Unburning Alexandria (Sierra Waters)

by Paul Levinson

  "Heron is not his true name?" Synesius asked.

  "Probably not. This man – the creator of the chairs – was born in a future, far in the future, from where we are now," Jonah said. "At some point, he traveled back to Alexandria, and either became part of that world – my original world – as Heron, or replaced a Heron who already lived and worked there. If the latter, it is not clear to me how many of the inventions attributed to Heron were the product of the man from the future, or of the original Heron – though the man from the future obviously would be the more likely master inventor."

  Synesius nodded slowly. "I think I understand. So . . . this Heron is not devoted to our cause – to saving Hypatia, to rescuing the texts in the Library – I can see in your expressions that something troubles you about Heron."

  "It is unclear to me exactly to what or whom Heron is devoted," Jonah said.

  "From what you told me," Max spoke very slowly, "Heron is not only not our friend. He may be our enemy."

  "The last time I saw him," Jonah added, "he had Sierra as his prisoner in this era, in the land across the great ocean."

  "You did nothing to free her?" Synesius asked, with a bit of anger.

  "Heron freed her–" Jonah said.

  "Then–" Synesius interrupted.

  "Otherwise I would have indeed released her from Heron," Jonah said, reciprocating with a little anger of his own.

  Synesius nodded, graciously. "Of course. I did not mean to imply–"

  "You need not explain," Jonah said. "We face a daunting task, the three of us. Ire is our inevitable companion."

  Synesius nodded, then touched his stomach. "The food was very agreeable, but I fear this has been a long journey, and my constitution . . . are there facilities–"

  "Of course," Jonah said, and summoned a waiter. He instructed the waiter to show Synesius to the lavatory for men. Synesius got the essence of the conversation, stood, and followed the waiter.

  "Still," Max spoke to Jonah, after Synesius was beyond hearing, "he bears much anger – this does not concern you?" Max spoke in stilted English, which he for some reason assumed would be the most easily comprehended by Jonah.

  "No," Jonah replied. "It does not. A good dose of anger may even be necessary for our survival."

  Max smiled, crookedly.

  "You brought up the matter of Heron very well," Jonah said.

  "And your assessment of Synesius's response?"

  "I watched his face very carefully," Jonah replied. "Synesius certainly knew something about Heron's connection to this – it is not clear to me how much."

  "And Augustine? What do you think he knows?"

  Jonah considered. "Augustine knows about time travel – I told him about it and proved it to him, more than once. Augustine had me prove it to Synesius, as you know. I never mentioned Heron to Augustine, but if Synesius knows about Heron, the only way he could have received such information was from Augustine or Hypatia–"

  "Or directly from Heron," Max said.

  Jonah nodded. "At this point, impossible to say."

  * * *

  Synesius sat on his bed and looked up at the ceiling of his room. He felt sure that, if Jonah had thought it at all feasible, he would have sent Synesius back in the chair to the hovel in 413 AD. But even Jonah had to recognize Synesius's exhaustion. He had traveled nearly 2000 years in an instant. But it was the preceding voyage across water that had drained his strength. He had awoken this morning on a boat, a half-day's distance from Londinium.

  Could he be sure that he actually had traveled into the future, and this far? He could be sure of nothing. But if this dwelling and its people and its smells, its sounds and its colors, were something from his own time, far away in distance but not in time, his world had been very good at keeping it a deeply sealed secret. And, short of his being in some trance now, the depth of which he had never heard of, the initiation of which he could not recall at all, he could not fathom what else other than this time travel could have had him in a crumbling, single-story stone dwelling one instant, and in this . . . opulent many-tiered structure the very next.

  There was a rapping at the door. That would be the slave that Jonah had offered to have sent to him, and Synesius, upon reflection, had with gratitude accepted. It had been a very long day, indeed. At the end of which a man required not only the comforts of good food but the solace of flesh.

  He rose and opened the door. She had dark brown hair and deep brown eyes, just as Synesius liked and had requested. In some ways she looked like Hypatia.

  "May I enter?" she asked in Latin not as good as his and Jonah's, but far better than Max's. Jonah had tried to explain this to Synesius. "She has been programmed as they say, here – which means, intrinsically instructed – and though she will seem fully human to you, she will not be–"

  "Yes, yes, I understand," Synesius had replied. "I have been party to numerous debates in learned councils about the humanity of slaves–"

  "Yes . . . no," Jonah replied. "She is not human in a different way. She was constructed–"

  But Synesius had been too fatigued to follow this conversation, and, truthfully, had not cared. He understood that slaves in some cases might be less than human, and that was sufficient–

  He returned his attention to the slave at hand, at his door, and smiled. "Yes, please enter."

  She entered and closed his door behind her. "Shall I disrobe?" She was wearing a soft, thin, mutely colored transparent fabric, wrapped around her breasts just under her nipples, and around her hips. Her areoles were rich brown. They made his mouth dry with anticipation.

  "Yes."

  She unfastened the fabric. Her nipples were already hard, her pudenda cleanly shaven.

  "Lay on the bed, close your eyes," he ordered, quietly, trying to make his words not sound too much like a command. Slaves, he believed, performed best in these circumstances when they were permitted the illusion that they were desirous of everything the man requested.

  "On back, or belly?" she asked, fetchingly.

  Synesius considered. Everything about her looked good. "Belly," he replied.

  She did as requested.

  He ran his fingertip down the center of her back, so that it made just the slightest, fleeting contact with her soft skin. After a while, he moved her cheeks apart. She moaned. He disrobed . . . .

  * * *

  Synesius awoke the next morning in an empty bed. He did not recall dismissing the slave–

  Someone was at the door. Synesius realized this was the second or third time he had just heard the knocking. It had woken him. He rose, flung his garment around him, and opened the door.

  "Max. . . ."

  Max nodded and grinned. "You slept well?"

  Synesius nodded.

  "You enjoyed–"

  "Yes," Synesius answered, but refused to return the smile. They may have been allies in a quest to save Hypatia, but he barely knew this man.

  "Jonah requests the pleasure of the morning meal with you. Further discussion is required," Max said. "Shall I wait here or return for you?"

  "You may wait," Synesius answered.

  * * *

  The three sat around a large table, in a much smaller room than the grand dining hall the night before. Synesius liked the morning wine and the dark bread.

  "Heron will be key to this," Max was saying. "If anyone knows how to save the scrolls of Alexandria, that person would be Heron."

  "You said yesterday he was our enemy," Synesius said.

  "Yes," Max replied.

  "Even if he is not our enemy, Heron would find it difficult to prevent three or more burnings, strewn across centuries," Jonah said. "As far as I know, he operates with small bands of legionaries – they have extraordinary acumen in combat, but not enough to stop Caesar's regiment, certainly no match for Omar's hoards. But, yes, Heron would be far more likely to succeed in this than would Ampharete – Sierra – even with the three of us supporting her."

  "Forgive me," Synesius
said, "but before we proceed, do you have evidence of what this Heron has done – across time? I am a rational man. I like evidence in my hand."

  "Such as the scroll I gave to you in Carthage?" Jonah responded.

  "Yes," Synesius replied, "but you, not Heron, put that scroll in my hand."

  Jonah considered. "Very well." He summoned one of the strangely dressed servers and spoke to him in the Germanic language.

  The server returned not more than a few minutes later, with a scroll in his hand. He gave the scroll to Synesius, who opened it.

  There was a single word, before the rest of the words, at the very top – Chronica . . .

  * * *

  Synesius read quickly through the first part of the scroll. He nodded. "This was either written by Heron of Alexandria, or is a very good forgery. And I acknowledge, I have not seen or heard of it before this moment."

  "Yes," Jonah said.

  Synesius sipped the nectar of a Persian orange and licked his lips. "So this is a lost manuscript, and very impressive. I hope I may be given the chance to read all of it – but what proof does it give me? Heron of Alexandria wrote about many things, real and hypothetical. These words about chairs and time–"

  "They do not seem to you to be descriptions of the very type of chair you sat in, and traveled in, yesterday?" Jonah said.

  "Yes . . . but how do I know that Heron in fact wrote this, and not you, or–"

  "The scroll was not here last week," the server had quietly returned, and now spoke.

  "This is Gleason," Jonah said slowly. "He is one of us."

  Synesius nodded.

  Gleason sat. "We inventory the library's holdings – our library, here – on a weekly basis. This scroll was not here nine days ago."

  "And your conclusion is – Heron brought it here, in the past nine days?" Synesius asked everyone at the table.

  "I brought it here," Jonah said, quietly. "I held it in my hand, a long time ago. . . ."

  "When?" Synesius asked.

  "In the time of Cleopatra."

  Only Synesius laughed, and not very long. "Cleopatra, Caesar's Cleopatra, Antony's Cleopatra, the last of the Ptolemys?"

  "Her young sister gave it to me, along with 16 other scrolls by Heron's hand. Some of them I knew. Others, like this one, I did not."

  Synesius shook his head in disbelief. "Cleopatra's half-sister Arsinoe?"

  "Yes."

  "How did she come to acquire the scrolls?" Synesius asked.

  "They were Cleopatra's," Jonah replied. "Arisinoe brought them to me."

  Synesius considered. "And you brought them here. What does this prove about Heron?"

  "I bought only this scroll here," Jonah replied. "It proves at very least that Heron understands how to construct the chairs that travel through time – understands this on the minutest level of detail. I left the other scrolls in a safe place – in Athens – where there are other chairs."

  "I know of this place," Synesius said. "Augustine spoke of it. . . . But why risk leaving the other scrolls in such . . . an unusual location?"

  "You can never know beforehand who will be in the room of the chair's destination," Jonah replied.

  "You were concerned that Heron might be waiting for you?" Synesius asked.

  "Yes," Jonah said, "or his legionaries."

  "Does anyone else know about the special place in Athens – or about this place?" Synesius gestured to the room. "Augustine knew, as I told you. Hypatia knows. Who else?"

  "We are dealing with an infinite future," Max said. "The possibilities are endless."

  "But Heron is the one you are worried about - have you seen him here?" Synesius directed this to Jonah. "I assume you are the only one at this table who knows what he looks like."

  "Yes, I am the only one, and no, I have not seen him, but–"

  "We have no notion of what he might look like at any time," Max completed the point. "He could change his face to look like someone else's, just as you tell me Sierra has done with Hypatia."

  "Yes," Jonah said, "precisely–"

  A slight pop interrupted him. It was the first and only sign of a powerful ion bomb that eradicated every table and person in the room.

  Chapter Five

  [London, 2042 AD, the night before]

  Synesius awoke to a sound in the room. The slave was asleep next to him, her mouth open, her lips against his shoulder. He gently moved her head, sat up, and tried to see in the darkness.

  A figure approached.

  He saw who she was. "Stop!" he commanded. "Who–"

  "She will embed a deadly, exploding device in you while you sleep," the figure said. "I have been instructed to prevent that."

  "But–" Synesius looked at the sleeping slave and then the slave now standing at the foot of his bed. The two slaves were the same woman.

  The sleeper mumbled softly in her sleep, lifted her head and opened her eyes for a moment.

  Her double directed an intense white light into those eyes. The sleeper fell back dead on the bed, mouth and eyes now both wide open.

  * * *

  The shooter walked to the door, looked out, and turned back to Synesius. She produced a group of strange garments from beneath her robe and tossed them to Synesius. "Wear these robes. Come with me," she said.

  Synesius didn't move. He looked at the bed and the dead, unclothed version of what had just spoken to him. "Who are you?"

  "I am sorry you had to see this," she said. "I was supposed to come here to your room before she arrived. I was delayed."

  "How do I know that you are not the twin who has come to kill me, and she your first victim?" He gestured with a shaky hand to the body on the bed. "She might have acted to protect me."

  "You do not."

  Synesius looked at the strange garments which had landed on top of his own robe near the bed. He moved as if to examine the garments, but instead seized a knife from under his robe and lunged at the shooter in a single, swift motion.

  She stopped the knife an inch from her neck, and twisted Synesius's arm with an iron grip that caused the weapon to fall to the floor. "Sierra Waters sent me here to help you. Does that convince you?"

  "No, it does not. You know one of Hypatia's alternate names – that does not prove that you are her slave."

  She relaxed her grip on Synesius, and regarded him. "You are naked – literately and figuratively, Synesius. You are defenseless before me. You just saw what I did to my sister. Does not the fact that I am not doing that to you convince you?"

  Synesius considered, sighed, and fetched his robe. "Perhaps. Where do you propose to escort me?"

  She picked up one of the strange garments from the floor. "Put your feet and legs through these."

  Synesius slowly obliged, and she continued dressing the Bishop of Ptolemais in clothing very different from his customary robes.

  * * *

  "These garments are similar to what I saw in the dining hall earlier," Synesius remarked, as he and the slave walked quickly along the hallway. Lights flickered briefly on and off on the ceiling above their heads as they passed.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Are we joining my friends in the feasting room?"

  "No."

  "Do they know that we–"

  "They do not," the slave replied, as they turned a corner. She opened a door and motioned Synesius to follow.

  He stopped.

  "I was told you understand a sufficient amount about time travel to comprehend what I am about to tell you," the slave continued. "Your friends are asleep right now. They have no idea that my twin will be putting a weapon inside of you. It is better that they do not know about that – it is better that they think you were summoned away when you do not join them at the breakfast table tomorrow."

  "Because such knowledge could somehow change history?"

  The slave nodded. "Yes. Because one of the primary principles of time travel is that when you make changes – such as I am doing now to prevent your death – you do so in
a way which causes the least number of disturbances in history."

  "My leaving unexpectedly causes less disturbance than knowledge that a weapon was placed inside me?" Synesius asked.

  "Yes."

  Synesius nodded slowly, and followed the slave through the doorway. They quickly descended three flights of stairs.

  "We are proceeding to the room with the chair?" Synesius asked.

  "We are not," the slave replied.

  "Where–"

  "We are going outside of this facility," the slave said.

  * * *

  Synesius looked at the sky a long time. "Thank God there are stars," he muttered. "They are different from the stars I know, but at least they are stars."

  He was standing with the slave in front of the Parthenon Club. The street was wet with recent rain and devoid of people. It was two in the morning.

  "Our conveyance should be here soon," the slave said. "Prepare yourself. It will be drawn by no living organism."

  "I have seen automata in Alexandria," Synesius said.

  "You have seen nothing like this," the slave said.

  Synesius regarded her. For some reason, he felt a little more at ease with her – enough to admire her beauty, as he had her sister's, whom she had just killed. "You look a little different from your twin, now that I am regarding you in this light."

  She smiled. "Each of us is a little different – just as with natural twins, as they live their lives."

  "You are not a natural twin? What does that mean? Jonah tried to explain, but–"

  "I am made of flesh, but I was purposely constructed."

  Synesius tried to understand. "Jonah spoke of your twin being instructed. . . ."

  "Yes."

  "You were instructed to save me," Synesius said, "and to take me on this journey, but not via the chair."

  "Yes," the slave replied. "If you use the chair, certain people will know exactly where you are – some of whom could be your enemies, the people who sent my twin to kill you."

  Synesius nodded.

  A bubble slid towards them along the blackness of the street, like a bubble on a dark river, Synesius thought. The bubble stopped before them. It was big enough to enter.

  The slave motioned Synesius to walk into the bubble. "This is our means of conveyance," she said, and entered.