Metrophobia Collection

Koinophobia

Autophobia

Xenophobia

Be Good

The Holy Orders of Be Good

The Beggar Chronicles

The Beggar Knight

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Contents

Prologue: Eye in the Sky

Chapter I: Rock Beats Paper

Chapter II: Babel Inc.

Chapter III: Attention to Detail

Chapter IV: Cardinal Directions

Chapter V: Pareidolia

Chapter VI: The Shinari Basin

Chapter VII: Poor Communication Kills

Chapter VIII: Diamonds in the Rough

Chapter IX: Enter the Hunter

Chapter X: The Lord is My Shepherd

Chapter XI: Pursuit

Chapter XII: Countdown

Chapter XIII: The Wrath of God

Chapter XIV: The Truth is Out There

Chapter XV: The Godhand

About the Author

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The religious views and beliefs expressed in this book are entirely those of its characters. The author does not claim any semblance to his own personal beliefs.

For Chanelle, my One and Only.

For My Family, you gave me the greatest gift of all.

For Michael, I doubt you'll ever read this.

And For You, may this set your heart aflame.

"I will bring on them a disaster they cannot escape.

Although they cry out to me,

I will not listen to them..."

  * Jeremiah 11:11

# Prologue: Eye in the Sky

July 23rd, 1972

Vandenberg Air Force Base, California

Rising from the launch pad, looking ready to pierce the heavens, the Delta 0900 rocket stood ready. Its cargo was the future of Earth imaging.

The Earth Resources Technology Satellite 1.

In a few minutes, the rocket would carry its payload beyond the heavens, into the cold certainty of space. From there, it would release its precious passenger.

The satellite would encircle the Earth, travelling from pole to pole, taking pictures of its virgin surface. Every nook and cranny, every mountain and river, would be exposed.

The age of mysteries had come to an end, brought down by man and his endless, insatiable curiosity.

No more would man wonder what lay beyond the furthest horizon.

No more would man fill in the edges of maps with dragons and beasts.

No more would God be the only one to see the Earth as it was.

The rocket, eager to begin its violent journey, sways in its cradle. A moment later, the umbilical detaches, separating the rocket from the Earth's hold.

Its engines ignite, producing enough thrust to break the bonds of gravity.

Like Icarus, it rises, towards the sun.

However, its wings are made of metal, and they shall not melt this day.

The rocket rises, higher and higher, piercing through the clouds.

Eventually, the last wisps of atmosphere are stripped away, exposing the sleek body to the coldness of space.

And yet it continues to rise.

Almost a thousand kilometres from Earth, the rocket finally falls silent. Having spent all of its fuel to carry its charge to the heavens, it goes dark.

However, where one life ends, another begins.

The satellite, patient in its manmade womb, finally emerges.

It unfolds its wings and laps up the sun. Drinking in the energy of the cosmos, it starts its long journey around the blue marble.

As it does so, its cameras go to work. They take picture after picture, exposing all of Earth's secrets.

Most are inconsequential.

An ancient Roman road system.

A new island off the coast of Labrador.

A Brazilian forest devastated by deforestation.

However, as the satellite passed over the Middle East, it takes a photo which would come to change humanity forever.

North-Western Iraq. An expanse of land which held little more than rocks and sand.

A few mountain ranges.

A shallow basin.

Nothing important. Until viewed from above.

On that day, a single photo was taken.

It showed how the mountains were connected to one another, and to the basin.

It showed an impossible structure, one which could not have been made with human hands.

It showed... **THE GODHAND**

# Chapter I: Rock Beats Paper

August 21st, 1972

University of Cambridge, United Kingdom

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the Earth. The Earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. And God said, let there be light, and there was light!" Richard said, from behind his mahogany podium. Before him sat sixty undergraduates, the majority visibly confused.

They had come to learn geology, after all, not theology.

"And when did this momentous creation occur, you ask?" he asked, savouring the moment.

With no answer forthcoming, he continued, "According to the religious authorities, God made the world no less than six thousand years ago! Simply amazing, that everything from Mount Everest to the Amazon Rainforest has only existed for a few thousand years!"

He heard a few worrisome murmurs in the crowd. No doubt a few of his more astute learners had realized where he was going with this.

Let them murmur.

"For centuries, the majority of mankind believed that the Earth was only a few millennia old. They received their certainty not from scientific studies or detailed investigations, but from a book! A single book convinced generations that what they saw around them was still brand new!"

Reaching into the podium, he withdrew the book in question.

Raising it high enough for his students to see, he spoke, "This, as I'm sure you know, is a Bible. A Revised Standard Version, to be precise. It is through this work that the scholars of old came to know the age of the Earth!"

More murmuring. Even the slower of his students had started to catch on. Several even stood, looking hesitant. Clearly they were weighing their options. They could leave the class and forfeit the required credit, or stay, and hear an uncomfortable truth.

"However, the scholars of the modern era have a different figure in mind. Through meticulous study and exacting research, they have come to an altogether different number."

Reaching into the podium once more, he withdrew a small object. He held it aloft alongside the Bible.

"This is a piece of Zircon, found in a remote region of Australia. It has been radiocarbon dated and analysed, and do you know what they found?"

More of the students had risen from their seats.

"This tiny piece of matter is more than four billion years old! Four billion! Now, I'm no mathematics professor, but even I know that four billion is a bigger number than six thousand! But, how can that be true, I hear you ask?"

No one asked. But that did not stop him.

"So, which of these two objects should we believe? A book, written by man, or a piece of the Earth itself?"

He heard footsteps approaching from beyond the nearby exit.

With a dramatic flourish, he let the Bible fall. The Zircon he left in his outstretched hand.

"It seems as though, for a change, rock has beaten paper!" he shouted, chuckling to himself after.

No one else was laughing.

"Doctor Cardinal!" a loud voice screamed from the exit. The man to whom the indignant tone belonged was red faced and wheezing slightly. No doubt he had run all the way from his office.

"Good morning, Dean," Richard replied, turning to face him.

The Dean's eyes dropped for a moment, before widening as he took in the fallen Bible.

"MY OFFICE, NOW!" he screamed, whilst giving a look that gave no quarter.

Sighing, Richard careful pocketed the piece of Zircon. Turning back to his class, he announced, "That's it for today. Please read Genesis chapters one to three and write a seven hundred word essay detailing their inconsistencies with the true geochronology of the Earth by Friday. You are dismissed!"

As the students began to pack away their things Richard left the room, following the Dean.

He wondered if he would still be around to grade their papers...

*

Dr Richard Cardinal, geologist and lecturer, sat in silence as the Dean spoke.

"I have warned you a thousand times not to bring religion into your class, and yet, here we are!"

Richard said nothing. He had heard the words before. Many, many times before.

The Dean would rant for a bit, force Richard to write an apology to whoever needed it and maybe even give him a few days of administrative leave. And then life would resume, as if nothing had happened. The simple truth was that the university needed Richard just as much as he needed it.

He was a distinguished scientist and world renowned geologist, having supervised excavations from South Africa to Japan. He had published dozens of articles in major scientific journals. And he had brought the university a threefold increase in donations from partnerships with mining conglomerates.

He was... indispensable.

"I could forgive you, you know, if it was only this," the Dean said, sighing.

Richard said nothing. However, in the back of his mind a seed of doubt took root.

"Throwing a Bible around your classroom, while offensive, could always be framed in a less harmful light. We could simply tell the students that you were suffering from the effects of a hangover due to your hitherto unknown drinking problem. That, of course, arose as a result of your recent and most difficult divorce."

"Sir?" Richard asked, having lost his copy of the plot of this meeting.

"A hangover, while embarrassing for both you and this institution, is nevertheless a small offense. A few apologies, a small donation towards the new wing and maybe even a promise to attend an AA meeting or two... do that, and this can all go away..."

"That sounds... reasonable..."

"Indeed, which is why it is such a waste that we cannot go with that plan."

"Why not?" Richard asked. The seed had broken through the mental soil of his mind.

In response, the Dean reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a bound collection of pages.

The title on the front page read **'A study of the Pyrometamorphism of the Hatrurim Formation geologic record by Dr Richard Cardinal'**.

Oh shit.

"I had the immense pleasure of receiving a forward copy of your latest article, Dr Cardinal. I was expecting to read a well written article on rocks from the Dead Sea Basin. What I was not expecting, however, was a twelve page diatribe on Christianity that ended with a profession that God does not exist, and that anyone who thinks otherwise should be checked into a mental facility!"

This was bad. He had written that article after a particularly angry phone call to his ex-wife. In truth, he didn't remember everything that he had written, and what he could remember did not paint the Church in a very positive light.

"I shouldn't have to remind you that everything you publish bears the name of this esteemed institution. If you say that the San Andreas Fault is larger than previously thought, the University of Cambridge is behind you. If you state that Ben Nevis is actually dormant rather than extinct, the University stands by your words. So, if you write an article in which you vehemently deny the existence of a deity, the world will believe that we think the same..."

Richard said nothing. He could hear the pause in the Dean's sentence.

"And I shouldn't have to remind you that there are a great many people of faith amongst the faculty, student body and most importantly, the donors. I can only imagine how _they_ would react to this article..."

The Dean rose from his leather chair. The small office they were in was filled with plaques bearing awards and newspaper articles describing great achievements from both the staff and students. It was a place of pride and success.

"So, the way I see it, there is only one option left to us. Thankfully I have already ordered the suspension of the article due to further editing being necessary before publication. However, I can only slow its release. You, as the author, are the only one able to issue a full retraction. Do this, and all will be forgiven..."

That was all? He simply had to retract his article and this would all disappear?

He felt the words rise within him.

As you wish.

Three simple words that would make his life inarguably easier.

And yet...

In his academic career he had been called many things.

Stubborn. Radical. Even antagonistic.

But he had never been called a liar.

"No," he said, with a firm tone.

The Dean looked taken aback for a moment. Clearly he had been expecting a different response.

Sighing, he sat back into his chair.

"You're fired," he said, and that was that.

*

Dr Richard Cardinal, aged thirty-nine, raven haired, stony eyed, divorced, and now... unemployed.

It wasn't where he had expected to end up, when he had finally and eagerly left home.

But here he was, packing up his office. Every paper he had written, every award he had received, now sat in a cardboard box.

But this wasn't the end, he knew. This was merely a setback... a rather large one, but not an insurmountable obstacle. He had endured a childhood of insufferable Catholicism; he had endured a marriage of unbearable religious righteousness; and he had endured a career filled with easily offended colleagues.

This too, he would endure.

This too, he would overcome.

The only question, really, was what to do next?

He could take a few months off and let the Dean's anger simmer before returning...

Or, he could make a discovery that would put his former colleagues to shame.

He could already see it, an almost perfect image in his mind. He would walk through the doors to the Dean's office a hero. The Dean would ask... no, the Dean would beg him to resume his post. He would refuse, of course, and demand the Dean's chair instead.

And, if his discovery was big enough, they would give it to him.

But what unsolved mystery should he pursue?

He could travel to the Amazon and discover the original course of the river through alluvial soil deposits...

Or he could head to Antarctica and, through analysis of ice cores, disprove that Noah's flood ever happened...

While he was musing on his way forward, a picture caught his eye. It was a photo of his ex-wife, taken during a joint trip to the Dead Sea.

Suddenly, he knew exactly where he needed to go.

Suddenly, he knew exactly which mystery he wanted to solve.

Suddenly, he knew exactly who he needed to call.

In order to reclaim his job and to show up the man who had just fired him, Richard would have to travel to one of the most ancient places in the world.

It was there that civilization had begun, in that Fertile Crescent.

It was there that one of the greatest mysteries could be found.

Placing the photo gently in the box with the others, he resumed packing, trying to contain his excitement.

Today, he hit rock bottom.

Tomorrow, he would start digging... in Iraq.

# Chapter II: Babel Inc.

August 22nd, 1972

London, United Kingdom

"Nicht schießen. Ich ergebe mich!" Gary screamed, just like he had every morning for the past twenty-seven years.

He wondered if he would wake up screaming for the rest of his life...

No, soon he would put his demons to rest. Soon he would make it all right.

Soon, he would unleash Babel upon the world, and all would be well...

Rising from his bed, he attempted to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

Glancing down at his watch, he noted that he had slept for four hours and thirty-six minutes.

A new personal record.

Crossing the room, he stood before the floor length mirror which served as the only decoration for his sparsely decorated bedroom.

The man on the other side of the glass stared back at him, mimicking his every move. Fifty-seven years old, with brown hair that already had a few wisps of grey, framing a pair of deep blue eyes. How much he had changed since the war...

Leaving his bedroom, he crossed the hallway of his Spartan apartment and entered the bathroom.

He had sixteen minutes to shower and shave.

He had never gone over his time limit.

But that was the price he had paid, in order to achieve something hitherto unthinkable: World Peace.

Or, at least that was what his marketing team claimed Babel was capable of.

Personally, Gary hoped to simply save one more life from an unnecessary end.

Fifteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, Gary left the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen.

It was a Tuesday, so that meant poached eggs and a glass of apple juice.

Twelve minutes after turning on the stove, Gary was finished with his meal.

Nine minutes after that, he left his apartment and headed to work.

*

The train from Notting Hill to Great Portland Street Station took thirty minutes due to delays.

Gary was practically shaking by the time he emerged from the station.

Mercifully he managed to recoup some of his lost minutes by running all the way to Maple Street.

He might have looked like a fool, with his briefcase pinwheeling through the air and his hair a mess, but at least he was a fool on time.

As he stopped to catch his breath, he allowed himself a few precious seconds to take in the majestic building before him.

Rising one hundred and ninety-one meters into the air, the One People's Tower was a sight to behold. It had formerly been known as the BT Tower, until Gary had purchased it a year prior to serve as the headquarters of Babel Inc.

It was the tallest building in the United Kingdom, and it served as a constant reminder of how far he had come. From the beaches of Normandy to the Centre of London... his life had not been an easy one.

But now, on the verge of his greatest success, he stood ready to change the world.

*

"Exactly on time as always, Mr Lombard," called Neville, the security guard on rotation that morning.

"Of course, Neville, time is a resource, and it cannot be wasted," Gary replied, for what was most likely the hundredth time.

For this too, was part of his meticulously planned schedule.

"Have the others arrived yet?" He asked, eager to begin.

"Not yet, Mr Lombard. As always, you are the first one here."

Not for the first time Gary wished that other people would follow his example and arrive when they were expected.

"Very well. When they get here, please send them up to my office without delay."

"As you wish, Mr Lombard," Neville replied, with a curt bow of his head.

Moving into the building's lobby, Gary headed for the elevator at the furthest end of the room. It had a single button within it marked **'GL'** , and it went straight to the top. No stopping for staff, no wasting time on nonsensical chit-chat, no seconds lost to braking.

It had been made especially for him, and he loved it.

*

Twenty-eight seconds later, Gary stepped out of his own personal heaven into the top floor of the tower.

Just like his apartment, his office was wonderfully free from distractions. No television, no curios from far-off places, no garish posters or ambiguous paintings.

All he had was a desk, a computer, a telephone and a chair.

And the display case, of course.

It was the solitary decoration in the room, but it was no mere statue or sculpture.

It was a simple glass case just bigger than a shoebox, supported by four wooden legs, and placed within was a memento.

Moving over to it, he glanced down and saw the most hated thing he had ever owned.

An Enfield No. 2 service pistol.

He had carried it with him for the entire duration of the Second World War.

And he had hated it the entire time.

Nestled in the sculpted foam below the revolver were six .38 cartridges.

They, along with the gun, were a reminder of why Babel was so necessary.

*

"Gentlemen, are we ready for the big event?" Gary asked, facing his team.

They were the best in their respective fields, and he had brought them together for a single-minded purpose: perfecting machine translation.

Since his time working on ALPAC -the Automatic Language Processing Advisory Committee- he had possessed a singular goal. Fortunately, his expertise and dedication had resulted in his company, Babel Inc., growing exponentially. His products and services, ranging from training interpreters to improving existing translation methods, had led him to his greatest project yet.

Project Glennis, the result of years of research and development, was finally nearing completion.

"Project Glennis has passed all preliminary tests and is recording an accuracy of ninety-seven percent. We have added Latin, Greek and Japanese to the database, and the last few remaining languages will be included before release," announced David Ratherty, the head of the project.

"Excellent! As you know, twenty-five years ago Chuck Yeager piloted the _Glamorous Glennis_ and broke the sound barrier. Soon, with Project Glennis and its commercialized version, Babel, we will break the language barrier!" Gary exclaimed, to the applause of his team.

"Mr Lombard, as you requested, I have setup a demonstration of the program on your computer. If you would?" David said, gesturing to Gary's immaculate desk.

They moved towards the computer, following Gary's lead. Displayed on the screen was his baby, his child, his miracle.

Babel, the program that would allow instantaneous translation of any language on Earth, complete with context, grammar and typography. No other piece of software on the planet even came close to what they had achieved with Babel.

Leaning forward, he typed a phrase that he knew off by heart.

"Nicht schießen. Ich ergebe mich!" David read, peering over his boss' shoulder.

No one in the room had to ask the meaning of that phrase.

They all knew it well enough.

Gary moved the cursor to the box marked **'Translate'** and clicked once.

For a moment, nothing happened.

He heard the sharp in-take of breath from behind him. No doubt David was worried about looking bad in front of his boss.

But David's worries were unfounded.

A second later, a text box popped up with the translation.

It read, simply, ' **Don't shoot. I surrender!'**

*

An hour later, Gary was alone once more. His team, after finishing a bottle of celebratory non-alcoholic champagne, had returned to their various departments. With Babel's release coming up, now was the time to put all of their effort into polishing it to perfection.

Moving over to the nearest floor to ceiling window, he peered out over his beloved city. London was abuzz with activity, as millions of men and women went about their day. The city had always been a cultural mixing pot, being home to dozens of different nationalities, each speaking their own languages and dialects.

Babel would bring them all together.

He hoped.

He was about to turn away and get to work when a sudden pain gripped his head, forcing him to his knees.

He had never felt such pain.

Was it an aneurysm? A stroke? Brain tumour?

However, just as quickly as it had appeared, the pain vanished.

In its place was a voice.

It sounded... ancient.

With a voice that was neither male nor female, it screamed, "IT MUST BE STOPPED!"

Through tear-filled eyes, Gary tried to find his phone and call for help. However, as he looked around, he saw something which rocked him to his core.

London was on fire.

The city lay in ruins, with every building in a fifty kilometre radius reduced to rubble. Even though he was almost two hundred meters up, he could still hear the screams and cries of desperation from the survivors down below.

What had happened? Who had done this?

And then, a heartbeat later, the devastation vanished. When he opened his eyes once more, the city was back to normal. No fire, no ruin, no anguished screams.

Just a normal day in London.

*

Rising to his feet, Gary placed his shaking hands over his eyes and counted down from ten.

How long had it been since his last attack?

Ten months? Or eleven?

Dr Mansfield had said that there might be the occasional flash or hallucination, but nothing on this scale.

He had thought that he had his PTSD under control... well, so much for that.

But visions aside, he was too close to take a break, as he was sure Dr Mansfield would advise.

Soon, Babel would launch.

Until then, Gary would just have to keep his demons in check.

For the sake of a better world...

# Chapter III: Attention to Detail

August 23rd, 1972

John F. Kennedy Space Centre, Florida

Elaine Maccabee was nervous.

This, unfortunately, was nothing new.

In her twenty-seven years of existence, she had spent almost all of them being nervous. She had been a nervous baby, then a nervous toddler, and so on and so forth, until she became a nervous adult.

She wanted to change, and yet even that thought triggered her nerves...

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today," announced Hank Smith, the project coordinator.

After a murmured response, he continued, saying, "As I'm sure you are all aware, the people in this room are part of the chosen few. Out of thousands of applicants, only three hundred were selected to help us. You might come from a variety of backgrounds and fields, but you all have the same goal: to see the world as it truly is!"

A few people clapped.

"Now, you all received an overview of the project in your acceptance letters, but I wanted to go into a bit more depth today."

There was no response from the fifty men and women in attendance.

Continuing on unabated, Hank said, "For those of you who are still unaware, my name is Hank Smith, and I am your project coordinator for the Earth Resources Satellites Program. One month ago, we launched the first in a series of Earth imaging satellites. Traveling in a near-polar orbit, the satellite has spent the past few weeks taking thousands of photographs of the planet and beaming them back down to us."

Elaine nodded. This is why she was here. She had always been too afraid to go anywhere or do anything, and had spent her youth looking at atlases and photo collections of far-off places instead. Now, she would finally be able to see everything the world had to offer, all from the comfort of her own room.

"Due to the tremendous amount of pictures we have received, NASA has decided to enlist all of you in order to help us comb through the data and uncover new discoveries about our home."

A few more people clapped.

"In a few minutes my assistants will go around the room and hand out envelopes containing images from the satellite. Some of you will be tasked with analysing these images for any abnormalities or image artifacts, while others will use their disciplinary knowledge to see how the pictures might be applied to their respect fields. Already, we have used a few of the pictures to improve our crop rotation process. Personally, I can't wait to see what you all come up with!"

Everyone in the room clapped that time.

Except Elaine.

She was too nervous... as always.

*

A few minutes later, a group of assistants emerged from a side-exit and started handing out thick folders to the waiting researchers. As they did so, Hank continued his briefing, saying, "Now, this shouldn't have to be stated, but until each image is verified and cleared of artifacts, they are to be treated as strictly confidential. If any images are handed over to third parties or even worse, the press, you can expect some pretty harsh consequences."

Everyone in the room took a deep breath.

Except Elaine.

She simply had no friends who she could share the images with.

Well, except Douglas... but showing him a never-before-seen photo was sure to cause trouble...

A moment later, she heard the soft thump of paper hitting wood, announcing the arrival of her very own envelope.

It sat there, daring her to look inside.

Hell, it even said so on the cover:

' **Elaine Maccabee**

BSc Environmental Sciences with Honours

Open Here'

However, a part of her hesitated. What corner of the globe would be contained within?

Would she spend her days perusing images of the Amazon?

Or spends weeks pouring over every valley and peak in the Himalayas?

She would even be content cataloguing the lakes of Switzerland...

Looking around, she saw the faces of the people who had already peeked inside their envelopes.

The majority of them were happy.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out and took hold of the thick folder.

Please be somewhere interesting.

Please.

Please!

A moment later, she opened the envelope and pulled out the cover page.

With a hopeful heart, she read the title...

' **IRAQ'**

Shit.

*

That night, Elaine sat in her study, depressed.

It wasn't fair.

It seemed like everyone else had received parts of the globe that would bring forth amazement and wonder.

Elaine, on the other hand, had received a country that was forty percent desert, and what wasn't desert was hardly any better.

So she could look forward to spending the next few weeks analysing miles and miles of sand, rock, and more sand.

Great.

Perhaps, if she had been a little more assertive, she might have been able to ask Hank for a swap. Who knew, maybe someone in that room had been really hoping for Iraq, and had sadly received New Zealand instead? In that case, she would be practically doing them a favour by swapping envelopes with them.

But sadly, no such thing had happened. Hank had given them his office hours and landline number before dismissing them.

Well, she could either mope all night, or she could get started.

And she wasn't going to mope all night.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out the first photograph. Next to the folder she had placed her own personal copy of ' _The Atlas of Iraq_ ', one of the hundreds of atlases she kept in her study. She had spent most of her childhood here, pouring over thousands of maps and diagrams. Those had all been created by great men and women, sure, but they were limited in scope. After all, the human eye could only see so much.

But the photograph on her desk had been taken through the eyes of science.

Truly, it was a brand new age of discovery.

*

It was almost midnight when Elaine gave up. She had gone through three-hundred and sixty-four photos.

No more.

Not another photo showing nothing but miles and miles of desert.

Not another sandy coloured rectangle.

She had laid out the remaining pictures on her desk, forming a swath of grey and yellow images that blurred together and made her eyes swim.

Placing her head in her hands, she contemplated weeping.

Deciding that crying would use up her remaining energy, however, led her to closing her eyes instead.

Soon after that, the combination of stress, fatigue and eye-strain knocked her out for good.

*

Elaine woke up in the desert.

Looking around, she noted that it continued in every direction. Every horizon contained nothing but sky and sand.

The air burned her lungs. The sand roasted her feet.

The land was on fire.

And she, like always, was all alone.

"Hello?!?" she screamed, to the uncaring expanse.

There was no answer.

Just the sound of the wind, rattling across the dunes.

Generally she enjoyed being on her own.

But not like this...

As she was pondering her next move, something in the air changed.

The wind, for starters, became a gale, covering the dunes in a maelstrom of sand.

At the same time, the noises of the desert, ever-present at the edge of her hearing, vanished.

Finally, a dark shadow fell over the land.

Glancing skyward, she saw the cause.

Something had eclipsed the sun.

For a moment she thought it was the moon, but that orb of luminescence was still visible in the sky.

What then, could it be?

A plane?

A bird?

And then, the light shifted once more, and the object in question came into focus.

It was a satellite.

And it was getting closer.

It fell from the sky, trailing smoke and flame.

Normally, such a sight would have been an interesting and remarkable occurrence.

If it wasn't heading straight for her.

She tried to run but years spent indoors had not gifted her with the body of an athlete. Trying to gain as much ground as she could, she forced her legs to move faster.

However, no matter how fast she moved, the satellite did not fall behind.

With every passing second, it came closer.

Suddenly, Elaine's legs gave out, sending her crashing to the sand.

She lay there, panting and sweating, as the roar from the falling satellite drowned out the noises of the desert.

Closing her eyes, she waited for the end to come...

*

Elaine woke with a start, smacking her head on the shelf before her.

In her mind, she saw visions of endless deserts and falling satellites, before they were wiped away by her awakening.

If it wasn't bad enough that she had to look at pictures of deserts during the day, would she now be forced to suffer through them in her dreams too?!?

Raising her head, she brushed a strand of mousey blonde hair from her face. As she did so, she noticed that one of the photos had become stuck to her cheek during her impromptu nap.

Peeling it off her skin, she stared at it for a second, before putting it down with the others.

Wait...

What?

Her brain, still half-asleep, told her that she had missed something important.

Rustling through the photos, she found the one still covered in her drool.

What the hell...

The photo showed the Iraqi landscape, just like all the others.

Empty plains.

Check.

Grey and yellow sand.

Check.

Giant handprint.

Double check.

It took her a few more seconds to fully process what she was seeing.

If this was real...

In an instant, all traces of her fatigue vanished. Her mind lit up like a Christmas tree, buzzing with theories and possibilities.

And for the first time that day, Elaine was glad that she had received Iraq...

# Chapter IV: Cardinal Directions

August 24th, 1972

Baghdad, Iraq

Richard should have brought more shirts.

After all, he had already sweated through three of them.

He was standing alongside Mutanabbi Street, trying to look inconspicuous.

Being a white man in the Middle-East made this understandably quite difficult.

He had already shooed away four street-sellers who had offered him everything from kebabs to definitely authentic Babylonian jewellery.

Sighing, he checked his pocket watch for the seventh time in... fifty-six minutes.

Where the hell was Abdiel?

He had told the man to meet him in front of Al-Mutanabbi statue at precisely noon. And now it was... one o'clock.

Did the Iraqis have a different measure of time to the West?

No. More realistically Abdiel had simply taken the money and run.

Well, there went his ingenious plan...

*

"Mister Cardinal?" came a voice from nearby.

Turning, he spotted his contact, looking incredibly nervous. Abdiel was glancing from one side to the other so often Richard didn't even know if the man could see him standing in front of him.

"Abdiel, I thought you said to meet at noon?" Richard replied, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Forgive me, Mister Cardinal, but what you asked for was not easy to obtain... I had to go to some very dangerous men on your behalf..."

"Ah, thank you, Abdiel. I was right to ask the hotel manager for your details. Now, can I see it?"

Abdiel looked around before leaning forward and whispering, "Not here. Follow me."

Moments later, he disappeared into the crowd.

Richard hurried after him, determined not to lose sight of his only way forward.

*

Less than a minute later, Richard found himself in a small, dimly lit alleyway.

The perfect place for an ambush, the paranoid part of himself whispered.

"Over here, Mister Cardinal," Abdiel said, gesturing from the shadows.

Approaching him, Richard halted in his tracks when Abdiel suddenly thrust his hand into the satchel hanging from his shoulder.

' **Dead Englishman found dead in Baghdad Alleyway'** would be the headline, he reckoned.

But no, Abdiel did not return brandishing a gun. Instead, he held out a stack of papers, bound with a length of string.

Richard gingerly took the documents, brain still on high-alert.

Looking over them, he was once more reminded that yes; indeed, he didn't speak a word of Arabic.

"Is everything in order?" He asked, trying to appear confident.

Abdiel nodded, saying, "Everything is exactly as you specified when we first met. Don't worry; my guy is the best at this kind of work."

"Good, because if he isn't, you and I will shortly be executed."

Abdiel noticeably paled.

"Mister Cardinal, I ask you to trust me, just as I am trusting you by not asking what you plan to do with these papers..."

Richard nodded, Abdiel hadn't failed him yet.

"Very well, I trust you. Now, about the other matter I had you investigate?"

"Ah, yes, that one was much easier than your first request. I tracked her down quite quickly. After all, people like her do tend to stand out around here..."

"I know. I just hope that she's been careful."

"According to my guy, she has been... troublesome. She was last seen heading towards the Abu Hanifa Mosque. She should still be there."

"Thank you, Abdiel. I hope that you have also given some consideration to my other offer?"

Abdiel seemed to think for a moment, before replying, "Mister Cardinal, I like you. What you have proposed, however, is madness. The place you wish to see is considered _haram._ That means it is forbidden, Mister Cardinal. I have helped you reach the entrance, but I cannot cross into that land of death alongside you... please, forgive me."

"What if I paid you double?"

Abdiel paused once more, obviously running a mental calculation of his own self-worth versus the value of the Pound.

"Ah, In that case," he replied, "I shall see you at dawn!"

*

Less than an hour later, Richard found himself staring at the Abu Hanifa Mosque. It was an impressive building, with its golden minaret and 986 year history.

It _should_ have been a dignified place of worship to a make-believe deity.

Instead, there was a commotion outside the gilded entrance.

"I'm telling you, I have been granted permission by Vice President Hussein to enter any Mosque I come across!" a woman shouted, facing down a wall of red-faced men. She had skin the colour of midnight and wore a hijab over her dark locks.

"I am sorry, _zawja_ , but you cannot enter the men's section of the Mosque. It is simply not allowed!" said the leader of the men.

"You're not listening to me! I am here to study your culture, and I cannot do that if I am not allowed to enter half of your buildings!"

The men looked at one another with the universal glance.

Richard understood it all too well.

It meant **I am too tired to deal with this woman's nonsense.**

"Look, _zawja_ , we are simply trying to keep the peace. If you enter this holy place as you are, you will become a distraction for those trying to worship inside."

The woman said nothing.

The man paused for a second, looking thoughtful.

"However... we might be able to allow you inside on one condition..."

The woman looked up.

"Yes, if you bring your _alzawj_ , we can allow you to enter," the man said, looking pleased that he had come up with a solution.

"My _what_?"

The man flustered for a second, saying, "Your _alzawj_... um... ah! Your husband! Go and fetch your husband, and we can allow the two of you to go in together."

"My... husband..." the woman said, looking uncertain.

"Yes! He must be nearby, so we will wait while you fetch him!" the man said, smiling a wide smile.

"Of course... my husband... I'm sure he's... somewhere around here..." the woman replied, looking more uncomfortable by the second.

Ah. Here was a chance to earn some points with her.

And given what he was about to propose, he needed all the points he could gather.

"Nadine!" Richard cried out, moving towards the group, "I've been looking for you all over the place!"

Nadine, his ex-wife, turned and her discomfort instantly turned to shock.

"Richard? What the hell are you doing here?"

And then she remembered who was standing behind her.

"I mean, darling, didn't I tell you to wait for me at the hotel?" she said, with an expertly crafted pleasantly surprised expression.

"I am sorry my dear, but I could not stand to be apart from you for another second!" Richard replied, trying to sound like a worried husband.

Even when he had been married, he had struggled to express himself like this...

"Oh well, I guess I'll forgive you this time!" Nadine said, with a small laugh, but he could see the unspoken questions on her lips.

The men, apparently satisfied with this turn of events, nodded before dispersing.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Nadine turned to him and whispered, "Now, what the hell is this all about?!?"

*

They strolled through the garden inside the Mosque hand in hand, if only to maintain their deception.

Interestingly, Nadine was still wearing her wedding ring.

When she noticed his gaze lingering on it, she sighed and said, "Look, don't think that this means anything. I simply use it to deflect attention around here, and despite the recent improvements to gender equality, it still helps being married in this part of the world..."

Ah.

"So, you followed me all the way to Iraq?" she asked, looking suspicious.

He shook his head, saying, "No, I have some business here on behalf of the university. I remembered you speaking about your plans to come here and study the local traditions so I thought I might as well try and find you."

She looked at him for a second, before replying, "So you're saying that this is all a coincidence?"

"Yes," he lied.

She said nothing in return, preferring to walk in silence for a time.

While he studied her dark features, she studied the people around her.

Ever the anthropologist.

"These people have been through a lot in the past few decades, but they have never lost their resilience," she said, staring at a man entertaining a young child.

"Well, they have had thousands of years of conflict and hardships to temper their souls, I suppose..." Richard said, knowing that she loved his expressions.

She smiled in response.

Another point in his favour.

"So, I take it your research is going well?" he asked.

She sighed before replying, "Yes and no. I've been here for a couple of months now, and while I've been able to investigate a lot, there are still parts of their culture that are off-limits for a black Englishwoman..."

"That must be frustrating for you."

"Incredibly, but why don't you cut the crap, Richard. Why are you really here?"

"To change your life," he lied.

*

"Just water for me," Nadine told the waiter, as he came around to their table. They had retreated to her hotel after Richard had promised to explain his words in a more private location.

Turning back to face him, she sighed and said, "Come now, Richard, why don't you tell me what you want."

Fame. Success. The Dean to get down on his knees and beg Richard for forgiveness.

Out loud he said, "I want to help you."

This got a raised eyebrow out of her.

"Really? Because I remember asking you to come on this trip with me, before our separation, to which you replied that you would rather die than spend six months in Iraq..."

Damn her and her pinpoint memory.

"I know, but that was then, and this is now."

"Oh? And what exactly has changed since then?"

He hesitated for a moment. Not for the first time, he pondered if he was doing the right thing by involving Nadine.

And then he remembered why he needed her help, and his hesitations evaporated.

"I have a chance to visit a place that we always dreamed of, but I need your help to get there."

She narrowed her eyes, saying, "And what exactly do you need from me?"

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Your grant money."

"WHAT?!?" she exclaimed, shocking the nearby patrons.

After apologizing, she settled down and said, in a slightly calmer tone, "What?"

"I know that you received money from the university to fund your trip. All I'm asking for is sixty... seventy percent of it."

Placing a hand over her eyes, she said, "And why the hell should I give you _my_ money?"

Explaining himself would have taken too long. Instead, he pulled out the documents that Abdiel had procured for him and slid them over to her.

She took them with a questioning glance, but accepted them nonetheless.

A few minutes of reading and some quick glances to her Arabic-English dictionary later and she sat back in her chair, wide-eyed.

"Is this... real?"

"Yes," he lied.

"Holy shit," she replied.

"I know. I have the permits, but I don't have the money. I need to hire equipment, vehicles and staff, and that costs a fortune."

"So what, I just give you my grant money and you become famous?"

Shaking his head, he laid his final piece of bait, saying, "No, you give me your grant money, and _we_ become famous."

She said nothing for a long time.

For a moment, he wondered if she would refuse.

But a part of him already knew what her answer was going to be.

A second later, she sighed and said, "Alright, I'm in. Let's go and see what they've been hiding in the Shinari Basin!"

# Chapter V: Pareidolia

August 24th, 1972

Merritt Island, Florida

The Shinari Basin.

On the map it looked like an expanse of nothingness, bordered by the Alyad Mountains.

On the photo, it looked like the palm of a gigantic handprint.

Elaine sighed for the tenth time that hour. It was like trying to play the hardest game of Spot-the-Difference in her life.

She read the passage once more, out loud for good measure.

"The Shinari Basin, a circular depression roughly 100km in diameter and 1km deep, is located in the Nineveh Governorate in North-Western Iraq. It is considered a holy place for the Islamic faith, and all travel into the basin is strictly prohibited."

She looked back at the photo.

Yup, there was the depression.

And there were the four mountain ranges above it that made up the Alyad Mountains.

But when viewed from above, a new structure emerged.

The basin became a palm, whilst the mountain ranges and the valleys between them became fingers.

Altogether, it looked like a handprint.

Rubbing her eyes, she tried to recall how much sleep she had had last night.

It wasn't much, she knew for sure.

But no, the picture before her had not changed since she had woken up with it glued to her cheek.

It hadn't been a trick of the light or the product of a half-asleep mind as she had initially suspected.

It was real, and it was staring her in the face.

So... what was she going to do about it?

*

A few hours later, Elaine found herself sitting outside Hank Smith's office.

She recognized a few people from the briefing, no doubt coming to Hank with their own queries regarding their photos.

Something told Elaine, however, that none of them had anything like hers.

"Elaine Maccabee?" Hank's secretary called, gesturing for her to come inside.

Taking a deep breath, she rose from her seat.

Hank's office was... difficult to describe.

For starters, it looked like he had tried to incorporate every major architectural trend from the last century.

Rustic met contemporary which flowed into Tuscan before waging a fierce battle against modern.

Honestly, it hurt her eyes.

"Ah, Elaine, how have you been?" Hank asked, with practiced cordiality.

"Um... I've been alright, thank you very much..." she responded, eyes on the floor.

Ugh. Persian carpet with bean bag chairs.

"I am happy to hear that. Now, what brings you to my office this Thursday morning?"

"Well... you see... the thing is..." she stammered, trying to find the words.

It had seemed so simple during the drive over.

Hank, I've discovered a handprint in Iraq the size of London.

Well, it definitely sounded more plausible in her head.

"Yes?" Hank asked, in the tone of a busy man who was nevertheless trying to be patient.

"Maybe it's better if I just show you..." she said, before handing him the photograph in question.

He took it with care, knowing full well the amount of effort it had taken to acquire it.

Hank stared at the photo in silence.

Elaine wondered if he was thinking the same thoughts she had when she had first seen it.

Awe. Shock. Confusion. Excitement.

What would his first words be?

Knowing him, they would be something profound. Something that future historians would place at the very front of their books.

"This is..." he began.

Elaine took a deep breath.

"Hilarious!" he exclaimed.

And then he started laughing.

*

Hank laughed.

And laughed.

And then he laughed some more.

Great, billowing laughs interceded with smaller _heeheehees_ , until he ran out of breath entirely.

He sat in his chair, gulping down air, as he tried to regain his composure.

Eventually, wiping tears from his eyes, he looked at her and said, "Ms Maccabee, this is quite brilliant!"

"Mr Smith?" she asked, thoroughly confused.

"I'm talking about how you altered this photo to make it look like there is a giant handprint there! Tell me, how did you do it?" he asked, with a mirthful expression.

"Mr Smith, that is a real picture..." she replied, wondering how she could convince him.

He looked at her with a blank expression.

"Ms Maccabee... are you expecting me to believe that there really is a giant handprint in the corner of Iraq?"

"Yes..." she replied, meekly.

Again, she realized just how silly it sounded when spoken out loud.

"This isn't a prank?"

"No. I'm afraid not."

Hank said nothing for a few seconds, before replying, "Ms Maccabee, do you know what the word Pareidolia means?"

She shook her head.

"Let's see... how to explain it... Ah! Ms Maccabee, have you ever sat and watched the clouds in the sky?"

She nodded, not knowing where this would lead.

"And have you ever imagined those clouds as animals and faces looking down on you?"

Of course, who hadn't?

Verbally, however, she said, "Yes, a few times."

"Well, that is Pareidolia. It is a phenomenon in which humans see objects and faces in natural and man-made structures. Sometimes a plug outlet looks like a face, or a rock outcropping might look like an elephant's trunk. I believe that when you looked at this photo, if it truly is real, then your mind put the mountains and the basin together to form a hand."

"I see..." she said, but a part of her, a tiny kernel of disbelief, refused his words.

She knew about coincidences. She knew that the logical explanation was the one she had just heard.

And yet in her heart, she simply could not accept it.

She did not know how the handprint had come to be there, but she knew it _was_ there.

"I hope that I have helped you in this matter?" he asked, with an expression that told her that the conversation had ended.

"Yes, thank you Mr Smith."

And then it was over, and she left the room in search of better answers.

*

A little over two hours later, she arrived at the home of her only friend in the world.

Douglas Myers.

She had to be sure.

Knocking on the door, she wondered what he would say.

Knowing him, it would definitely be-

"Say cheese!" was her only warning before she heard the tell-tale _click_ of Douglas' Canon F-1 camera taking her picture.

"Hello Douglas," she said, mild annoyance creeping into her words.

"Hello Elaine, and thank you as always for being such a wonderful model," Douglas replied.

Douglas, wearing his signature Hawaiian shirt and shorts, beckoned her inside.

The room beyond was covered in photographs.

Every wall. Every table. Even a few on the ceiling, somehow.

"I see that your collection has grown since I last saw you."

"What can I say," Douglas replied, grinning from ear to ear, "The world is filled with interesting things, and I personally want to capture them all."

"Well, you certainly have been trying..." Elaine remarked, as she tried to find a place on his couch to sit that wasn't covered in photos of Machu Picchu or the Grand Canyon.

"Thank you. Now, what brings you to my humble collection today?"

She paused for a second, recalling Hank's less than helpful reaction.

If she was going to get answers, she needed to do this properly.

"You are the best when it comes to photography, and I recently came into possession of a photo that others have claimed is fake. Could you possibly take a look at it and tell me what you think?"

"Well now, that's quite the unusual request. But sure, I'll take a look," Douglas said, settling into a chair and extending his hand.

Elaine took out the photo with care, feeling oddly protective of it. Hank had said that she shouldn't share any of the pictures with outside parties, but then again he had also said that she was delusional.

So screw it.

"Here," she said, handing him the photo.

Hank took it gently out of her hands, saying nothing.

He, like Hank, stared in silence.

A moment later, he stood up and walked to his desk, taking a small wooden box from one of the drawers. Opening it, he started pulling out several devices.

One of them, the one that looked like a miniature telescope, he raised to his eye.

It reminded Elaine of the time her mother had dropped her engagement ring and had taken it to a jeweller to see if the diamond had been scratched.

After a few minutes of silence, Douglas looked up at her and said, "It's real."

*

Thank the Lord.

"Thank you, Douglas," she said, and she truly meant it.

"It's my pleasure. It's not often I get photos as strange as this one, you know."

What?

"I mean, it's just a normal handprint from a beach, but the photographer managed to make it look like it was taken from miles above the land. I don't know how they did it, but I would love to meet them."

Well, that would involve flying over five hundred miles straight up and rendezvousing with a satellite which orbited the entire world every hundred minutes.

But sure, knock yourself out.

"So you don't notice anything else about it that's... strange?"

"Well, the colouration is a bit off, but aside from that it looks genuine."

It had been taken by a multi-spectral scanner, so at least that wasn't the start of a new mystery. The scanner couldn't accurately replicate the actual colours of the planet, after all.

"So, how much do I owe you?" she said, rising to her feet.

Shaking his head, Douglas replied, "No charge for you, Elaine. However..."

Ah, she already knew what he was going to say.

"Would you mind if I add this photo to my collection? Not the original, of course, but if you would let me make a copy?"

Elaine thought for a moment.

She wasn't supposed to share the pictures... but Douglas had helped her... _and_ he didn't know what the photo was really of...

"Okay, but don't go around showing it to anyone."

Douglas nodded before getting up to fetch his equipment. He always had the same expression on his face before he added a new photo to his collection: pure, unrestrained joy.

*

The sun was setting while Elaine drove home with a happy heart. Despite Hank not believing her, at least she had managed to confirm that the photo was real.

That was enough, for now.

As she turned into her driveway, however, her happiness vanished.

Her front door was open.

Had she forgotten to close it this morning?

No, she never forgot.

Had her parents decided to pay her a surprise visit?

No, they would have called first.

Had her neighbour used his key to check on something?

No, he was away on holiday.

That left only one option: Intruder.

She knew that she should have stayed in her car and called the cops.

But something propelled her forward.

Something in the back of her mind told her that the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.

Racing forward, she breached the entrance and turned left, towards the study. As she did so, she noticed that nothing was missing from the living room.

Please...

Please still be there!

A heartbeat later, she entered the study, and her worst fears became reality.

Her desk was bare.

Every single photo of Iraq had been taken.

No...

They had missed one.

The one in her purse.

The one they had probably been looking for.

Someone else knew about it.

And she was in danger...

# Chapter VI: The Shinari Basin

August 25th, 1972

Samarra, Iraq

Richard was in danger.

He tried to recall if spontaneous combustion had been disproven, but it was too hot to think.

What was the melting temperature of the brain again?

Well, he would find out soon enough.

The thermometer said that it was 40 degrees Celsius.

For the first time in his life, he missed the English winter...

"How much further?" he asked, panting between words.

"It's another hundred and thirty kilometres until we reach Baiji, and then we take the cars off-road until we reach the Basin," replied Nadine, who was reading the map.

"And why the hell are we not moving?"

"Because your guide had an appointment in Samarra."

"Ah... right. Damn him."

Richard silently fumed. Abdiel had told him that he could arrange all of the necessary equipment and vehicles with the money Nadine had provided, but he had insisted on stopping in Samarra.

He had entered the city an hour ago, causing them to lose valuable time.

"So, I have to ask... why didn't the University give you any grant money for this little Iraq adventure?" Nadine asked while shooting him a sidelong glance.

"Well... The Dean and I got into a little argument before I came here," he replied, technically telling the truth, "And he decided to punish me by freezing my funds."

"Knowing you, you probably pissed him off with another one of your little lectures. Tell me, what was it this time? Did you set fire to a picture of the Pope? Or did you use a Bible to prop open the door to your office? Wait, don't tell me that you swapped the toilet paper in the faculty lounge with scripture... again?"

"Um... something like that," he said, trying to deflect the question.

If she found out that he had attempted to publish an entire article attacking her invisible friend in the sky, she would almost certainly withdraw her money.

"I thought I told you to stop doing those kinds of things..." she said, with a hearty sigh, "Sooner or later, the Dean will snap and then you'll be out of a job."

Well, it had been sooner, as it turned out...

"I can't help it, you know that," he said, feeling defensive.

How many times had they had this same conversation?

In restaurants.

In parks.

In their bedroom.

Nadine would berate him for his latest anti-Church stunt, and he would fire back about her choosing to spend more time with her Bible study group than with him.

Then they would fight.

And fight.

And fight.

Until one day they said enough.

A month after that, Mrs Nadine Cardinal was back to being Ms Nadine Calloway.

And their marriage had ended.

*

"Thank you for your patience, Mister Cardinal," said Abdiel, as he approached the group.

They had managed to hire two Range Rovers, along with the necessary equipment to spend a few days in the arid Basin.

Richard's tools were in a large case in the boot, while Nadine had her equipment in a canvas bag which she kept at her feet.

Tamir, their fourth member, sat quietly in the front seat of the second car. He was a tall, unassuming man who had barely spoken five words since Abdiel had introduced them.

Apparently English wasn't his strong suit.

"That's alright, Abdiel. I trust you found what you were looking for?" said Richard.

"I did, Mister Cardinal," Abdiel replied, showing them a small leather bag filled to bursting with... something.

Richard decided that he was better off not knowing what it was.

"Well then, shall we be off?" he asked, eager to be on the road.

Abdiel nodded, and they prepared to leave Samarra behind.

*

"The absence of physical evidence does not mean that the entity in question does not exist!" Nadine shouted, almost causing Richard to swerve in the road.

"What, didn't you ever learn about the phrase 'seeing is believing'?" he replied, settling into his old groove.

Amazingly, they hadn't even made it ten kilometres before the argument started.

"I see God's grace in the world around me, and my belief is not dependent on facts and figures!" Nadine shot back.

"Well then, why do we even need to go to the Shinari Basin? Why don't we simply believe that whatever is there is remarkable and write our paper without any annoying facts or well-researched figures?"

"This and that are separate matters. I mean, at least for Catholicism we have the Bible and the scripture. For the Shinari Basin we have... nothing. No written or verbal records. No accounts of what's inside or why it's been off-limits since before the fall of Babylon!"

Richard knew an opportunity when he saw one.

"Well, what do you think is there?" he asked, desperate to change the subject. It was simply too hot to continue arguing. Either one of them would win, or his head would explode...

Nadine took the bait.

"Hmm... there are a few popular theories about that. Some of them are a bit more outlandish, like the one that states the Shinari Basin is the location of the Garden of Eden. There's also one that claims that Iram of the Pillars is located there, despite Saudi Arabia being a more reasonable location."

"I'm guessing you believe in something else?"

"Nothing solid, but I do have a theory that King Nabopolassar was buried there."

"Nabo-" Richard began.

"-Polassar," Nadine finished, "He was the first king of the Neo-Babylonian Empire. He was known for his building projects, which included temples and ziggurats. He died in 605 BC, but no one knows where he was buried."

"And you think he was buried in the Shinari Basin?"

Nadine nodded, saying, "It fits. He ruled over an expansive area which included the Basin, and he died around about the same time that records start speaking of the area as being forbidden."

"But why forbid entry to his tomb? Surely they would have wanted people to be able to pay their respects to their fallen king?"

Nadine shook her head, saying, "Therein lies the mystery. Hopefully, once we start searching we will either find the tomb itself or evidence of why the area became off-limits..."

"I see..."

Hearing her earnest beliefs did cause Richard to feel a bit of guilt, but it vanished as he recalled the look on the Dean's face from their last meeting.

Soon... the Dean would be begging him to return...

*

"We're here," Abdiel said, climbing out of his Range Rover. Tamir, however, did not move from behind the wheel.

"Here" turned out to be a fence stretching towards the horizon. Before them was a gate, manned by two armed soldiers.

They did not look welcoming.

A sign beside the gate read, according to Abdiel, ' **No Entry on Penalty of Death'**.

Well, Richard had expected that much.

As Abdiel and Richard approached the men, the mood shifted for the worse.

Immediately, the guns were raised and trained squarely on the foreigner's face.

"They want to know why we're here, Mister Cardinal," Abdiel reported.

"Tell them that we have documents allowing us to enter the Shinari Basin."

"As you wish. However, just in case, be ready to run, Mister Cardinal," Abdiel replied, eyeing the nearby cars.

After a short exchange of words, one of the soldiers came forward.

Unfortunately, he had yet to lower his rifle.

" _Mustanadat_?" the man barked.

With shaking hands, Richard professed the documents.

The man took them from him with one hand.

The other never left his weapon.

"Tell him that this was written by Abdul Karim Mudarris, the _Mufti_ of Iraq. He has deigned to write a _fatwa_ allowing myself and my company entry into the Shinari Basin in order to study it."

Abdiel repeated Richard's words to the guard.

The guard barked a response, which Abdiel translated as, "He wants to know why the _Mufti_ would write such a thing for one such as you?"

Please let this work...

"Abdiel, tell him that I am Richard Cardinal from the University of Cambridge. My university and the _Mufti_ communicated several weeks ago on this matter. The _Mufti_ feels that the Shinari Basin has remained a mystery for long enough, and that I am the best person to uncover said mysteries."

Abdiel translated.

Richard held his breath.

Nadine checked her notes.

And Tamir sat silently.

Eventually, the guard nodded, lowered his rifle, and motioned for the gate to be opened.

They were in.

*

The Shinari Basin sat before them.

Almost eight thousand square kilometres of open land, lying in a depression a kilometre deep.

From where he was standing, Richard couldn't even see the other side of the depression.

He had thought that his first visit would be anticlimactic. After all, it was really just a dent in the Earth's crust.

A big dent, but a dent nonetheless.

And yet, as he stood there, staring out at it, he felt... moved.

Not as a scientist. Not as a geologist.

As a man.

This place had... history.

It had weight.

It had a group of armed men riding camels heading towards him.

Oh shit.

*

"Abdiel, who are they?" Richard asked, eyeing the approaching men.

If they were going to run away, now was the time.

"I believe that they belong to _Al-Muraqib_ , The Watchers. A tribe that has lived in the Shinari Basin for as long as anyone can remember. Honestly, I thought that they were a myth..."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Not unless you anger them... supposedly," came the hesitant reply.

"Any ideas how we can avoid that?"

"Just one. Stay behind me, don't make eye contact, and whatever you do, don't say a word."

Richard nodded, unsure of when the moratorium on speaking was supposed to begin.

A moment later, six men on camels rode up to them, wielding guns and shouting.

They did not look happy.

Abdiel spoke quickly, gesturing to the cars and Richard.

He heard the word _gyurayb_ spoken several times. Richard had heard it enough times since arriving to grasp its meaning.

Intruder.

The men moved closer, raising their voices as they did so.

However, at that time Abdiel brought out the leather pouch he had bought in Samarra and handed it to the leader.

The man took the pouch, opened it carefully, and then took something from it and placed it in his mouth.

He chewed for a few seconds before swallowing and closing up the pouch.

And then, mercifully, he nodded.

A moment later, the men departed, seemingly satisfied with Abdiel's gift.

"What in the world did you give them?" Richard asked, mystified.

"Kleicha. It's a type of cookie filled with dates that is very popular around here. I figured that if the _Al-Muraqib_ were real, they probably don't have many opportunities to have such delicacies. It would appear that I was correct..."

"Well done Abdiel! You continue to prove your worth!"

"Thank you, Mister Cardinal. Now, we should head further in to the Basin. It will be night soon, and I would rather spend it next to a campfire with a tent nearby than sleeping in a car..."

Richard nodded, and the two men returned to the cars.

*

Two hours later, Richard stood at the edge of camp.

Tamir and Abdiel were preparing dinner, and Nadine was getting her tools out and organized.

Richard, however, was staring at the setting sun.

Soon, a new day would dawn.

And he would start uncovering the mysteries of the Shinari Basin...

# Chapter VII: Poor Communication Kills

August 25th, 1972

London, United Kingdom

"Nicht schießen. Ich ergebe mich!" Gary screamed, just to get it over with. He had slept for... two hours? Or had it been three? Either way, his dreams had been plagued with visions of violence and chaos. Always the same sight: London in ruins.

No. That wasn't real. World War Two had not been lost.

The Allies had won.

London had survived!

So why couldn't his brain accept that!

Shaking his head, he got out of bed.

Babel was scheduled to launch in five days.

He couldn't afford to lose his mind now...

Thankfully, Dr Mansfield had been able to squeeze him into his busy schedule.

Crossing to the mirror, Gary was met with a ghastly visage. Dark circles, untidy hair and pale skin were not a good combination, he decided.

Moving to the bathroom, he showered and shaved, taking... damn, nineteen minutes.

After dressing, he sat down to breakfast.

Today was Friday, which meant...

Tofu and red wine?

That didn't sound right, but Gary was too tired to change his mind.

Between ten and thirty minutes later, Gary finished his meal and left his apartment...

*

"Visions, you say?" asked Dr Mansfield, as he peered over his half-moon glasses.

Gary nodded. He didn't know how else to describe them.

"And when did they start? These... visions?"

"On Tuesday. At first I thought that it was just the stress of Babel's launch, but it's happened several times since then... and I can't sleep without seeing them..."

Dr Mansfield took a few notes on his leather bound notepad. He was the best psychologist in the United Kingdom, and catered to the richest men and women in the country. From royalty having identity crises to prime ministers battling with asexuality, Dr Mansfield had treated them all. He was expensive, but Gary had plenty of money to expend.

"Tell me about the visions," Dr Mansfield said, leaning back slightly in his well-used chair.

"Well, it's only really the one that keeps repeating. I see London in ruins, as if some catastrophic event had just occurred and destroyed the city."

"Do you see any signs of combat? Soldiers? Planes?"

Gary shook his head, saying, "No. There's no people at all. Just... silence. I saw towns that had been bombed... during the war. But none of them had looked like this. It was as if something had destroyed it in a singular motion."

"Perhaps an atomic bomb?" ventured the good doctor.

Gary shook his head.

"This was different. It was... bigger. Much bigger."

"Hmm... bigger than an atomic bomb? How... frightening..." Dr Mansfield said, mostly to himself.

"And then, at the end of every vision, I hear the voice..." Gary said, worried about how that might sound.

Predictably, Dr Mansfield leant forward in his chair and said, in a breathless whisper, "You're hearing... voices?"

"Just the one. And it doesn't say much."

"Hopefully nothing about shooting the Queen or blowing up parliament?"

"No. It just says... It must be stopped."

"It?"

"I don't know what it's referring to. All I know is that each time I hear the words, they sound more urgent. Like something is coming... and only I can stop it."

"I see... I must confess, Mr Lombard, that in all my years of practice I have never encountered anything like this. I have dealt with thousands of cases of post-traumatic stress disorder, but in all of those cases their symptoms were uniform in presentation and easy to diagnose. These visions, however, worry me."

"They worry me too, Doc."

"Hmm... perhaps the stress associated with Babel has amplified a latent mental disorder, such as schizophrenia or another hallucinatory impairment. Do you have any family history of mental illness?"

"I had an uncle who joined the circus."

"I see," replied Dr Mansfield, looking pensive.

A moment later Dr Mansfield stood and crossed the room, moving towards his expensive-looking desk. He took a box from atop the mahogany surface and brought it towards Gary. Upon opening it, a musical melody immediately began to play.

It was a calming sound.

"I would like to try something with you, Mr Lombard. A colleague of mine has experienced great success in using hypnosis to treat a variety of stress disorders and several phobias. With your permission, I would like to take you back to 1945, and help you to relive your... experience... in Padua."

Gary thought for a moment. In truth, he had no desire to return to that tragic day, but if it would help to end the visions, he was willing to try.

After relaying this to Dr Mansfield, Gary was obstructed to lie back on the couch and close his eyes.

Dr Mansfield began speaking in a slow, melodic tone that he claimed would help with the hypnosis. This tone was accented by the soft music coming from the box nearby, doubling the effect.

"Now, I will take you back to the day that Babel was born. Do not worry, no matter what happens, I am with you. Now relax, and count back from ten. When I snap my fingers, you will have returned to the past."

"Ten. Nine. Eight."

Gary doubted that this would work, but he decided to humour Dr Mansfield.

"Seven. Six. Five."

He wondered if hypnosis would cost extra? He was already paying an outrageous sum as it was...

"Four. Three. Two."

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it wasn't too late to try something else...

"One."

_Snap_.

*

"Where are you?" came the voice from the sky. It sounded... comforting.

"Padua, Northern Italy," Gary replied, feeling a bit foolish. What would the other members of his squad say if they heard him talking to the sky?

"And what is the date?"

"It is the fifth of May, 1945," Gary replied. He found it hard to disobey the voice in the sky.

"Good. Now, tell me your mission."

"I have been ordered to travel into the farmland outside the city and search for a group of German soldiers who have been seen in the area."

"And what will you do when you find them?"

"Deliver the news that General Heinrich von Vietinghoff has surrendered on behalf of the German forces in Italy, and bring them back to the field office for processing."

"I see. Carry on then..."

"Well..."

"Yes?"

"I'm a bit anxious to do so..."

"And why is that?"

"Private William is the only one in the squad who knows a decent amount of German, but he's been in the loo all morning because of the local cuisine."

"And you cannot simply wait for him to recover?"

Gary shook his head, and then berated himself for doing so. Who knew if the voice in the sky even had eyes?

"Our superiors really want us to finish this up quickly, so that they can pack up the war effort and return home."

"I see. So you had... I mean you have no choice but to continue on with your mission, despite having no translator capable of delivering the requisite information."

"Yes. But we've been searching for these _krauts_ for days, and the likelihood of us finding them today is, well, pretty low."

"I understand. Very well, let us skip ahead a bit."

*

Gary was sweating so much that he was losing his grip on his Enfield No. 2 service pistol.

They had found the Germans...

And at the same time, the Germans had found them.

There were six of them, looking worn out and frightened.

But that fear had not kept them from raising their weapons once the squad had stumbled across them.

They were standing in a barren, dilapidated orchard, its owners apparently having fled the encroaching war.

"What do we do?" Arthur asked, visibly shaking. He was the youngest man in the squad, having just celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday. Gary was the oldest, at thirty, and as such the men often looked to him for reassurance.

"I don't know. Maybe one of them speaks English?"

Arthur shrugged, clearly not volunteering to be the one to check.

Sighing, Gary stepped forward.

Immediately, the German nearest to him barked the word, "Halt!"

Well, that didn't clarify matters.

Damn English and its loan words.

"We have come to inform you that the war is over!" Gary shouted, the anxiety in his voice transforming into volume.

The German's looked confused, but he didn't know whether it was from a lack of understanding or from the alarming nature of his message.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Your General surrendered to the Allied forces seven days ago! We have been ordered to bring you in to be processed as prisoners of war! Do you comply?"

More confused gazes.

However, one of the Germans took a step forward, gun still up, and shouted, "Nicht schießen. Ich ergebe mich!"

And then someone shot him.

Gary, moving on pure reflex, dove to the dry ground, as the violence erupted above him.

Shot after shot rang out as his squad and the Germans killed each other.

After a few seconds, silence fell over the land.

Raising his head, Gary stared at the scene before him.

Blood coated the ground, staining it red.

The Germans were dead or dying.

And his squad... his men... had fared little better.

Gary found Arthur breathing his last breaths, and held the boy in his arms as he struggled to live.

Eventually, he too fell silent.

Gary knew he had to check the others.

But at that moment all he could do was weep.

*

_Snap_.

"Welcome back, Mr Lombard," the voice in the sky said.

No... Dr Mansfield said.

He was back in the doctor's room.

Already, the memory of that blood-soaked day was fading.

But it never quite disappeared.

Even after twenty-seven years, it never truly went away...

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit warmed up, but that's normal these days."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Now, tell me, what happened after your encounter in the orchard?"

"I carried Arthur... I carried Arthur's body back to base and informed them what happened. After crying some more, I visited William in the sick bay."

"Why?"

"I wanted to know what that German had said. I wanted to know why thirteen men had to die that day."

"And what did William say?"

"He said that nicht schießen, ich ergebe mich meant... don't shoot, I surrender..."

"I see."

"Thirteen men died that day. Thirteen lives lost for no goddam reason. They were trying to surrender, for Christ's sake... But no, we massacred each other instead, all because we couldn't understand five measly words..."

"But it didn't end there, did it?"

Gary shook his head, saying, "No, that was just the beginning. After the war, I studied linguistics at Oxford. I graduated having learnt six languages, including German and Arabic, and went on to work as a translator. I wanted... I wanted to prevent that day from ever happening again, anywhere in the world."

"And then?"

"After a few years, I became interested in machine translations, and I was eventually invited to join ALPAC in 1964."

"ALPAC?"

"Automatic Language Processing Advisory Committee. It was a committee of scientists who came together to discuss machine translation. It was with them that I first had the idea for Project Glennis, which eventually became the Babel translation software."

"I think I understand, Mr Lombard. In my view, the release of this Babel program is intimately entwined with your PTSD. You feel personally responsible for the lives lost that day, and through Babel, you seek redemption. Only when you complete it will you have finally put that day behind you."

"So... my visions?"

"Are a simple and understandable manifestation of your PTSD. Your inner voice is telling you that _it_ , by which I mean conflict borne from misunderstandings, must be stopped. London is your home, and seeing it in ruins is a subconscious expression of your fear of failing both yourself and the men who died that day. In summary, you are not crazy, Mr Lombard. You are simply trying to put right what went wrong all those years ago."

"I see," Gary lied.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Dr Mansfield, "Normally, I would tell you to take a few days off and rest, but in your case your treatment is your work itself. Only once you've pressed that button and launched Babel will these visions cease. Of course, if the visions get worse or if the voice tells you to do anything more serious, I want to know."

"Thank you, Doc. I will let you know, I promise," Gary said, feeling relief for the first time in days.

Shaking the doctor's hand, he moved to leave.

Maybe everything would be alright after all...

*

"IT MUST BE STOPPED!!!" the voice screamed, as London burned.

Gary was kneeling in agony, clutching his burning forehead.

The city had been reduced to a wide, shallow creator.

No one had survived this time.

"Make it stop!" he screamed to no avail.

But the vision did not end.

Instead, it changed.

Suddenly, an indistinct figure stood before him. From its silhouette he could tell that it was a man, but no other defining features were detectable.

"IT MUST BE STOPPED!" the man-figure roared.

"What must be stopped?" Gary cried, tears streaming down his face.

But the man-figure did not answer.

And then, the vision was over.

Gary rose to his feet and tried to avoid the curious looks from the people on the train.

Taking his seat, he started rocking back and forth as he whispered to himself.

"It must be stopped... and I must be the one to stop it..."

# Chapter VIII: Diamonds in the Rough

August 26th, 1972

The Shinari Basin

Richard liked to sleep in.

He always had, ever since his youth.

Every Sunday, his dad would yell at him for making them late for Church.

And then he would take off his belt in front of the congregation, and dispense his own version of divine judgment.

Richard, however, had not woken up any earlier the following Sunday.

Until eventually his father had simply stopped caring.

These days, Richard made sure that none of his classes started before ten.

However, today, Richard was the first to awake.

He wondered if this was how children generally felt about Christmas morning?

Not that he had ever received anything more than a Bible and the customary lecture from his father.

Rising from his sleeping bag, he stretched out his tight joints before leaving his tent.

It wasn't quite five star accommodation, but at least the view was amazing.

The sun was just beginning to peak over the rim of the Basin.

Thousands of years of erosion had worn it down to a relatively smooth slope, so the effect was a gradual brightening of the landscape.

Richard made himself a cup of coffee and waited for the others to awaken.

Tamir, surprisingly, joined him a few minutes later.

" _Wahabaha Allah,_ " he said, pointing towards the lightening land.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Tamir floundered for a moment, struggling to find the words.

Eventually he spat out, "Made... by Allah."

"Ah, yes... or an unknown geological process..." Richard said, feeling awkward.

Tamir gave him a questioning glance, but he did not refute Richard's words.

Or even understand them, for that matter...

"So... what... you think... happen... here?" Richard said, gesturing to the surrounding Basin.

Tamir seemed to think for a moment, before raising his hand, every finger outstretched, and saying, " _Alhukm alalhi._ "

He looked... sad?

Before Richard could enquirer further, Nadine emerged from her tent.

They had found a clearing in the scrubland which had proven to be the perfect place to camp.

"Well, this is a surprise! Richard Cardinal up before noon!" Nadine chortled.

"What can I say, I'm excited to begin..."

"As am I. Do you know what you want to start with?"

Nodding, he said, "I want to collect a few samples from around the area and see if the Basin is uniform in composition. You?"

"Good idea. I'm going to search for any signs of previous settlements or man-made structures. If I can find an artefact or two, I can get a better idea as to why this place is so difficult to enter."

Well, technically, it had only cost Richard fifty pounds to enter one of the most holy places in the Islamic faith, but she didn't need to know that.

Ever.

"Great. Well, what say we get some breakfast started and then head out?"

Richard nodded.

"I'm guessing you still want your eggs over easy?"

"And with a dash of pepper," he replied, falling surprisingly easily back into a long-forgotten routine.

For a moment, he missed being married.

And then he remembered all of the fighting, and finished the rest of his coffee in silence.

*

Richard should have brought more sunscreen.

It must have been at least 40 degrees Celsius, and the sun had barely cleared the horizon.

It was hot, unbelievably so, but at the same time it brought back a swath of pleasant memories.

Time spent as a student on a dig site in Greece.

Exploring the Great Rift Valley in Uganda alongside Nadine.

Analysing sediment samples on an oil rig in the Santa Barbara Channel.

He had been alive, back then.

An adventurer.

An explorer.

A pioneer.

Until his "upgrade" to lecturer at the University of Cambridge.

Sometimes he envied Nadine for turning down her own lecturing post in favour of field studies.

Perhaps... after he was finished with the Shinari Basin, he could return to that life. Obviously, his first act would still be the humiliation of the Dean, but after that...

No, he hadn't even found anything yet.

It was too early to start thinking about what came next...

But he still kept that nugget of hope in the back of his mind, saving it for later...

*

What in the world...

Richard stared at the anomaly before him.

It was nearly circular, about thirty centimetres in diameter, a few centimetres thick, and melted to the rock below it.

And it was made of diamond.

It had been hidden beneath a thin layer of dirt, which was an anomaly unto itself.

Diamonds formed under immense pressure and heat, on the scale of gigapascals and hundreds of degrees Celsius.

Standing up, he surveyed the surrounding landscape.

So how had the diamond come to sit atop the Shinari Basin?

Maybe...

*

An hour later, he had found thirty diamond deposits, spread across the area.

Strangely, they were all oriented facing the rim of the Basin...

This was strange.

He had the inkling of an idea as to how they had formed, but it was too soon to become locked into any one train of thought.

For now, he needed more samples.

*

It was noon when he took a break. He had collected dozens of rock samples and even a few pieces of charcoal which he had found entombed within the rock.

Stranger and stranger.

Taking a swig from his flask, he looked out over the desolate landscape.

Not another soul as far as the eye could see.

Perfect.

Richard had always preferred to work alone, even while on trips with Nadine or his colleagues. There was something incredibly soothing about being on his own, with nothing but the rocks and the dirt to keep him company.

After having a quick meal of biscuits and dates, he returned to work.

It was time to start drilling.

*

Richard stared at the exposed rock core with disbelief.

The deepest part of the core showed the usual striations and layering that he was expecting, but the top half was... odd.

The layers, which should have been separate, had instead melted together, forming an almost continuous structure.

Very unusual...

Again, he had to suppress the burgeoning idea sitting at the back of his mind.

He stood up, looking at the equipment and samples laid out before him. Nearby, one of the Range Rovers stood ready to ferry everything back to camp.

There was still one thing he needed to do before he could form a hypothesis, and he could only do it at the campsite.

Packing away his things, he left the strange diamond-filled landscape behind.

*

He arrived to a quiet camp.

Tamir was sitting by the fire, working on their supper.

Abdiel was resting in the shade of one of the tents.

And Nadine was nowhere to be found.

"Is Nadine here?" he asked Tamir, using several gestures to emulate Nadine's figure and mannerisms.

The man shook his head before returning to cooking.

So be it.

Moving over to his tent, Richard started taking out the samples he had obtained and cataloguing them.

Most were normal.

But a few were not.

Upon closer examination, he realized that he had uncovered several pieces of clay-fired brick.

Now that wasn't natural.

Moving on to the charcoal, he used a modified Geiger counter to measure the amount of carbon-14 present.

He expected the charcoal to be at least fifty-thousand years old. Any older, and he would have to wait until he was back in London to use more advanced methods to determine the age of the charcoal.

A short while later, after a few calculations, he sat back in disbelief.

The charcoal was less than three thousand years old...

But it had been buried in layers beneath the diamond discs...

How?

As he was pondering yet another abnormality, he saw Nadine approach.

She looked ecstatic.

*

"Are you going to tell me what you found?" he asked, as she drove them deeper into the Basin. From the passenger seat, he could tell that they were nearing the centre of the Basin.

A few minutes later, Nadine stopped the car.

It took Richard a few seconds to see what she had been so captivated by.

A building, built at the heart of the Shinari Basin.

Climbing out of his seat, he saw Nadine's expectant gaze.

"What is it?" he asked, knowing that she couldn't wait to tell him.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "A tomb."

Ah.

"And not just any tomb, but a tomb built in the classic Neo-Babylonian style. See the brickwork?"

Richard nodded. It looked suspiciously like his samples.

"Have you been inside?"

She shook her head, saying, "I wanted to wait for you."

"Why?"

She hesitated before saying, "Because if not for you, I never would have been able to come here. So, in a way, this is my way of saying thank you."

"You're welcome, Nadine. After all, it was your grant money that allowed us to hire all of our equipment."

Nodding, she gestured Richard to follow her.

The building was quite small for a tomb, roughly a single story high and only a few meters across.

It looked... rushed.

As if the people who had built it had not wanted to be here any longer than was absolutely necessary.

But why?

"And you think King Nabopolassar, the self-styled King of the Universe, ruler of the Chaldean Empire, was buried in a tomb like this?"

"Yes," Nadine responded, her tone filled with confidence.

"Why?"

"Because it has his name written on it."

*

"King Nabopolassar," she read, pointing at the line of marks in the brick face.

"Subtle," Richard replied.

"I thought so. There are a few other words next to his name, but I'll translate them later."

Nadine then stepped forward, facing the heavy-looking wooden door.

"Shall we?"

Richard nodded.

"Open sesame," he joked.

"Wrong culture, era and context," Nadine chided him, before motioning for him to help her move the stubborn wood.

Slowly, the door started to shift, scraping over the glazed bricks below.

Eventually, they managed to push their way inside.

Richard was expecting lavish furnishings, gold and silver antiques, and a large sarcophagus in the centre.

What he saw instead was... nothing.

The tomb was empty.

"I... I don't understand," Nadine whispered to herself. Richard understood her confusion, given how frequently he had felt confused during his analysis.

"Maybe they never finished it?" he ventured.

"Maybe..."

Moving further inside, she used her flashlight to illuminate the inner walls.

They were covered with inscriptions.

"Interesting," she said, handing the flashlight to Richard before pulling out her notebook and pencil. She muttered to herself as she started copying the symbols, apparently already coming up with new theories.

*

One hour later, they stood outside the tomb.

Or whatever it really was.

Nadine had been hunched over her notebook for the last several minutes, forehead scrunched up in concentration.

Richard knew better than to disturb her when she got like this.

After a few more minutes, she straightened and looked up at the building.

Confusion was clear on her face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I've completed the translation of the symbols over the entrance... but they don't make any sense..."

"Do they not correlate to known words?"

Nadine shook her head.

"Well, what do they say?"

Taking a deep breath, she said, "King Nabopolassar... was wrong."

# Chapter IX: Enter the Hunter

August 26th, 1972

Merritt Island, Florida

Elaine was missing Merritt in the Morning.

She never missed an episode.

But now, because of some unknown individual, she was forced to spend her morning in the police station instead of in front of the television.

But here she was.

Sitting in a grimy station filled with grimy men at eight in the morning.

She had spent the past two nights on Douglas' couch, too scared to even close her eyes, so her energy levels were almost depleted.

The officer she had called the night of the break-in had told her that it might take weeks to track down a suspect, especially since nothing of value was stolen.

Unfortunately, whilst pictures were worth a thousand words, there was no dollar equivalent...

"Ms Maccabee?" the receptionist called, gesturing for Elaine to enter the room marked **Interrogations**.

Well, here we go...

*

"Elaine Maccabee, age twenty-seven, no prior convictions, one unpaid parking ticket."

Whoops.

"That's me," she said instead.

She was sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair before an ugly metal table, whilst a detective stood across the room, facing her.

"At seven thirty-nine PM on the night of the twenty-fourth, you reported a burglary at your place of residence?"

"Correct," Elaine replied.

"You told the attending officer that the thief had broken into your home and stolen... photographs?"

"Yes..." Elaine said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His tone was not particularly comforting, which made matters worse.

Why did it feel as though she was the one being investigated?

"When asked if the photos in question were of a personal nature, you replied that they were satellite images of... Iran?"

"Iraq."

"Ah, of course. And why, may I ask, do you have satellite photos of... Iraq?"

"I'm studying the region as part of a NASA initiative."

"Right, of course you are. Now, I have completed my investigation of your... burglary."

"Already?"

"Yes. It turns out there wasn't much to investigate. Your burglar left no evidence, no fingerprints, and no clues of any kind. All that is missing are these... photographs, for which you have no proof existed in the first place."

"They do exist, and they were stolen!" Elaine responded, raising her voice. It wasn't like her to get angry, but the photographs were important to her.

"Sure. Look, Ms Maccabee, I have two working theories at the moment. Either you are a spy for the soviets who developed a guilty conscience and tried to turn yourself in, or you are attempting to commit insurance fraud by claiming that you were robbed."

"Wha-

"If it's the former, you are by far the dumbest spy we've ever apprehended. If it's the latter, you are the stupidest fraudster we've ever caught. So tell me, Ms Maccabee, are you dumb... or stupid?"

*

Elaine was about to start crying when the door suddenly opened. Another officer, looking no less stern than the detective, told him that someone from Langley was on the phone.

The detective left, and a few minutes later, he reappeared, visibly shaken.

"Ms Maccabee, we are hereby closing your case. Mr Hunter will take it from here."

"Who?"

"Agent Hunter, Central Intelligence Bureau," came a smooth voice from behind the detective.

A moment later, Agent Hunter strode into the room, reeking of confidence and store-bought cologne.

"What's going on?" Elaine said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Hank had said that there would be consequences for leaking any photos to third parties, but how had they found out about Douglas so quickly?

"Don't worry, I will explain everything," Agent Hunter said, flashing what he probably thought was a comforting smile.

It wasn't.

"Detective, I'll take it from here. You may leave us."

The detective half-nodded, half-bowed as he turned to leave.

A moment later, the door slammed shut, and they were alone.

*

"Elaine Louise Maccabee, age twenty-seven, no prior convictions. Only daughter of Derick and Martha Maccabee who live in Denver, Colorado. Graduated BSc Environmental Sciences with Honours from FSU, top of her class. Suffered from agoraphobia throughout her childhood for which she received extensive treatment before being deemed cured. Applied to the Earth Imaging Resources Project and was accepted based on her essay titled ' _The World Unseen_ '. Oh, and one unpaid parking ticket."

"That's... me?" Elaine replied, unsure what to say.

"Do you know why I'm here, Elaine?"

Elaine shook her head.

Agent Hunter reached into his jacket pocket.

Elaine tensed.

If she screamed, would the detective hear her?

And if he did, would he even come?

A heartbeat later, he withdrew an object and placed it on the table before Elaine.

It was a photograph.

Of the Shinari Basin.

"How did you..." she began.

"I knew it," said Agent Hunter, looking smug.

Looking closer, Elaine saw that the picture, while similar, was different from the one currently hidden in her purse.

For starters, it was in black and white.

"This photo was taken in 1969, by a Corona KH-4B reconnaissance satellite. Judging from your expression, this isn't the first time you've seen it."

Elaine nodded.

What was the point in hiding it anymore?

"So... the government knows about it?"

"Not everyone. Just the CIA, really. We'll tell the White House if we deem that they need to know."

"So, do you know what it is?" Elaine asked, fear temporarily overcome by curiosity.

If she could just learn what the handprint actually was, or what had created it, she could probably die happy.

Maybe she shouldn't say that last part to the intimidating CIA agent standing before her...

"Not a clue. We had a few of our science guys analyse it, but they told us that without going to the Shinari Basin itself, we would never know. And no one goes to the Shinari Basin."

"So you have no ideas?"

"No, but I do know what it could be," said Agent Hunter, leaning towards Elaine.

"And what's that?"

"War."

"I... I don't understand," she said, every word spoken truthfully.

Sighing, Agent Hunter said, "Elaine, I know you took European History in your sophomore year, so I know you've heard of the crusades."

Elaine nodded.

Was there anything the CIA didn't know?

Yes, the location of the photo, or they would have it already...

"All that bloodshed, because people were fighting over the holy land. So tell me, what do you think would happen if we told everyone that there was a handprint sixty-two miles across in the corner of Iraq?"

Elaine said nothing.

"Chaos. It would be chaos. People from all over the world would attempt to claim the Basin for themselves, and conflict would emerge. This planet has known too much conflict... and all the CIA wants is to keep it from seeing any more."

He sounded sincere, but something deep inside Elaine told her not to trust him.

*

"So why are you telling me all of this?"

Elaine kept the last words unspoken: why not simply kill me?

"Look, it wasn't supposed to be like this. We had an agent become a private researcher, just like you, and arranged for them to receive Iraq as their photoset. However, at the last moment, there was a change in the assignments. Our agent received South Africa and you, unfortunately, received Iraq. All of this... unpleasantness... has been the result of that mix-up."

"So you broke into my house and stole the photos?"

"We prefer the term recovered, but that is essentially correct. However, a single photo was missing. I'm sure I don't have to tell you which one," Agent Hunter said, with an undertone of menace.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know where it is," she lied.

"I see," Agent Hunter said, taking a deep breath, "Look, I personally don't want to use force to solve this problem. So I'll make a deal with you: retrieve the missing photo and bring it back here by tomorrow evening and you will never see me again. And hey, I'll even throw in those South African photos, just so you'll have something to look at."

"And if I refuse?"

She heard herself say the words, but it was too late to stop their airborne travels.

"You know, it's a funny thing," Agent Hunter said, with no trace of levity, "I never even considered that!"

*

"Very well, if I find the photo, I'll bring it to you," Elaine said, lying through her teeth.

Part of her wanted to simply shred the picture as soon as she got home.

But a bigger part, one that had her conscience as a valuable ally, told her no.

The world needed to know.

No matter the consequences.

"Thank you, Elaine, for making this easy for me," Agent Hunter said, flashing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

He gestured for her to stand, and she did so with trepidation.

She wasn't safe yet.

Walking past him, she had almost reached the door when he called out, "Oh, Elaine, one last thing..."

Did he know?

Had he figured it out?

"Yes?" she replied, voice almost shaking.

"Don't forget to pay your parking fine at the counter."

*

Elaine left the police station completely exhausted. She had entered it looking for answers, but the ones she had received just created more questions.

Getting into her car, she quickly retrieved the photo from her purse.

So much trouble, all for a simple piece of paper...

As she pulled out of the police station, she hesitated for a moment.

Turning left would take her home. Safety, security, and no scary CIA agents.

Turning right would take her to the studios.

Danger, unknown repercussions and at least one terrifying agent.

Taking a deep breath, she made her decision.

A moment later, she turned right.

*

A few minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of the Merritt in the Morning filming studio.

She had always loved the show.

Now it was time to become part of it.

Leaving her car, she started walking towards the building, feeling her trepidation grow.

She hadn't even gone five feet before she heard the voice.

"I'm so disappointed in you, Elaine."

Turning, she found herself face to face with Agent Hunter.

He did not look happy.

Well, if this was where her story ended, then at least she had done her best...

"The people deserve the truth!" she shouted.

"Maybe," Agent Hunter replied, as he withdrew something shiny from his coat pocket, "But not from you."

And then he shot her.

She felt a numbness gradually grow from her abdomen, spreading throughout her body.

She felt... cold.

Soon, her legs could no longer support her, and she collapsed to the waiting concrete.

It did not cushion her fall.

She could only lie there, watching Agent Hunter slowly approach, as the darkness took her.

# Chapter X: The Lord is My Shepherd

August 27th, 1972

The Shinari Basin, Iraq

Everything ached.

Every muscle, every joint, every bone.

What had Richard been thinking, wanting to return to the field?

He was thirty-nine for goodness sake!

Spending all day in a dusty Basin in Iraq, looking for samples and analysing sediment deposits was a young man's game!

But at least it had been worth it.

He had found enough evidence to finally allow his mind to formulate a theory.

And if he was right, then the Dean would soon be begging for his forgiveness.

He could hardly wait...

The campfire was burning brightly, warming his aching feet.

It was almost sunset, and he had spent the entire day traveling around the Shinari Basin, looking for more samples.

Nadine, meanwhile, had spent the day in the tomb, searching for any hidden details she had missed on her first visit. She was still convinced that there was more to find.

Tamir and Abdiel were playing a board game which they called the Royal Game of Ur.

Richard had no clue how to play it, but judging by Abdiel's expression, it wasn't going in his favour.

It was... peaceful.

And yet, at the back of his mind, Richard could not help but question how long this peace would last...

*

"I'm back!" Nadine called, climbing out of the Range Rover. She was covered in dust and grime, but she looked no less beautiful than before.

That had always been her talent.

"How did it go?"

She seemed to struggle with finding an answer, before saying, "Good and bad, I suppose."

"How so?"

Taking a seat opposite from him, she said, "I managed to take down every symbol I could find, so that should shed some light on the mystery of the tomb. However, in doing so, I covered every last millimetre of that room. I didn't find any secret chambers or hidden relics..."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Richard said, and he meant it. He knew all too well the feelings of failure that occasionally came with working in the field.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you tried, you simply couldn't locate the ore seam or find a useable sample.

"Thanks. Are you ready to discuss your findings?"

Richard nodded.

"Good. I know it's been a while since we last did this, so I was thinking that we could use the Cardinal method."

The Cardinal method had been developed in order to prevent them from fighting too much. They would both present their findings, and the other one would attempt to point out flaws in the theories. It was meant to encourage critical thinking and refinement of ideas before writing articles.

He and Nadine had often used it to decide who had to do the dishes...

"Good idea. Would you like to begin?"

"Yes, thank you," Nadine said, pulling several notebooks from her bag.

"Firstly, I believe that I have been able to date the age of the tomb to 610 BC."

"Oh? And how did you do that?"

"Well, during my translation of the tomb's symbols, I came across a line that stated that the tomb was constructed in the sixteenth year of King Nabopollasar's reign. He ruled from 626 to 605 BC, which would place the tomb's construction in 610 BC."

"So they built the tomb before he even died? Why would they do that?"

"Because, it wasn't his tomb."

"Then whose tomb was it?"

"The people of Shinar."

*

"Shinar?"

"Yes, I believe that it was the name of this land once, before it became the Shinari Basin. King Nabopolassar ordered his men to build a settlement here for some reason."

"Do the inscriptions say why he would build a settlement all the way out here?"

"Possibly, there is still a lot of untranslated text. But, regardless of why Shinar was built, it was suddenly destroyed in a single, violent event."

"So the tomb is for all the people who died during its destruction."

"Yes, although I can't imagine anything that wouldn't leave even a single body for a proper burial. The writing in the tomb says that the people simply... vanished."

In that moment, Richard understood where the diamond discs had come from.

"They didn't vanish. They were compressed."

"What?"

"I believe I know the cause of the settlement's destruction."

"The settlement that you only just found out about?"

"The very same. During my analyses of the rocks I collected, I noticed that the majority of them possessed shatter cones."

"Which are?"

"Changes in the rock's internal structure that only occur after the application of immense pressure."

"How immense?"

"Meteorite impact immense."

Nadine said nothing for a few seconds.

Eventually, he saw the understanding in her eyes.

"Wait... are you saying that the Shinari Basin was created by a meteorite?"

Richard nodded. He had had his suspicions, but finding the shatter cones had confirmed them.

"Do you have any other evidence?"

"Yes. I fount impact melt down to six layers in my core sample, and I found impact diamonds spread out across the surface of the Basin. I believe that the people of Shinar were compressed into patches of thin diamond by the pressure of the event."

"But wouldn't a meteorite vaporize human remains? And as far as I'm aware, there is nothing in the historical records of the region that suggest that such a massive event took place."

"I know, there are still a few abnormalities I have yet to work out. I ran a few basic calculations and found that in order to create the Shinari Basin we see today, the meteorite would have had to be about eight kilometres across, moving at about eleven kilometres per second and traveling in a very shallow trajectory. Even then, the resulting earthquake and ejecta would have caused major disruptions throughout the area."

"Would the Alyad Mountains be affected?"

"Actually, I think that they would have been created. The amount of displaced material, if thrown at the right escape angle, would have been more than enough to create a few mountain ranges. Although I'll need to visit the mountains and make sure they're the same age the Basin, of course."

"Wow..." Nadine whispered, stunned.

"Wow," Richard repeated, sharing in the feeling.

If the Shinari Basin was confirmed to have been created by a meteorite impact, it would place it as one of the largest craters in the world. On top of that, the diamond discs he had found had never been seen before in any crater. Put together, and Richard would have more than enough findings to write a scintillating paper."

*

"So let me get this straight," Nadine said, "King Nabopolassar ordered the construction of a settlement in the land of Shinar for an unknown purpose. Then, in 610 BC, a meteorite impact destroyed the settlement and created both the Shinari Basin and the Alyad Mountains."

"Correct," said Richard.

"Then, an unknown group, possibly the survivors of the impact, created a tomb in the centre of the Basin to honour those who had been killed."

"That sounds plausible."

"Well... there you have it," Nadine said, leaning back in her fold-out chair, "We solved the mystery of the Shinari Basin."

"But there are still three aspects that we don't have answers for."

"Namely?"

"Why did King Nabopolassar create a settlement here? Why did no one record a meteorite impact taking place? And why has this place been forbidden ever since?"

Nadine thought for a moment before replying, "I still have a lot of text to translate, so hopefully the answers will be found there."

"Is it quite a difficult language?"

"Very."

"I see. It's a pity that we don't have access to Babel for this..."

"Babel?" Nadine asked.

"It's a computer program which is being developed by Gary Lombard."

"The billionaire? The one who bought the BT Tower from the government and renamed it... what was it... the One People's Tower?"

"Yeah. About five months ago he made an announcement to the public that he had been working on a revolutionary translation program that he claimed could translate any language with near perfect accuracy and grammar."

"Well, I have been in Iraq for half a year, so I guess I've missed out on a few things..."

"Right. Well, if we had his Babel program, we could just feed all of that text into a computer and it would tell us exactly what it means."

"How... convenient," Nadine sighed, "I guess I'm just going to have to translate everything the old fashioned way."

"I guess... but at least we can use the University's computer to check your translations. Babel is supposed to be released on Tuesday..."

"I'm sure that'll be quite the event."

"It sure it will..."

*

They spent the rest of the afternoon in peaceful repose. Richard wrote up his findings while Nadine worked on translating the remaining symbols.

As she worked, she started to sing.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be afraid! The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be delayed!"

Richard inched closer.

"He leads me to green pastures, he destroys my masters, and I shall never be afraid!"

He had forgotten how great her singing was.

"He shelters my soul and leads me to Heaven! Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall not be afraid!"

Richard was openly staring now.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I know he'll keep me whole! The Lord is my shepherd, in him I entrust my soul!"

"That's new," he said, as she trailed off.

"It's based off Psalm Twenty-Three," she replied, looking... sad?

"Really? What made you think of it?"

"You did," she responded, with a sigh.

"Me?" he asked, incredulously.

Nodding, she said, "I wrote it just before we got divorced. At the time, I was desperately looking for anything I could use to help you realize God's love."

"So... you wrote it for me?"

"Yeah, such a waste, right?"

"Right..." Richard replied. Not for the first time, he wished that things between them had ended differently. Remove their religious incompatibility, and they made a great team.

Richard had tried, at the beginning, to see things from her point of view.

He had gone to Church a few times, read a few passages from the Bible, and even attempted the odd prayer.

But nothing had ever come of it.

No voice from the heavens.

No sign of God's existence.

No feeling of the Holy Spirit entering his heart.

The only thing he had ever heard was the voice of his father, telling him that God hated him for missing Church.

So he had given up, and then his marriage had ended.

Leaving Nadine to her work, he returned to his chair, feeling melancholic.

After a few seconds, Nadine resumed her song.

In a tiny voice, unheard by all things, he hummed along to the tune.

# Chapter XI: Pursuit

August 27th, 1972

The Shinari Basin

"Praise be to Marduk!" Richard cried, along with the other labourers.

Finally, after months of toiling under the hot sun, the village was complete.

Rows upon rows of brick faced buildings, standing proudly under the sky. The land around them was desolate and unforgiving, with nothing of interest as far as the eye could see.

Richard did not know why his beloved king had ordered this place to be built, but he was a man of faith, and he believed that there was a good reason.

"Look above," one of the high-priests exclaimed, "Marduk sits in the sky and watches our labours!"

Obediently, Richard looked up.

He had looked at the sky all his life and it had always looked the same.

One circle of light which shone down on the world.

Today, however, there was another.

And it was getting bigger.

The second sun hung above the horizon, growing larger with every passing second.

In the back of his mind, he felt a desire to run away.

But the high-priest wasn't panicking, so why should he?

By now, every worker had spotted the approaching circle of light. Many of them wore looks of awe, and fell to their knees in prayer.

A few of them, however, looked uneasy.

He knew that in death he would go to Marduk, the God of Gods, but nowhere had he heard about Marduk coming to him...

"High-priest, what should we do?" he asked, turning around.

But the high-priest was gone.

Richard saw his retreating form, moving as fast as his old bones would allow, racing towards the horizon.

If even the high-priest had abandoned them, then what hope did they have?

The light was close now, trailing smoke and flame. Even from where he was standing, he could tell how massive it was.

Something told him that it wasn't something that could be outrun.

Kneeling, he lifted up his arms and exclaimed, "Marduk, I accept your judgement!"

Moments later, the light struck the land, and everything became ash...

*

Richard awoke to a gun in his face.

" _La tataharak_!" the owner of the weapon screamed, immediately banishing Richard's sleepiness.

Blinking away the darkness, he saw that his assailant was an Iraqi soldier.

Oh crap.

The man grabbed Richard by his nightshirt and dragged him out of his tent.

He was then thrown down into the dirt, scraping his elbow.

Well, maybe he deserved that.

"Richard, what the hell is going on?" Nadine asked, sitting beside the fire.

She looked unharmed, thankfully.

Abdiel and Tamir were nowhere to be seen.

Probably ran off at the first sign of trouble... traitors.

"I can explain," he said.

The soldier pushed past him, reaching into his combat vest. He withdrew a stack of papers that Richard recognized immediately.

" _Tazwir_!" the soldier shouted, brandishing the papers.

"What are you saying?" Nadine asked, looking confused.

"This," the soldier said, gesturing to the papers with his gun, "Fake."

And then he threw the papers into the smouldering campfire.

"Fake? But it was written by the _Mufti_ of Iraq?" Nadine shouted, voice filled with indignation.

Richard shook his head.

It was then that realization dawned in Nadine's eyes.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed.

He had no reply.

"For this..." the soldier began, " _almawt_."

When he saw the confusion in their faces, he translated, "Death."

*

"You can't do this! We're citizens of the United Kingdom! We have the right to a fair trial!"

The soldier looked at her blankly.

"Nadine, I'm sorry," Richard said, and he meant every word. Why had he dragged her into this?

To spite the Dean? Was that really worth dying for?

Nadine didn't answer him. Instead, she continued to plead with the soldier.

But either he didn't understand her, or he didn't care.

"Make your peace with Allah," the soldier said, turning to Richard.

"He is no God of mine," Richard replied.

If he was going to die, then it would be on his terms.

" _Alwathniu_!" the soldier spat, bringing his rifle to bear.

Richard didn't know what he had said, but he could guess.

Heathen.

A moment later, he felt cold metal against the back of his head, and heard the soldier take a deep breath.

"Richard!" Nadine screamed.

Richard braced himself.

At least he would finally discover who had been right, him or Nadine.

*

_Crack_!

The sound reverberated throughout the campsite.

The body fell, hitting the dirt with a _thump_.

After that, silence reigned.

It was done.

*

"Are you alright, Mister Cardinal?"

Richard opened his eyes to a strange scene.

There was the Iraqi soldier, lying face down in the dirt.

There was Nadine, tears in her eyes.

There was Abdiel, one of Richard's rock samples in his hand.

What the hell happened here?

"I'm... fine?" Richard replied, feeling his body for any injuries.

He found nothing, aside from a mildly scraped elbow.

After confirming that he was still alive, he took another look at the scene.

Abdiel. Rock. Unconscious soldier.

He was a geologist, not a mathematician, but even he could do simple sums.

Abdiel plus rock equals unconscious soldier.

"Thank you, Abdiel, you have earned your pay once again."

Abdiel hesitated before answering, "About that, Mister Cardinal... I believe that this goes above and beyond our original arrangement. So..."

"Double?"

"Double," Abdiel confirmed.

Richard smiled. It was well worth the cost.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the darkness, saying, " _'Iinahum qadimun_!"

Moments later, Tamir came into view, panting heavily.

"What did he say?" Richard asked.

Abdiel paled as he translated, "They are coming!"

*

"Who is coming?" Nadine asked, rising to her feet.

" _Al-Muraqib_ , the Watchers, they are on their way."

As if things couldn't get any worse.

"Then we need to leave, right now," Richard said, scanning the horizon. It was almost midnight, if he was any judge, and all he could see was darkness.

The attack could happen at any moment.

"Abdiel, you and Tamir get the cars ready. Nadine and I will load up everything that we need."

Abdiel nodded and gestured to Tamir to follow him.

"If we get out of this, I want an explanation," Nadine said, pushing past him on her way to her tent.

"Fair enough."

*

They were halfway to the Basin's exit when the tribe caught them.

The Range Rovers were technically faster, but it was night-time and they didn't know the terrain.

The men on camels chasing after them, however, had apparently spent their lives traversing this land.

Richard ducked as another bullet struck the car. That was the fifth one so far.

At least they hadn't hit anything important... yet.

But their luck wouldn't hold out forever.

Think.

Think!

He had a doctorate for Darwin's sake!

Surely he could outmanoeuvre a couple of guys on camels!

Wait...

That was it.

"Hold on!" he shouted, giving Nadine a second to brace herself before he spun the wheel, spinning the car around.

A moment later, they found themselves face to face with a group of very angry Iraqi men.

Each man wore a look of confusion.

Each of them was holding a weapon.

Each weapon was raised.

Richard really hoped that this would work.

He doubted he would get a second chance.

Before the men could react, he flipped on the Range Rover's high beams.

A heartbeat later, his palm slammed into the car's horn.

Bright light and horrendous sound.

Annoying to the average man.

Maddening to the average camel.

The animals, driven wild by the sudden intense stimulus, dashed away in every direction. Some threw their riders to the ground.

They were the lucky ones.

The others were carried off into the night atop frenzied beasts, screaming curses in Arabic.

Once he was sure that every last camel had dispersed, he turned the car around and drove as fast as he could manage.

A few minutes later, they caught up to Abdiel and Tamir's vehicle. Together, they sped onwards, towards the gate.

Richard briefly wondered how Abdiel planned to deal with the gate.

The sound of screeching metal and the sight of the gate being flung open by their car quickly answered his question.

And then they were through.

The Shinari Basin was behind them.

Freedom lay ahead.

*

"It has been quite the adventure, Mister Cardinal," Abdiel said, standing beside the Range Rover.

Tamir sat in the driver's seat, casually smoking a cigarette.

Did nothing faze the man?

Nadine sat in the passenger side of Richard's car, silently fuming.

For a moment, he wondered which was easier: escaping a group of murderous Iraqis; or calming an enraged woman.

A tie, he decided, after a quick internal deliberation.

"It certainly has, Abdiel. If it's all the same to you, I hope we _never_ do this again."

"Agreed, Mister Cardinal."

"Please, Abdiel, we escaped death together, call me Richard."

"As you wish... Richard."

Abdiel then extended his hand to Richard.

Richard took it, and the two men shook hands, never to meet again.

A second later, he hopped into the passenger seat beside Tamir, who sighed and said, " _Daena nadhhab qabl 'an yaqtalana hula' al'ashkhas albyd_..."

*

Nadine was silent for most of the ride to Baghdad.

For a time, Richard thought that he could at least make it back to England before hearing her verdict.

But he was wrong.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she said, breaking the peaceful silence.

He sought for an answer.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't think it would end up like this..."

"Well, how did you think this was going to go? You fabricated official documents so that you could get into one of the most forbidden places on the planet."

"I thought that we would be in and out before anyone found out."

"Richard... Once the university finds out about this, you could be fired..."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem..."

She looked at him and saw the truth.

"You were fired?!?"

"About a week ago."

"For what?!?"

Richard sighed, saying, "I'm sure you can guess."

"Really?"

"Really."

It was Nadine's turn to sigh as she said, "Dammit Richard, I warned you that this was going to happen."

"I know."

"So this whole trip, the university had no idea that you're out here?"

Richard shook his head.

"So that's why you needed my grant money?"

A nod this time.

"For the love of... Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

"Would you have come with me if I had?"

It was Nadine's turn to fall silent.

"Look, I'm sorry I tricked you, and I'm sorry that I put you into a dangerous situation, but I will not apologize for the end results."

"So the ends justify the means?" Nadine said, scowling.

"In this case, they do. Nadine, we might have made the discovery of the century, surely that is worth a little danger and deception."

Nadine said nothing.

Eventually, she sighed and said, "I just hope that it was all worth it..."

# Chapter XII: Countdown

August 28th, 1972

London, United Kingdom

"IT MUST BE STOPPED!" Gary screamed, rising from the nightmare like a rocket ascending.

He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily.

He had slept for...

Did it matter? Whether awake or asleep, his mind was filled with images of death and destruction.

But it was almost over.

Tomorrow, he would launch Babel.

Tomorrow, he would be free.

Rising, he made his way over to the mirror.

A nightmarish apparition greeted him.

Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes did not for an attractive CEO make.

At least his employees had been decent enough to pretend not to notice.

Moving to the bathroom, he left his razor on the side of the sink.

Who cared if he was a bit grizzly?

He showered for... well, until the hot water ran out.

Dressing, he tried to remember what the time was.

No, he was the boss; he could arrive whenever he damn well wanted to.

It was a Monday, but he felt like eating steak and champagne, so he did so.

No one cared either way, right?

Leaving his apartment, he tried to recall his schedule for the day.

Perhaps meet with the marketing department?

No, hadn't that been yesterday?

Maybe he had to demo the final version of Babel?

No... he had done that last week...

Ah, that's right; he had to prepare for the party.

The countdown had begun.

*

The train took twenty-eight minutes to get to Great Portland Street Station. Gary only knew because the man next to him was talking about it with his colleague.

As if anyone cared how long the train took to get anywhere...

A short time later, or possibly a long one, he arrived at the One People's Tower.

Neville, predictably, was there to greet him.

"Well now, this is a first," the security guard said, eyes widening, "Mr Lombard late for work!"

"Good morning, Neville," Gary replied, somewhat irritated.

He had been on time every day for the last two years, surely that meant that he could be a little bit late at least once?!?

"Mr Ratherty is waiting for you in the central distribution room upstairs," Neville said.

"I see, thank you for telling me."

"And thank you for inviting me to the countdown party tonight, Mr Lombard."

When had he done that?

Well, it didn't matter.

"Think nothing of it, Neville. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

Neville nodded before moving out of the way.

"It must be stopped..." Gary whispered to himself as he walked past.

Soon... it would be over.

*

"So we've managed to route everything to this terminal," David said, pointing to a large computer in the middle of the room

The terminal was covered in switches and dials and featured a screen with the words ' **Launch Y/N?'**

"What happens if I type 'Y'?"

"The program compiles the final version of Babel before encoding it onto a floppy disc which will then be copied, ejected and shipped around the world to our clients."

"Wonderful. So we're all set for tomorrow's launch?"

David nodded, saying, "We've double checked everything. The translations have shown perfect accuracy, contextual input and idiom integration. Babel is a masterpiece of programming, and it's all thanks to you."

"Now now, I only came up with the concept and funded it. None of this would be possible without the tireless work of my staff. If anyone deserves recognition, it is all of you."

David bowed, saying, "Thank you, for your kind words. Now, I must meet with my team and go over the schedule for tomorrow. I trust I'll see you at the party later?"

"Wouldn't miss it!" Gary replied, faking his enthusiasm.

As soon as Babel was released and his PTSD settled down, he was going to take a long holiday.

Maybe he could go to his holiday home on the Orkney Isles?

*

After David had left, Gary wandered over to the floor to ceiling high window which looked out over London. The central distribution room was located just below his office and offered panoramic views of his beloved city.

Looking out the window, he was barely surprised at the chaotic scene before him.

Ruined buildings, fire racing though the devastated streets, the river spilling out of its bounds.

He didn't even blink when the voice screamed at him, telling him that it must be stopped.

Yes, he knew.

He would stop the wars, the conflicts, the misunderstandings caused by language barriers.

He would stop them all.

And then, his visions would stop.

And if they didn't... well, that would be a problem for Dr Mansfield.

*

"Let's have a toast, for our boss and visionary leader, Gary Lombard!" David exclaimed, raising his glass of champagne.

A chorus of cries immediately rose up from the assembled guests.

Technicians, engineers, janitors, security and all of their families cheered his name.

He wondered if they would still be cheering if they knew of his current mental status.

Probably not.

"Thank you all for coming," Gary said, addressing the crowd, "Today, we honour the men and women who made Babel possible!"

Everyone clapped.

Why wouldn't they? It had been a long, difficult journey to get here.

"I know that most of you already know this story, but for tradition's sake, I would like to tell it again," David said, as the crowd found their seats.

They were using the One People's Tower's conference room, which had been a second home for many of the people present.

"As you all know, Gary left the military after the end of the Second World War to study linguistics."

David didn't waste time on explaining what happened in Padua. Everyone present already knew.

It was no secret.

"After graduating, Gary worked with ALPAC before leaving to start his own firm, Babel Incorporated. At first, Gary struggled, finding work as a translator scarce. However, with the Cold War growing in scope and potential danger, the need for men and women skilled in communicating grew."

It had been a tense time, Gary reflected, not knowing if the diplomat he was translating for could order the Kremlin or the White House to initiate a nuclear strike because he had translated an idiom incorrectly.

"The company initially recruited translators from across the world, sending them to where they were needed most. As the company grew, we started several new projects, including three translator academies located in New York, Japan and Moscow. We also funded the development of a new Braille standard, allowing blind members of society to travel abroad without fear of misunderstanding."

That had been one of Gary's favourite projects.

"We also hosted a worldwide sign language seminar that toured in over sixty countries!"

More clapping.

Babel Inc. had done a lot for the world.

And with Project Glennis, it would enter a new era of interconnectivity.

"However, despite all of these amazing projects and our impressive financial standing, Gary wasn't done. No, he dreamed of a world beyond human translators. He dreamed of a world where anyone could speak to anyone else, regardless of language proficiency or nationality. He dreamed of Babel."

Gary could still remember that cold winter morning when he had first had the idea. His PTSD had been particularly bad that day, and the dream had been more vivid than ever before. He had resolved himself to create a world where there would be no more barriers.

And thus, the seed of Babel had been planted.

"Babel is the culmination of everything this company has striven for!" David announced, to momentous applause.

IT!

Gary shook his head. Not here, not now!

"But Babel is not the end, but a new beginning!"

MUST!

Please... No...

"Once Babel has been rolled out worldwide, we will begin work on Babel 2.0!"

BE!

Just let me have this moment!

"Already, our technicians have been exploring potential upgrades to the core programming. With the latest research into speech-to-text at our fingertips, Babel will one day be able to understand your words, no typing necessary! In addition to that, we have spoken with researchers at IBM and will collaborate in the future to create a portable version of Babel no bigger than a briefcase!"

STOPPED!

Argh!

*

Every eye was on David.

Thank God, because Gary was kneeling on the wood-panelled floor, clutching his head.

Looking up, he saw every man and woman in attendance clapping.

As he watched, the scene changed, and joy turned to sorrow. The walls of the conference room melted away, revealing the now familiar scenes of devastation.

The men and women collapsed to the floor, changing as they fell.

As they hit the wood-panelling, they took on the forms of discs of reflective glass.

Why?

Elsewhere, London burned.

Glancing skyward, he saw through the building to the terminal that now housed his child.

Babel, his creation, needed his protection.

And above it, in the sky over London, _something_ lurked.

Something... terrifying.

"Gary?" David asked, facing his boss.

Immediately, every eye in the room swivelled to face the man losing his mind.

"Yes?" Gary spat, through the haze of pain and fear.

"Are you alright?" David asked, taking a step forward.

"I'm... fine... Just a bit... too much... champagne..." Gary lied.

He couldn't let them know that their boss was going insane.

"I see, well, if anyone's earned it!" David laughed, followed by everyone else in the room.

Gary laughed, but it was a hollow sound.

"You all have a good time; I'm just going to get some air..." Gary muttered.

With that, he left the room.

*

Gary made his way to the roof.

He needed to cool his head.

Using his private stairwell which ran from the ground floor to the roof, he slowly ascended the Tower.

Around him, London burned.

No!

None of this was true!

London was intact.

No one was dead.

None of this was real.

And yet the city was still in ruins for as far as the eye could see by the time he reached the rooftop.

Facing the turbulent night sky, he screamed, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?"

Silence.

And then...

"IT MUST BE STOPPED!" came the tempestuous reply.

Fine!

Whatever it was, whatever form it took, Gary would stop it.

No matter the cost.

# Chapter XIII: The Wrath of God

August 28th, 1972

Over the Mediterranean

"Chicken or beef?" the stewardess asked, radiating congeniality.

"Chicken," replied Richard, although in truth he felt like neither.

He had left London unemployed and hopeful.

He was returning unemployed and hopeless.

All of the discoveries he had made in the Shinari Basin were worthless if Nadine told the truth.

And knowing her, she would.

No one would read the article of a liar, after all.

So he had travelled half-way across the world, faced unpleasant conditions and almost died several times, for what?

A few rocks hidden in his suitcase?

A few notes on the Shinari Basin?

And a niggling feeling that he was still missing something important?

No, it didn't matter anymore.

His work was done, and he had failed.

*

"Richard?"

Richard awoke, sending his dream tumbling into oblivion.

It had been about his mother's funeral. His father had forbid him from attending it on the Church grounds. Defiant, he had climbed a nearby tree and watched his mother's casket being lowered into the ground from afar. At least his tears had nourished the tree, bringing forth life in a moment of death.

Upon opening his eyes, he saw Nadine standing in the aisle, staring at him.

They hadn't spoken since boarding, and when the stewardess had informed them that there was a free seat a few rows ahead, Nadine had literally leapt at the chance.

So what had brought her back?

She wore a look in her eye that he remembered well.

It was the same look she had whenever she made a major discovery.

"I need to speak with you," she said, before sitting next to him.

Apparently refusal wasn't an option.

"What is it?" he asked, hesitantly. He was still unsure as to whether she or not she was still angry.

"I finished translating the majority of the tomb's text," she replied, looking like a girl on Christmas morning.

"Anything interesting?" he asked.

He knew that she wanted to tell him the whole story.

"Plenty. Firstly, it begins with a warning. It states that the wrath of God is absolute in its destruction and merciless in its execution..."

"Sounds cheerful."

"Stop that. Now, the text mentions that King Nabopolassar gathered together hundreds of labourers, foreign nationals, engineers and wise-men. Together, they constructed the settlement of Shinar, using the wealth Nabopolassar had obtained from conquering the city of Nineveh."

"So our hypothesis was correct?"

"Mostly. The text says that the king gathered those people together and built the settlement with a singular focus in mind: the creation of a universal language.

"Really?" Richard asked, surprised. He had had a few theories about the settlement's purpose, but nothing like that.

"Yes, they called it the All-Tongue, and King Nabopolassar wanted to use it to unite his empire and any future conquered lands under a single language. He reasoned that if everyone spoke the same tongue, civil war and conflict could be avoided."

"That would certainly save a king a lot of trouble."

"Exactly. At first, things went well. The assembled wise-men and foreign visitors spent months debating and deliberating this new language. Grammar, vocabulary, syntax, they thought of everything. Eventually, they came close to completing the All-Tongue."

"Well, judging from how there are thousands of languages in the world today, I would assume that they failed."

"Yes, but the text frames it as if it never should have been attempted in the first place. The author or possibly authors repeatedly place blame on King Nabopolassar for trying to create the All-Tongue."

"King Nabopolassar was wrong..."

"I know. I made the same connection. So, seven days before the All-Tongue was to be unveiled before the king, the high-priest, the leader of the wise-men, started receiving visions. He told his men that a demon had begun whispering into his ear, telling him to stop the All-Tongue from being finished."

"Interesting. What kind of visions did he reportedly receive?"

"The fire and brimstone kind. However, the high-priest told his followers to continue making the All-Tongue, disregarding the visions as the work of demonic forces."

*

It was then that it clicked inside Richard's mind.

"So let me guess, seven days later, the wrath of God, aka a meteorite, appears in the sky and destroys the settlement. The people panic and think that God was displeased with their actions, and a narrative emerges about mankind's folly?"

"Well, yes, except that in the text they refer to it as the Hand of God."

"Same difference."

"I suppose..."

*

Leaning back in his chair, Richard smiled and said, "At least now we have the answers to our three unsolved mysteries."

"How so?"

"King Nabopolassar built the settlement to aid in the creation of this... All-Tongue. A meteorite destroys the settlement, which the survivors see as an act of divine judgement. They come to believe that the resulting area, the Shinari Basin, is the site of God's wrath. Naturally, they forbid anyone else from entering there, just in case the Old Man does it again."

"But then why were there no records of the impact?"

"Well... there could have been records that were destroyed or lost over time... or perhaps the king forbade anyone to speak about it, in order to both keep inquisitive souls from entering the Basin and also to prevent people from knowing that their king had personally angered God."

"I see!"

"Yeah, so we have an explanation for everything. The city of Shinar sure was an unlucky place..."

"About that, I don't think that that was the name of the city or even the land. As far as I can tell the name Shinari Basin came later.

"So what name is given?"

"Well, the survivors called it the Gate of God. It comes from the word _Bāb-ilim."_

" _Bāb-ilim?"_

Nadine nodded.

Wait. He was missing something.

A city in the middle of nowhere that was destroyed by God's wrath.

The quest to create a unified language.

And the name _Bāb-ilim._

No...

It couldn't be that simple, could it?

"Nadine, I believe I've figured out the true name of the settlement. If I'm right, this could be the biggest discovery of our time. Please, I know that I've hurt you, but please tell me that you'll publish this paper with me..."

Nadine looked at him.

Hopefully she could see the truth in his eyes.

Eventually, she sighed and said, "Very well, if it's something amazing, I'll publish this research with you. Of course, I also want you to write a written apology to the university for using their name and reputation in order to gain access to the site unlawfully."

"I'll do it, I promise," he said, and he meant it.

"Good," Nadine said, smiling for the first time since leaving the campsite, "Now, enough with the build-up! Tell me what you realized."

"Alright," Richard said, matching her smile, "Putting everything together, it occurred to me that there is only one place in history that matches the evidence. If I'm right, then we will have turned myth into reality."

Nadine motioned for him to continue.

"Nadine, I believe that the Shinari Basin was the location of The Tower of Babel..."

# Chapter XIV: The Truth is Out There

August 28th, 1972

Orlando, Florida

"I told you that I didn't want to use force."

Wha?

"I told you that I wanted this to end cleanly."

Who?

"But you didn't listen. Just once, I wish that they would listen!"

Where?

"And now here we are..."

Elaine surfaced from the depths of sleep, gasping for air.

"Good morning, sleepy head."

She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt heavier than iron.

"I was told to keep you sedated, but I wanted to give you one last chance to see the world."

"Hun...ter?" Elaine gasped.

"That's right, Elaine. Looks like that tranquilizer dart didn't damage your memory. Unfortunately, you just cost me twenty dollars in a bet with the science division."

Elaine tried to open her eyes again.

She was still alive!

And she couldn't let it end here.

Struggling, she finally managed to pry open a single eye-lid.

Before her sat Agent Hunter, looking smug.

Looking around, she saw that she was in a basement of some kind.

Bare walls. Bare floor. A single wooden door leading out.

"Where... am I?"

Agent Hunter chuckled, saying, "Well, I guess telling you won't make a difference. You're in the basement of an abandoned building in Orlando. The CIA often use this spot as a stop-over when transporting dangerous people out of the state."

"I'm... not... dangerous..." she spat.

"Well, not physically, no. But you have information in your head that would be... problematic... if it got out to the public."

"Are you... going to... kill me?"

Agent Hunter's smile disappeared instantly.

"I thought about it, but you know, that takes an awful lot of paperwork. Sending you to a black-site for the rest of your days, however, only takes a single A4 page."

"Why?"

"Because the world can never know about the Godhand."

"The _what_?"

Sighing, Agent Hunter reached inside his coat.

Elaine braced herself for the worst.

However, he instead pulled out a photo of the Shinari Basin.

This wasn't the low resolution, black and white version he had shown her before.

This was her picture. The one she had kept in her purse.

"Some of the guys on my team call it the Godhand, for obvious reasons. Personally, I think it looks more like a peacock, but the Godpeacock caused everyone to laugh at me."

"Give it... back..." Elaine said, trying to reach forward.

She wasn't bound or shackled, but the sedatives in her system kept her rooted to her wooden chair all the same.

"Sorry, can't do that," Agent Hunter said, reaching into his pocket once more.

This time, he brought out a pair of scissors.

"No..." Elaine whispered.

"Unfortunately, I can't have this falling into the wrong... hands. Sorry, pardon the pun..." he said, with another chuckle.

And then, without hesitation, he started cutting up the photo.

Snip.

Snip.

_Snip_.

Less than a minute later, all that remained was a small pile of paper fragments.

"Mon...ster..."

Agent Hunter looked at her before replying, "Maybe. But at the end of the day, I'm just trying to keep dangerous tools out of the hands of babies."

"It was... just a... photo..."

"To you. To me and my colleagues, it was a matter of national security. Now, I probably should sedate you again, since our ride is going to be here soon. And hey, who knows, you might even like your new home!"

*

Agent Hunter stood in the corner, doing something near the room's only table.

"Now, I did fail chemistry in senior year, and the guy who usually mixes this stuff stepped out to get some breakfast, but I think I've got this right!"

Oh... shit...

Elaine had to... do something.

But her arms... felt like... iron.

Wait... had she used that metaphor... already?

No... it didn't... matter.

"Look, just be glad we're not using drug-based hypnosis to make you believe that you're a sheep herder in Australia," Agent Hunter said, as we walked towards her.

He was carrying an evil-looking syringe filled with a clear fluid in his right hand.

Someone... anyone...

No.

No one was coming.

That thought alone sobered Elaine.

She was on her own.

Just her, and a dangerous CIA agent.

How far she had come... since her days spent pouring over atlases and travel guides...

But it was time to grow up.

No more nervousness.

No more timidity.

No more!

"Now, if this causes you any kind of brain damage, I do apologize. I'll make sure to give your parents an anonymous donation as compensation, alright?"

"You're... wrong..." Elaine mumbled, as he got closer.

In truth, she was feeling stronger.

But he didn't have to know that.

"Oh, about what?" Agent Hunter said, bending down so that his face was level with hers.

She brought her head up, and then allowed it to drop forward again.

This brought out another chuckle.

He thought that she was weak.

Let him.

"The world..." she said, trailing off.

"The world?" he repeated, using a taunting facsimile of her voice.

All of his attention was on her lips.

Good.

"The world... deserves the truth..."

"Sure it does. Now be a good girl and go to sleep," he said, raising his right hand.

But it was empty.

With all of her strength, she raised her arm and plunged the stolen syringe into his leg.

*

"Ow!" he exclaimed.

And then he looked down.

"What the?" he said, in a tone of disbelief.

"Sorry, but the truth is getting out there, even if I have to do it myself," Elaine said, revealing her sobriety.

"Son of a-" Agent Hunter began, before falling over backwards.

"Now, be a good boy and go to sleep," she said, in a singsong voice, as his eyelids slammed shut.

And then he was gone.

*

Serves you right, Elaine thought.

Then she tried to stand up.

It didn't... go well.

It felt like it had been days since she had last walked.

After a few minutes of swearing and sweating, she managed to get to her feet.

Her knees were still shaking, but at least it didn't feel like they were about to collapse.

Bending down as carefully as she could manage, she checked her captor for a pulse.

He might have abducted her, but he didn't deserve to die for that.

Thankfully, his heart was still pumping.

While she was leaning forward, she ran her hands through his pockets.

She didn't find any other photos, but she did find a keyring.

Perfect.

*

The door was mercifully unlocked.

Apparently Agent Hunter had been lax in his security measures.

Exiting the basement, she found herself facing a staircase that seemed to go on forever.

Normally, it would have proven to be barely a challenge.

However... in her current state...

No.

Don't stop.

Don't let them catch you.

She forced her body forward.

One step.

And then another.

Slowly, step by step, she ascended.

*

Eventually, she emerged in a desolate building. She saw numerous signs that stated that the structure had been condemned.

Clever.

Leaving the building, she found herself in a parking lot.

It was pitch black outside, which meant either late at night or early in the morning. How long had she been here?

Shaking her head, she made her way to the only car in the lot.

It was midnight black with glazed windows.

This had to be the one.

Predictably, the keys she had taken from Agent Hunter worked on the first try.

Her legs were still shaking, but she had no choice.

If she stayed, she was doomed.

*

Over an hour later, she arrived in Merritt Island.

She was home.

She had stuck to the back roads as much as possible, not trusting her still weak legs with traveling on the highway.

But now she was back.

What now?

For a moment, she panicked.

What should she do?

Who could she trust?

The sun was peeking out over the horizon, illuminating the land.

She had two options: run and hide, or make good on her promise.

No. In reality she had only one option.

She would set the truth free.

But how? Even if she went before the media, would they believe her story without any proof?

They would probably just chalk it up to the ravings of a madwoman.

And then she would be arrested, and Agent Hunter would come for her.

She needed proof.

But Agent Hunter had destroyed the photo.

Wait...

Think back.

Ah, that's right...

*

"Say chee-

Silence.

"Elaine? Elaine!" Douglas shouted, wrapping her up in a big embrace.

"Hello, Douglas," she replied, with what little remained of her breath.

"Where have you been?" he asked, releasing her.

"It's a long story," she replied, "Can I come inside?"

"Of course! I've been so worried about you. The last thing you told me was that you were going to the police station."

"Um... when was that, exactly?"

"Two days ago!"

Two days.

Damn the CIA...

"Right, of course, how silly of me..."

She thought about telling Douglas about her captivity, but decided against it. Until she could tell the world about the... Godhand, no one was safe.

"So, what do you need from me?" Douglas asked, with a worried smile.

He knew that she was keeping things from him.

"A photo."

*

"So, any photo in particular?" Douglas asked, as he gestured to his impressive collection.

As always, every inch of space in his house was covered in photographs.

"The one I showed you," Elaine said, "You know, the handprint."

"Of course. Did you lose the original?"

Lose.

Cut up by a nefarious CIA agent.

Same thing.

"Something like that. Anyway, do you have it?"

Please be there!

"Yeah, I still haven't found a good place to put it."

Looking at the clutter before her, Elaine could believe that.

A moment later, Douglas fished it out of a nondescript pile of paper.

"There we go!" he said, handing it to her.

She took it gingerly, as if she were holding a newborn for the first time.

Strangely, she felt a motherly compassion towards it.

All that trouble and strife, just for a photo...

*

"Are you sure you can't tell me what's going on?" Douglas asked, standing beside the car.

Elaine shook her head.

"Sorry, if I told you, someone would have to kill you," she replied, smiling.

He laughed, but only because he thought she was joking.

"Where are you headed off to?"

"I can't tell you... However... if I don't come back, I want you to tell Hank Smith at NASA that I was right. And... thank you..."

"Elaine," Douglas started, but she didn't give the chance to finish. Revving the stolen car, she pulled out of his driveway.

She had a job to do.

No matter the cost.

*

' **Merritt in the Morning.'**

Time for a second chance, she thought, staring at the studio's sign.

This time there was no CIA agent preparing to tranquilize her.

She hoped.

Moving forward, she found the backstage door unlocked.

One of the perks of living in small-town America: barely anybody bothered to lock anything.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door.

*

"Welcome to Merritt in the Morning! I'm your host, Joan Andrews," Joan said, addressing the camera.

She looked pretty and perfect, which Elaine knew was exactly how she wanted to appear.

But there were rumours that the previous host of the show had been in a strange car accident right before Joan started, so Elaine knew to keep her distance.

If she was going to do this, she needed to do it quickly.

Taking out the photo, she took a deep breath.

She was standing in the shadows backstage and every eye was on Joan. It was probably thirteen... no, fourteen feet to the main broadcasting camera.

That was her goal.

If she could show the world the Godhand, even if no one believed her, the CIA couldn't do anything to her.

Probably.

Alright, let's do this!

*

Elaine took off, moving as quickly as her fatigued muscles would allow.

She was exhausted, but at least she could sleep in jail.

Entering the stage, she became aware of people's heads swivelling to track her. Immediately, Joan jumped out of her chair, clearly thinking that she was the target.

Elaine ignored her, heading straight for the camera.

She almost tripped as she approached, but managed to find her footing.

Holding up the photo, she pressed it against the wide lens.

"This," she said, trying to speak clearly despite her fear and the sounds of people moving towards her, "Is the Godhand!"

Swallowing, she continued, "My name is Elaine Maccabee, and I received this satellite photo of the Shinari Basin from NASA."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that a security guard was approaching. He was hesitant, perhaps thinking that she was armed.

"A CIA agent named Hunter kidnapped me in order to prevent me from showing this photo to the world! I don't know what event or entity made this handprint, but I do know that the world deserves to know that it exists!"

The security guard, having overcome his fear, reached out and grabbed hold of her arm.

She fought back, desperate for a few more seconds.

"I know that this sounds crazy, but you have to believe me! The Godhand is real!"

And then she was dragged to the ground, and it was over.

As she lay there, a smile rose to her lips.

No matter what came next, she had done it.

She had set the truth free...

# Chapter XV: The Godhand

August 29th, 1972

London, United Kingdom

Gary took a deep breath.

The time had come.

Surrounded by his staff, he stood before the terminal.

In a matter of seconds, Babel would be complete.

One way or another, it would change the world.

History would probably forget him. But it would remember Babel.

It would remember the day that the world grew smaller.

It would remember the moment that the barriers between nations shattered.

It would remember the time after that, in which peace and understanding flourished.

It would forget him.

And that was alright.

As long as it remembered his legacy.

Taking another deep breath, he stretched out his arm.

"IT MUST BE STOPPED!!!!" the voice screamed, louder than ever before.

It would be stopped.

Gary would be the one to stop it.

That he swore.

With a trembling finger, he pressed a single key, starting the compilation process.

On the screen, a single digit was recorded.

' **Y**.'

It was done.

*

Richard shivered, for the first and hopefully last time missing the Iraqi heat. It was overcast outside, and dusk was quickly approaching.

He was sitting in a pub in central London, going over his notes.

Nadine, on speaking terms once more, sat across from him.

They had come here, to The Meridian, their favourite watering hole, to discuss their work.

Above the bar, a television was on, and the Nationwide news programme was showing.

"So you want it to say Cardinal and Calloway on the cover page?"

Richard nodded.

"Even though Calloway is first alphabetically?"

Richard nodded.

"And I basically funded the whole trip with my grant money?"

Richard nodded.

"Why?!?" Nadine asked, exasperated.

"Because it was my idea in the first place," Richard replied, "If not for me, you would never have stepped foot in the Shinari Basin."

Nadine retorted, "If not for you, I would never have been shot at by tribesmen in the middle of nowhere!"

Fair point.

Richard was about to reply, when a part of their conversation repeated itself.

Confused, he looked around the room, searching for the source.

"That's right, we do have some news about the Shinari Basin," the voice said again, in a muffled tone.

Turning his head, he found the source.

The television above the bar.

"Yes, today's top story comes from Florida, USA," Nationwide's news anchor replied, "Where a woman named Elaine Maccabee broke onto the set of a local news show, Merritt in the Morning."

"Richard?" Nadine asked, but he ignored her.

Something told him that this was more important.

"Oh?" his co-anchor said, "Did she hurt anyone?"

"Thankfully not, Bernard, but she did say some rather unusual things."

"Such as?"

"Well, she showed a photograph to the camera and claimed that the CIA was trying to keep her from sharing it with the world."

"Really? Well, that must have been quite the photo. Was it of some scandal involving a high ranking official? Or military secrets?"

The news anchor shook his head, saying, "Nothing of the sort! She called the photo 'the Godhand', and claimed that it had been taken by a satellite orbiting above the Shinari Basin in Iraq."

"How strange," Bernard said.

"Indeed. Look, it's rather difficult to explain what the photo looks like, so we'll just use some footage from the show itself!"

Richard's heart was pounding, and he didn't know why.

A moment later, the screen displayed a different scene.

A young woman, looking fearful, holding a photo up to the camera.

It showed an arid landscape, with a large depression in the centre and four mountain ranges running northward.

Put together, it looked like a hand.

The Godhand.

*

Richard was shaking.

He was a man of science. He didn't believe in coincidences.

The Tower of Babel had been destroyed by the Hand of God, according to Nadine's translation.

What if that wasn't a metaphor?

That... that alone would change everything.

"Goodness, what a story. Moving on, we have received confirmation that Gary Lombard's ground-breaking invention, the translation software Babel, has just been activated for the first time. It will soon be shipped to universities and governments around the world, helping them with all sorts of linguistic problems!"

Richard sat, frozen.

No... It was just a coincidence.

Which he didn't believe in.

The Tower of Babel had been destroyed because its builders had tried to create a universal language...

Surely Babel the program didn't count?

And then he heard the screams.

*

Richard and Nadine left the pub to a scene of chaos.

People were running through the streets.

Young, old, black, white.

Everyone wore the same expression of terror.

There was nothing around that seemed dangerous.

And then Richard looked up.

And saw the Godhand.

Words failed him.

It was... immense.

It covered the sky, breaking through the thick cloud cover.

From what he could tell, it stretched across the entirety of London, and then some.

The... palm, which is what it was, was semi-translucent. Barely visible within were... stars.

And galaxies.

And more wonders that he did not understand.

But there was one thing he did understand.

It was getting closer.

*

"Richard! What's going on?!?" Nadine screamed, trying to be heard above the sounds of thousands of people desperately fleeing the city.

Most of them wouldn't make it.

The Godhand was simply too big to be outrun.

"Babel... it's Babel!" Richard replied.

She looked confused for a moment, before understanding dawned in her eyes.

"The All-Tongue... Gary made another one..."

Richard nodded, saying, "I'm sure he didn't know, but that won't change the outcome."

"What do we do?"

"Run, run as fast as you can. Once you get to safety, tell as many people the truth as you can. They need to know what caused this, so that no one ever tries it again."

Nadine looked at him. She knew what he was going to attempt.

"What about you?"

"I'm going to head to the One People's Tower and try to stop this. Maybe... if we destroy Babel, God will spare the city."

"Richard..."

"I know, it probably won't work. But we are the only ones who know what's going on. We have a responsibility to try and fix this. That thing up there... It must be stopped!"

"I understand, but please, be safe..." she said, before kissing him on the cheek.

Stepping away, she said, "Good luck!" And then the crowd swallowed her.

Taking a deep breath, Richard turned, facing the direction of the One People's Tower.

It was the tallest building in London, so at least he couldn't miss it.

*

Everyone else had fled the building.

Gary was alone.

His vision was about to come true.

The... thing in the sky... at its current rate of descent, it would reach the One People's Tower in a matter of minutes.

He had failed.

But he had not given up.

Glancing out of the floor to ceiling window, he saw something strange.

Well, relatively strange, given his current circumstances.

Everyone was fleeing the city, running away from the centre.

But one man was running toward the Tower.

"IT MUST BE STOPPED!" the voice screamed, and at last, Gary understood.

This man, whoever he was, was causing all of this.

And he would be stopped.

*

Richard ran through the chaos, fighting to gain ground. Everyone was heading the opposite way, so why wasn't he?

He had spent his life doubting God's existence. Now, God was here, and he was angry.

Perhaps this was karma?

No... once this was over, he would apologize to the Old Man.

Both of them.

He was getting closer to the Tower.

From here, he could tell that it was the epicentre of all of this.

The Godhand had descended even further in the time it had taken him to run from The Meridian.

There wasn't much space between it and the Tower's spire.

This was going to be close.

*

Gary hesitated for a second.

What if he was wrong?

No. This was the right thing to do.

Bracing himself, he smashed through the glass case with his left hand.

The pain was immense, but he would not let it stop him.

With his right hand, he grabbed his Enfield No. 2 service pistol and loaded it with six bullets.

He hadn't held it since Padua.

He hoped his aim was still true.

*

Richard entered the lobby, breathing heavily.

He didn't have much time.

The place was empty, as expected.

Now, where should he go?

He didn't know which floor Babel was being launched from, so he couldn't risk the elevators.

That left only the stairs.

*

Gary was trembling.

It had been twenty-seven years since he last fired his gun.

And now he was crouched in the corner of the central distribution room, scanning the area for any signs of life.

The terminal hummed and whirred, as Babel slowly came to life. He would protect it, no matter what.

"I will not fail you..." he whispered, staring at his creation.

From the window, he could vaguely make out the shape of the thing in the sky.

It was close now.

*

Richard took the stairs three steps at a time. Every time he reached a landing, he spared a second to glance into the room beyond.

However, every room was silent and empty.

He was almost at the top of the Tower...

He had managed to find a fire axe in an emergency box at the foot of the stairs.

Hopefully it would be enough.

*

Gary tightened his grip on the gun.

He had six shots.

He had to make them count.

*

Richard stopped at the final landing. He was exhausted, but he forced his legs to move.

Opening the door, he saw the goal.

A room filled with wires and computer parts, and in the centre, a computer terminal.

It was on, and it called to him.

He stepped forward, axe raised.

He had made it!

If this worked, the city would be saved... Nadine would be saved.

He took another step.

And then someone shot him.

*

Gary breathed out. He had hit the man in the chest.

It was done.

It had been stopped.

And then the man took another step.

*

Pain.

Richard felt nothing but pain.

But he couldn't stop.

If he did, everyone died.

If he kept going, then only he would...

*

Gary stared in amazement, before his senses returned. Taking aim, he fired again.

However, the man stumbled as he shot, and the bullet found nothing but wall.

*

Someone was shooting at him.

But that didn't matter.

His eyes were firmly affixed to the terminal.

He would reach it.

Even if it killed him.

*

Gary fired again, hitting the man in the shoulder. But it wasn't a clean hit, and the man kept going.

Come on!

*

One foot, in front of the other.

The terminal was getting closer.

From the window, he could tell that the Godhand was right above them.

*

Gary was shaking, but he fired nonetheless.

The bullet missed the man by millimetres.

Damn it!

*

Richard stumbled again.

No! Fight back the darkness!

He was almost there!

*

The next shot found its target, but in his fear he had aimed low.

The bullet tore through the man's leg, dropping him to the ground.

Now... it was done.

*

Richard lay on the cold ground. His blood was everywhere. He had failed.

Nadine...

From above, he heard a screeching sound.

The sound of metal being compressed.

The Godhand had reached the Tower.

No...

No!

He was so close!

Just a few more steps!

*

Gary stared in amazement as the man started moving. He was crawling now, leaving a crimson trail behind him.

How was he doing this?

He had only one bullet left.

He took aim...

*

The terminal lay before Richard. Placing his hands on the desk beneath it, he hauled his broken body up. He stood, vision swimming and pain reaching blackout levels.

With the last of his strength, he raised his axe.

*

Gary pulled the trigger.

*

Richard felt the bullet impact his back.

But it was too late.

Using nothing more than gravity, he let the axe fall, crying out, "IT MUST BE STOPPED!"

*

"NOOO!" Gary screamed, but there was nothing he could do.

*

The axe cleaved the fragile plastic in half, embedding itself in the wooden desk.

The screen fizzled and sparked, before fading to black.

It was done.

*

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?" Gary screamed, as he ran towards the terminal.

Babel, his child, was dead.

*

Richard fell backwards, his energy exhausted.

The shooter was running towards him, crying and screaming at the same time, but he didn't care.

He lay on his back, every breath bringing a fresh wave of pain.

With effort, he managed to turn his head.

What he saw brought a smile to his blood soaked face.

The Godhand... ascending.

It rose slowly, moving further and further away.

Soon, it was completely out of sight, swallowed by the clouds.

He had done it...

The city was safe...

Nadine... was safe.

He coughed, and became aware of how badly he was injured.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more.

A sudden thought brought out a chuckle from his broken body.

What luck, to find out that God exists and to meet him on the same day...

Well, the Church did say that it was never too late to make amends.

And Nadine had made it to help him find his way...

Taking a deep breath, he began to pray.

"The Lord... is my shepherd... I shall not... be afraid..."

THE END

# About the Author

Hayden Pearton is an independent author, physiotherapist and all-round good guy. He is handsome beyond compare, and if you can believe that, you can believe anything. He started writing when he was eighteen and hasn't stopped since.

The Godhand is his ninth work.

May it inspire.

His other works are:

The Chronicles of New Eden 1: Awakening

The Chronicles of New Eden 2: Sunrise Sapling

Koinophobia: A Collection of Technical Poetry

Autophobia: A Collection of Novelized Poetry

Xenophobia: A Collection of Madness Inducing Poetry

Be Good

The Holy Orders of Be Good

The Beggar Chronicles 1: The Beggar Knight

For more information, please visit my website at http://www.haydenpearton.com or check out my blog at http://www.newedenchronicles.wordpress.com

Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/hayden_pearton

Favourite me at Smashwords at <http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/HaydenPearton>

If you liked this book please leave a review at your favourite retailer.

Thanks for reading!

