Transgression

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Several people turned and glared at her. Evidently, when these people listened to a public speaker, they listened.

  Under most circumstances, Rivka would have loved to hear this sermon. Paul himself! He had a strong voice and spoke in an educated style, but without the rhetorical flourishes that were currently in vogue among professional orators.

  But these were not ordinary circumstances. Where was Dr. West? Rivka’s heart thumped out a double-time dance, without benefit of flutes or lyres. She and Ari stood at the very back of the crowd. That was fine for Ari—he rose a head taller than most anybody out here. But Rivka was only five foot two—the wrong height for the task at hand.

  And Ari was being completely useless. His lips had compressed into a thin line, and an utterly aloof expression masked his face.

  Rivka wanted to strangle him.

  At least he had given up on trying to keep her out of the action.

  But what could she do? Probably ten or twenty thousand people jammed this area. Only one of them had a gun.

  God, help me!

  Rivka closed her eyes and tried to focus on God. If she was ever going to hear from him, now would be an excellent time.

  But she heard only the voice of Paul. “I persecuted the followers of the sect called The Way.”

  She concentrated on the words. She could see them in her mind’s eye on the printed page. In English.

  Acts chapter 22.

  Paul was playing out his part, and Rivka had read the script. But Dr. West would try to rewrite the ending.

  Could he do that? Ari didn’t think so. But Dr. West thought he could.

  How could she stop him?

  The words stood out sharp in her mind’s eye, black letters on white paper. She scanned ahead. How was it supposed to end?

  Suddenly, Rivka couldn’t remember. Panic burned through her veins, and she couldn’t focus anymore, couldn’t think. What had gone wrong with her mind? She opened her eyes and looked around. Ahead of her loomed a wall of heads. Behind her…

  Behind her was nothing. Up ahead, off to the west side, lay a pile of debris—large paving stones, loose dirt, small rocks. Evidently, the feast had interrupted some construction project, and the workmen had just shoved it all into one big pile, rather than doing a decent job of cleaning up.

  “…You will be his witness to all men of what you have seen and heard…” Paul said.

  How much time left? Rivka couldn’t think. On impulse, she scampered to the debris pile and scrambled up onto it. It rose only a few feet, but it raised her above the crowd. She shaded her eyes from the bright sunlight and scanned the assembly.

  And saw movement.

  Near the bottom of the stairs, Dr. West’s pink cheeks stood out in a sea of dark faces. He wedged his left shoulder between two men and shoved forward. Two heads spun around, glared at him, and then…

  And then moved aside.

  Dr. West was moving.

  About five yards separated him from the base of the stairs.

  And now Paul was talking about Stephen, martyred for Yeshua. The crowd stood silent as sleepwalkers.

  Get mad, you fools!

  Only three yards to go, and then Dr. West would have a clear shot.

  “I stood there giving my approval and guarding the clothes of those who were killing him,” Paul said.

  No reaction from the crowd.

  Do something, people!

  Two more yards.

  “Then the Lord said to me, ‘Go; I will send you far away to the goyim.’”

  One yard.

  Do something yourself, Rivka.

  Rivka bent down, scooped up a handful of dust, and flung it into the air. “No!” she screamed. “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! He’s not fit to live!” She grabbed some dirt clods and threw them into the crowd, in the general direction of Dr. West. People might get hurt, but she had to think of Paul right now.

  Dr. West spun to his left and caught her eye. His jaw dropped open, and shock slashed across his face.

  “Kill him!” Rivka screamed again. She threw more dust in the air.

  Suddenly, the mob came to life—a mad, writhing thing at the foot of the stairs. Dust flew in the air. Shouts of rage shook the court.

  A vortex of violence caught Dr. West off balance. He stumbled, fell.

  On the stairs above, the soldiers closed around Paul again. In seconds, they whisked him away toward the Fortress Antonia.

  An instant later, Ari arrived beside Rivka. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from the madness toward the shadow of the western portico. “That was crazy,” he said. “Why did you do that? You started a riot!”

  “I saw him,” she said. “Dr. West! He was really close to Paul. And I stopped him.”

  “Oh, you stopped him all right,” Ari said. “And if anything could mess up history, it was that little stunt.”

  Rivka gave him her winningest smile. “I’m surprised at you, Mr. Fatalist Physicist. We’re part of history, you and I. Part of that self-consistent history of the wave function of the single-valued trajectory of the universal phase space. Did I get that right?”

  Ari laughed out loud. “Not exactly.”

  “Okay, whatever. All I’m saying is, if you had read the script, you’d know this act was supposed to end in a riot.”

  “Rivka, it would not have turned out that way without you.”

  “Exactly. I’m feeling very self-consistent today, very single-valued. Very in touch with the wave function of the universe.” She dusted her palms off on her tunic, giddy with relief. She had done it! Thank God. “Now let’s get out of here before Dr. West comes looking for us. I have a feeling he’s not going to be very happy with the way I directed this scene.”

  Chapter 25

  Damien

  DAMIEN STARED AT RIVKA MEYERS. What the…? A shower of dirt rained down around him. Move! Now! Damien shoved forward, jamming an elbow into somebody’s back. The man in front of him turned, bellowed something, and slugged Damien in the face. Then the whole world went berserk. Somebody pushed the wrong way, and half a dozen people went down, with Damien in the middle.

  He lost his grip on the gun. A knee caught him in the mouth. He pawed for the weapon furiously, found it, checked the safety, clutched it to his belly, and huddled up, protecting his face. He wouldn’t be able to move until these fools got off him.

  What was Rivka Meyers doing in this century, anyway? Hadn’t she gone home with Ari yesterday? Did she come back? Or had she not gone after all?

  Whatever, she had ruined his shot. For that she would pay. For that, he was going to kill her. Tonight.

  He would get another chance to shoot Paul tomorrow.

  * * *

  Ari

  “Rivka will be safe here for another night,” Brother Baruch said. “Your Damien has no way to know where she is staying. Sister Miryam will take good care of her.”

  Ari stepped out of the stone house and into the street. He thumped his hand against the solid wood door. Strong. Still, he felt worried. Two women alone in this house? He would have preferred to keep Rivka at Brother Baruch’s house, but that was impossible. It would scandalize Baruch and his friends. Nor could Ari stay with Rivka and Sister Miryam. “I still think we should go back tonight,” he said. “Damien’s got to be furious at you.”

  “Relax, Ari, we’ll be fine,” Rivka said. “Dr. West won’t have a clue where to look for either one of us in this city.”

  “Promise me you won’t go out alone tomorrow,” Ari said. “I’ll come for you early, we’ll say our good-byes to our friends, and we’ll go back to where we belong.”

  Just then, Hana clutched at Rivka’s arm and said something in Aramaic.

  Rivka shook her head. “No, Hana, I am not worried.”

  Ari had caught most of Hana’s sentence. “Please repeat her last phrase.”

  “She says that the truth-tellers warn her that I am not safe here, that the bad man will find me and kill me.”

  Ar
i felt annoyed. It was one thing to base your fears on reason, but this sort of silliness irritated him. “She will be fine,” Ari said in his broken Aramaic. “Do not fear.” Somehow, saying so made him feel better.

  Hana didn’t look convinced.

  Baruch tugged at Ari’s sleeve. “Come, Brother Ari, we must go to evening prayers. We will pray that no harm will come to Rivka, and it will be so. And then you will continue explaining to me this evening about how HaShem created the universe.”

  Ari grinned. Baruch had taken an absurd interest in quantum physics. He probably understood none of what Ari had explained over the last few days, but still he kept hammering him with questions. So far, they had covered atomic theory and the nucleus. “Very well, Brother Baruch.” Ari winked at Rivka. “I’ll come find you tomorrow morning.”

  “Not too early,” she said. “I want to sleep in.”

  “Fine,” Ari said. “It’ll give me time to finish my lectures.”

  “Say about eight o’clock,” Rivka said.

  Ari shrugged. “As long as it’s before early afternoon. Dov says we need to come back before then, at the very latest. You know how the Haredim go around with their loudspeakers at four in the afternoon, announcing Shabbat.”

  “We’ll go back in plenty of time,” Rivka said. “Now go say your prayers, Brother Ari.”

  Ari liked the way she said that. Brother Ari. He turned and headed up the street with Brother Baruch.

  “So explain to me again, from what did HaShem build the nucleus?” Baruch said.

  “Quarks,” Ari said. “It’s really very simple…”

  * * *

  Damien

  Damien twisted the silencer onto his gun and laced up his heavy boots. By this hour, Rivka would be asleep in Hana’s house. The night air hung heavy and humid and uncomfortably warm around him, making his skin crawl. Nights like this drove him crazy.

  He slipped out of his house, locked the door, and thudded down the street as quietly as he could in his thick boots. He wore his Arab robe, as he had since coming through the wormhole. It had no pockets, but he had grown to like using the cloth belt that the natives wore. His gun nestled in a shoulder harness inside his robe.

  When he arrived, he listened at the door for a full minute. No noise inside. Excellent. The women would be asleep. He would break in, shoot them both, and leave. He felt wound up like an overcharged capacitor. Adrenaline shot through his arteries.

  The door looked poorly made. Damien pulled out his flashlight and studied it, choosing his spot carefully. He wanted the door to break on the first or second kick. No reason to give Rivka time to prepare her defenses.

  Damien took out his gun, flicked the safety off, raised a booted foot, and kicked hard at the door. It cracked sharply, but held. He kicked again, then twice more in quick succession.

  The door flew inward.

  Damien stepped in, his gun extended, moving quickly but without panic. Find the women first, before they had time to react.

  His flashlight beam skittered around the room. Movement at the far end, on the floor. One head lifted. Hana’s voice.

  Damien lit up her face for an instant, then danced the beam in quick patterns all around the room. Where was Rivka?

  Hana said something again.

  “Rivka,” Damien said. “Eyfo Rivka?” Pidgin modern Hebrew, but he hoped the meaning would carry over. He shone the light full on Hana now. She’d been sleeping naked in the summer heat and she looked…incredible.

  Hana cowered on her bedroll, gabbling hysterically. Rivka was sleeping somewhere else tonight, that was obvious.

  Damien shoved the door shut and then stepped across the room in three strides and shone the flashlight in her face.

  “Eyfo Rivka?” he demanded. If she didn’t lead him to Rivka, he would kill her. And if she did lead him to Rivka, he would still kill her.

  She huddled into a ball on her side, shielding her face.

  Damien grabbed her right arm and yanked it hard, rolling her onto her back and pinning the arm down with his knee. He shone the light full in her eyes with his left hand while he pinned her other arm down with his right.

  “Rivka!” he bellowed into her face.

  Hana sobbed and began talking again, and all the resistance in her face seemed to collapse.

  Damien couldn’t understand her. But that didn’t matter. She was going to take him to Rivka.

  But first...maybe a little business transaction.

  Hana looked like she’d be really good at her business.

  * * *

  Dov

  Ten minutes before midnight on Thursday night, Dov came out of the Israeli Supreme Court building with Jessica and her lawyer cousin. A tidal wave of flashbulbs nearly blinded him. Further back, the steady glare of TV lights provided backup. Twenty microphones almost magically appeared in front of his face. A hundred questions battered him, most of them variations on the same theme.

  “Mr. Lifshutz, what have they decided?”

  Dov heaved a sigh and tried to think what to say. He had been an international celebrity for three days, and already he hated it.

  “They have heard all the arguments, and they will announce their decision tomorrow.”

  “Before the beginning of the Sabbath?”

  A stupid question, but Dov saw no point in saying so. The Court would never announce a decision on Shabbat. “Yes, before Shabbat begins.”

  “Mr. Lifshutz, have you received any more calls from Professor Kazan? Is it true you were romantically involved with Miss Meyers? Could you comment on reports that you have sold your story to the National Enquirer?”

  Dov threw up his hands and shook his head. Idiots. Beside him, Jessica was getting the same treatment.

  “Miss Weinberg, do you think the government will shut down the wormhole before the time travelers return?”

  “God knows,” she said, and suddenly she began crying. She covered her face with her hands.

  Dov wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward the waiting car.

  Come back before Shabbat, Ari and Rivka. And do no harm!

  * * *

  Hana

  Hana walked through the dark streets, too numb even to hate the bad man who walked close behind, twisting her arm. Pain burned through her shoulder. Her rough woolen tunic scraped at the raw flesh on her back.

  The bad man had done a wicked thing to her. Even a zonah should have the right to say no.

  The bad man jabbed the metal thing into the small of her back at every step. What was it? She had never seen such a tool before. It could not be a weapon, because it was not sharp like a knife, nor heavy like a club.

  The bad man wanted Rivka. Inside Hana’s head, the truth-tellers screamed at her to obey him. She did not like what the voices told her. They had protected her for many months, but they had lied to her about the bad man. And now why did they urge her to betray Rivka?

  The bad man would kill her if she did not obey him. But if she did obey, he would kill Rivka instead.

  Hana did not want to die. But if she took the bad man to Rivka, then what? He would kill Rivka. Would he then spare Hana? He had done a wicked thing to her already. Most certainly he would kill her.

  The truth-tellers cried out louder. Go to Rivka! Go to Rivka! Go to Rivka!

  Something had gone terribly wrong. The truth-tellers were telling lies. They had told her the bad man was a good man. A terrible lie. Now they told her to go to Rivka. If she took the bad man to Rivka, he would kill them both.

  For a moment, Hana felt fear rushing through her chest, chilling her bare arms. Then she felt free. Whether she obeyed or disobeyed, she would die. Therefore, she must neither obey nor disobey.

  She must fight the bad man.

  * * *

  Damien

  Halfway up the long hill, Hana abruptly stopped walking and started screaming. It sounded like “Esh!”

  That meant what? Fire, or something?

  “Shut up or I’ll sh
oot!” Damien said in English. Which was stupid. “Sheket!” He jabbed the barrel of the gun into her kidney.

  She only screamed louder.

  Damien suddenly realized she probably didn’t know what the gun could do. Therefore, it was not a threat. But if he shot her, then she couldn’t take him to Rivka. The gun would only be useful as long as he didn’t actually use it.

  Meanwhile, she kept screaming her head off.

  Damien jammed the gun into the shoulder harness inside his robe, twisted her arm hard with his left hand, and clamped his right over her mouth.

  She bit down hard and held on.

  Cursing, he released her arm and punched her hard in the small of the back.

  Instantly, she quit biting and darted forward out of his reach.

  Damien clomped after her.

  She leapt ahead, just out of his reach.

  He sprinted hard, lunged for her, and missed.

  By now she had a slight lead on him.

  He tried to run faster, but found it impossible in the heavy boots. He slowed a little, conserving his energy. He would just have to wear her down. She was probably dumb enough to try to find safety with Rivka.

  Suddenly she zigged to the left down a side street.

  Caught off balance, Damien was slow to make the turn. Somehow, she had put ten yards between them, running lightly on bare feet. He wished he had worn his running shoes.

  She continued pulling away from him.

  Worry began to nibble at the back of his mind. She was at least twenty years younger than him, and more lightly shod.

  Forget that! No way was a female going to outrun him. He had been second best on his high school football team in the forty-yard time trials.

  A minute later, she had doubled the distance between them. Damien’s breath began coming in ragged gasps. They had now covered a good quarter mile—ten times the forty yards of a football drill.