Temporal Gambit

by Larry A. Brown

  “But we were victorious!” I cried out.

  “Supreme Lord Wak Chan K’awiil does not like to lose. You will honor the gods with your blood.”

  Pak spat at the priest’s feet but said nothing. He didn’t seem surprised by the verdict.

  At spearpoint, the guards took us back to the grand plaza toward a mound which rose up from the center of the area. On it stood an altar which reminded me of something familiar. Its ruins, found by archaeologists centuries from now, must have inspired the one constructed by the jaguar gang for their ceremony. How ironic that I had to face this dire threat twice.

  Nearby, musicians began beating turtle shell drums, gourd rattles, and deer antlers. Masked dancers gyrated while twirling fiery batons, putting on their best show for their divine audience.

  Women approached us with a container of blue paint and began smearing our silent partner’s body with it. The Maya associated the color blue with their rain deities. When they offered sacrifices to the god Chaahk, they would paint them blue in hopes he would send rain to make the crops grow.

  When the women finished, the guards led the third man toward the altar and stretched him out on it, holding him down by his arms and legs. He never uttered a sound; it was as if he had made his peace with the gods. The priest stood over him and muttered some incantation I could not hear. I saw the obsidian blade rise in the air, but I turned away and did not watch it fall.

  Next, the women stepped toward Pak and applied the paint. The guards cleared the altar of our poor teammate’s body. Desperate for a last-minute escape, I asked LOGOS if there were any indications that the volcanic eruption was about to occur.

  <>

  “Not close enough, I’m afraid. Who knew a time traveler could run out of time?”

  They led Pak toward the altar. He let out a furious scream, more out of defiance than fear. While the priest gave the Maya version of last rites, the female attendants daubed the blue paint on my forehead. When they reached down to touch my chest, they hesitated, looking puzzled. Where the paint covered the projection cells on my chamo-suit, a rainbow of colors was glowing. Then it hit me. That’s it! On Rhodes the people had panicked when my suit had malfunctioned due to the smoke. This time I could use the faulty imaging to my advantage.

  “LOGOS, make the chamo-suit project a random sequence of costumes.” My appearance rapidly changed from one period outfit to another: an American Revolutionary army uniform, a Roman toga, the animal skin of a prehistoric hunter, an astronaut’s space suit. The priest holding the blade above Pak’s head froze at the sight.

  “Now, LOGOS, have it engulf me with fire.” When the flames burst around my body, the women screamed and ran off. The startled guards stepped back in fear, their spears shaking. The priest dropped his blade and shouted a curse.

  Now was my chance. I only wished I had taken some acting lessons in college. “Mortals, you stand amazed and rightly so, but do not fear. I am the emissary of …”

  I hesitated, then thought, “LOGOS, what’s the Maya word for volcano?”

  <>

  I raised my arms for dramatic effect and continued, “… the great and powerful Ixcanul. I come with an important warning. The spirit of the boiling mountain grows angry and will burst forth in flames and smoke and burning rock. This will happen soon.” I paused, not knowing what to say next. “Yes, very soon.”

  If this had been a typical Hollywood blockbuster, the volcano would have erupted right on cue, but no such luck.

  Ich’aak walked over and examined me with a mixture of suspicion, reverence, and fear. “We shall see, prophet, if the future unfolds as you say.” He gestured to the guards to take me to the royal palace.

  With my best authoritative tone of voice, I insisted that Pak join me, and Ich’aak complied. They led us to a chamber with colorful murals of battle scenes, a much nicer place to wait than our previous cell.

  Finally, my heart stopped running its marathon, and my breathing slowed to a calmer rhythm. I had time to contemplate what I was doing. After experiencing firsthand the brutality of the Maya sacrificial system, I wondered if world history would be better off if I left Xenox to channel this people’s energies in a more humane direction.

  Pak was staring at me from the corner of the room. He had witnessed the chamo-suit’s impressive display along with the others, and he wasn’t sure what to make of me. In his eyes, I was no longer a third-string Pitz player. Wanting to reassure him that I was no threat, I spoke gently to him about things I realized he would never fully understand.

  “Pak, I come from a long distance from this place in both space and time. I’m sure that makes no sense to you.”

  “Clearly you are a shapeshifter.”

  “No, I’m not a supernatural being of any kind, just a man like you, Pak. And like our silent friend was. I’m sorry I could not save him as well.”

  “He died bravely.”

  “If I told you that I had the means to prevent many deaths like his, to put a stop to the sacrificial system for all time, what would you say?”

  He thought about this possibility for a moment before speaking. “The priests say that the gods ordain all things and how they must be. Would you challenge the gods?”

  “Do you believe in these gods, Pak?”

  “I believe in whatever is. Not what might be.”

  Who would have imagined that in the jungles of ancient Mesoamerica I would meet a pragmatic realist? We sat in silence for some time. He had given me much to ponder. Xenox’s actions would change the way things are in our world’s timeline. He had no right to do so. This is our planet and our history. Despite my misgivings, I had to make sure he didn’t succeed.

  The room started to shake violently. Decorative pottery on shelves smashed to the floor. Outside, the trees swayed wildly. Then we heard the blast. Since El Chichón was over two hundred miles away from Tikal, it was not as deafening as I would have thought, but it certainly caught the attention of the royal palace. The king himself rushed into the room along with Ich’aak and several other officials.

  If a supreme ruler can look humble, Wak Chan K’awiil gave it his best effort. “Ixcanul has spoken in anger as you said. With all their knowledge of the heavens, our sages cannot anticipate such terrible utterances of the earth. We have much to learn from you.”

  “I am grateful to have the listening ear of the lord of Tikal. We must discuss many things which will happen in the years to come.” The royal scribe brought out bark paper and ink to write down my words. “You may record what I say in your presence this day, but you must not transcribe these prophecies in stone for public eyes to see. They are for the ruler and his priests only.”

  I hoped that whatever records might survive, any mention of my visit would be destroyed in the book burnings that the Spanish priests will conduct almost a millennium from now. I did not want to become a curiosity for Maya scholars to puzzle over in the future.

  I spoke about events in the coming years to give myself more credibility with the passage of time. I warned them that Lord Water of the vassal city of Caracol would betray their alliance and side with their major rival of Calakmul in a great war against Tikal, challenging its dominance in the region. This conflict would occur at the rising of Chak Ek’, the Great Star. LOGOS had informed me that the Maya considered the morning star, what we know as the planet Venus, to be a harbinger of war.

  Then I made my big play. “A day will arrive when the Great Deceiver will come. He will disguise himself as the feathered serpent Kukulkan and lead the Maya people astray with lies. Do not listen to him or accept his gifts. He seeks to disrupt your way of life. You must not allow this to happen.”

  Given the added incentive of my prediction of the eruption, my words impressed K’awiil deeply. He conferred with Ich’aak and the other priests and gave his solemn promise to follow my teachings to the fullest. He then summoned servants and bid
them prepare a great feast for his honored guest. I trusted that this time he used the term in a more positive sense.

  During the meal consisting of maize, squash, pineapple, avocado, deer, monkey, and quail, LOGOS cautioned that the temporal distortion wave was about to collapse, sending me back to my present, which I hoped to find corrected. I decided not to seek an isolated spot but to disappear in front of everyone, thus making a lasting impression of my more-than-human powers. I stood, bid the king farewell, and vanished. I wish I could have seen their faces.

  In a split second, I found myself not in 2059 but once again in the infinite spacetime Corridor. The Ally was waiting for me.

  “Congratulations, Martin. Twice thus far, you have proven yourself worthy.”

  Admittedly, I was proud of what I had accomplished, but I didn’t understand his reference. “Worthy of what? What exactly is going on here? Can you explain what this Xenox wants to accomplish by corrupting our timeline?”

  “Yes, I suppose it’s not too clear to you yet since this is your initial time tournament.”

  “Tournament? Like some kind of game?”

  “Precisely. You see, his meeting you in this Corridor was not an accident. It was a challenge.”

  The Ally paused briefly to let that idea sink in. “The Others discovered the means to travel the Corridor eons ago. At first they used this ability to change their own world’s history and to correct its perceived defects. But after they had achieved a satisfactory utopian society by their standards, they grew bored with a life without significant problems to overcome. So they began playing games with other races’ timelines.”

  “Why did they choose Earth?”

  “They only interfere with worlds which have achieved time travel so they can challenge legitimate competitors. Otherwise, no one would ever recognize their temporal manipulations.”

  “Yeah, what’s the fun in that?” Martin shuddered at the thought of anyone causing so much harm for amusement. “So how long does this game go on?”

  “That depends. I can’t really say. In fact, I’ve probably said too much already. As I explained, my race chooses not to interfere in these matters. But I see our time is up. Good luck, Martin.”

  The ends of the Corridor began to converge on me once again, sending me back to … where?

  ///end log///

  19

  2166 AV: day one

  “Martin Chamberlain, you are under arrest. By order of the Sons of Light — glorious and mighty is their reign — you are charged with subversion against the Realm of the Righteous. May their dominion last forever. You must come with us.”

  Rising from the watery pod, Martin looked around the room. The project team was nowhere in sight. Instead, several uniformed men carrying heavy batons surrounded him. The leader of the group glared sternly at him. His attitude gave the impression, “Don’t test me.”

  The alien had tampered with world history again, apparently for the worse. Martin wondered if this game would ever end. Then, toward the back of the room, he spotted a familiar face.

  “Andrea! What’s happening? Who are these people?”

  She stared stoically ahead, refusing to make eye contact. He noticed she was not restrained and wore a similar dark-gray uniform like the rest. In this reality, whatever it was, could she possibly be working with them?

  Two of the men grabbed his arms and started to pull him out of the pod. Instinctively, he struggled, although he knew it was futile since they were much stronger than he was. One man raised his arm, and Martin saw the baton coming toward his head —

  “Hey pal, naptime’s over. Wake up to the real nightmare. Welcome to Sheol.”

  Martin’s eyes blinked open. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear his thoughts. “Sheol? You mean the Hebrew land of the dead?”

  “Not dead yet, but might as well be. They say no one gets out of Sheol. The same goes for here.”

  The room was dark with no windows, the only light filtering through the bars on the door. Martin sat up slowly and tried to get his bearings. In the gloom he could make out two cots, a toilet, and a small stool. He was no longer wearing the chamo-suit but an ordinary shirt and pants.

  From the other cot, a bearded man stared at him with a crazed gleam in his eyes and smiled. “Not accustomed to these fancy accommodations, are you?”

  “I’m getting more used to them as time goes by.”

  “Time? In Sheol, there is no time. It’s always the same; nothing ever changes. Ticktockticktockticktock. What time is it? What day is it? What year is it? Doesn’t matter.”

  Touching the back of his head, Martin felt a painful bump. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but he could not bring up any memories of this reality, none of the double images that he had experienced in the Maya world.

  “LOGOS, are you there? I may have a … a slight concussion … not thinking straight.”

  <>

  “Can you connect to the datasphere and find out about our current situation?”

  <>

  “So we’re driving blind this time.”

  <>

  His cellmate spoke up. “Hey, who are you talking to? And they say I’m crazy. Not that I disagree. Who wouldn’t go loopy locked up in here for years — or has it been centuries? Feels like an eternity. Say, would that make me immortal? Some kind of deity? Yeah, I like the sound of that. Isaiah Jordan, MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE!”

  “Wouldn’t it be a bit strange, Isaiah, for the master of the universe to be stuck in a place like this?”

  “Maybe my body is trapped here, but my mind is soaring through infinite space, riding on beams of light. No boundaries, no limitations. I’m free! All the stars and planets at my command. There goes a comet! Watch out!” He ducked under his cot, cowering.

  “So much for claims of divinity. Perhaps you’re not quite ready for godhood yet, Isaiah. It’s a shame. I was hoping you could fill me in on what’s going on around here.”

  From under the bed, he answered. “Around here, nothing much. Out there, angels and demons, blood and thunder, chaos and order. The battle to end all battles between the forces of light and darkness. At least that’s what they want you to believe.”

  “Who are they, Isaiah? Who are these people in charge?”

  “Where have you been, fella, living on another planet? If you don’t know, I’m not gonna tell you.” He pointed an accusing finger at Martin. “Hey, you’re with them, aren’t you? One of those Sons of Light, trying to get me to talk, to confess something I didn’t do. Well, I won’t! End of story. So long, farewell, nighty-night.” Still under the cot, he turned toward the wall and instantly fell asleep.

  Martin stretched out on his bed, wincing when his bruised head hit the rough burlap sack serving as a pillow. Ideas raced through his mind but like mice scampering in all directions to escape a cat. No clear picture emerged.

  “LOGOS, I’ve heard that phrase ‘Sons of Light’ before, but I can’t remember where. What historical culture is responsible for this situation?”

  <>

  “And Isaiah called this place Sheol. So you’re saying this is a Jewish-led state? But that doesn’t make any sense. Israel was never totalitarian in nature. Sure, they had serious conflicts with the Palestinians and surrounding Muslim nations, but essentially all they wanted was their own piece of land and freedom to live as they chose. Something drastic must have happened if they’ve taken over this part of the world. What has Xenox done this time?”

  Footsteps echoed in the passageway, approaching his cell. Guards unlocked and opened the door. “Come with us, Kittim.”

  Martin assumed they meant him and followed them down the hall. They led him into a courtroom with a large judge�
��s bench on one side. Behind it, five men in official-looking uniforms sat, each one studying papers in front of him. After making him stand silently for several minutes, the person in the center spoke: “State your name.”

  “I’m Dr. Martin Chamberlain. May I ask why I am here?”

  “You may not. Do not pretend ignorance with us. We have been aware of the Chronos Project for some time. Your attempts at altering the present reality by changing the past will not be tolerated. This blasphemous plot to interfere with the Divine Plan ends this day. Your colleagues have already been incarcerated. You are formally indicted for subversion and high treason. Do not profane the sanctity of this court by denying the charges. The evidence is all too clear.” With a quick, impatient gesture, he summoned the guards to take the prisoner back to his cell.

  Isaiah was busy eating when Martin returned. He noticed that a second, empty plate was lying next to him on the floor. “I guess I missed dinner.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t need it since you were off stuffing yourself at a banquet with all your pals in the secret police. You can’t fool me. I know they’ve planted you in here to spy on me. You probably have some kind of device to suck out my brains when I’m asleep. Well, good luck. You won’t find anything there.”

  Under normal circumstances, Martin might have chuckled at the unintended self-insult, but nothing about this situation was remotely humorous. Without internet access or any memories of his life in this branch of time, he didn’t know which way to turn to discover how to fix it.

  His cellmate refused to talk anymore, so Martin decided to try and get some sleep. However, the attempt was futile; he lay there for several hours contemplating his future — if he had one.

  Over Isaiah’s snoring, he thought he heard footsteps outside the cell. The light in the hall suddenly turned off. He crept toward the door. “Is anyone there?”