Touchstone (Meridian Series)

by John Schettler

  “I really don’t know,” said LeGrand. “I was pulled forward and immediately sent into the ready room for a quick briefing. I have no idea what lies beyond these walls, but I know one thing—if any one of us should step beyond the influence of the Arch field, we would immediately be exposed to the full force of Paradox—annihilation may be too strong a word, but perhaps not. Who can say what place you may hold in the Meridian taking shape out there? Who can say if any of you exist there at all?”

  Maeve’s hand was shaking. “So you’ve finally done it,” she said with real anger. “It’s just as I feared.”

  “On the contrary,” said LeGrand. “This was not our doing. Would we wish such a reversal on ourselves? No—our adversaries have brought this calamity upon us.”

  “Just as you did to them on that very first mission, correct?” Maeve held his gaze, and LeGrand took a long breath.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “That first mission to the Hejaz worked a transformation. When you prevented the destruction of the second train, you set a new template for all future time. You didn’t notice it in your own lives. The change rippled forward from 1917, but the effects did not gather strength until 2010, the date when Palma was to erupt as a result of the plot hatched by Ra’id Husan al Din. With your help, we stopped that catastrophe from occurring, and then set a watch on that island to secure it against any future tampering. Can you blame us? You, of all people, should understand, Miss Lindford. If the Palma event were not reversed, the whole of Western civilization would have spiraled down into oblivion. We had to act to save ourselves—to save it all—Christendom, Western culture, art, literature, the sciences—all the things you love so dearly—would you rather we left them to the ashes?”

  “They were meant to die,” said Paul. “It was all meant to end at Palma, wasn’t it… The world we made possible was never meant to be. And this whole affair, this Time war, was the result of it all. Our adversaries, as you call them, were simply trying to preserve the integrity of the original Meridian, Maeve. I know this has crossed your own mind as well. Look… it’s difficult for us to admit it but, to use an old phrase, we’ve all been living on borrowed time.”

  LeGrand looked from one to the other. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he pleaded. “That’s why I’m here. We’ve one more chance to set things right! We found out what they were doing, you see, only too late to intervene. You were on to it, professor. Your little trip to the British Museum put us on the trail. It was the scroll, you see, the rubbing.”

  Nordhausen gave him a penetrating look. “Yes,” he said. “I always did suspect that the image on that scroll was a rubbing. It was clearly not penned in ink or created by any other drawing instrument. I determined that it was a rubbing from a carved stone, just as you say.”

  “Well you were quite correct, professor. Why we were so blind to the scheme amazes us even now. We put our faith in technology, and thought our enemies would do the same. We had every confidence that we could best the radicals. We were better at it than they were, and we had the benefit of your original research as well.” He pointed at Paul.

  “Imagine our surprise when you took that fall in Wadi Rumm and discovered a working Arch, in the form of a well, that relied on something as deviously simple as an Oklo reaction as its primary power source.” LeGrand’s eyebrows raised over his grey eyes as he hurried along.

  “We were winning, you see. They built their own version of the Arch, but we found it, and destroyed it. And each time they built another we destroyed it again, until we were certain we had done them all in. We had them hounded in to the far corners of the world, just like old Osama Bin Ladin from your era. He set the model. He gave up his cell phone and relied on couriers—a decidedly low tech approach to the struggle that proved quite effective. He sat in his cave and remained a thorn in America’s side for years, inspiring a whole generation of new insurgents as your government blundered into one grandiose military action after another.”

  “Nothing new in that,” said Robert. “Islam has been guided by so called ‘hidden imams’ for centuries. Whenever the culture comes under stress from external forces, it generates these mythical figures: hidden imams, the Mahdi they believe will emerge to lead them to victory. Then we get Fedayeen warriors rallying to the call of jihad in an almost antibody like reaction against the outside force.”

  “If only the leaders of the West understood that,” said LeGrand. “They have no idea how resilient these religious beliefs can be.”

  “Glad to see you’ve had a change of heart,” said Maeve, but with little warmth.

  “Oh, I can agree that we were wrong with our methods at times,” said LeGrand, “but Western culture was simply too shining a force in the world to be contaminated and destroyed by these radicals. If that meant war—unjust war, I’ll admit—then so be it. Yes, you will be quick to lecture me on imperialism, colonialism and all the other evils that the spread of our culture engendered. But we soon came to the conclusion that empire had its benefits—benefits that outweighed the liabilities.”

  “Oh, certainly,” said Maeve. “Empire is wonderful—when you’re a citizen; when you’re on the inside. It’s not so lovely when you are on the receiving end of the bombs.”

  “I’ll concede that. But what would you hand me in place of Hiroshima? Would you forgo the bomb if it meant a billion people in Southeast Asia would live under the tyranny of Imperial Japan? And what would you hand me in place of Dresden? Weren’t the concentration camps at Auschwitz enough? Cultures clash, nations struggle with one another in the stream of history, and one side prevails. We’re offering social equities, free markets, capitalism, democracy—“

  “Levy Silver,” said Maeve, her arms folded in opposition.

  “I don’t understand,” said LeGrand.

  “…and some of us were mostly brass under a thin film of gold,” said Maeve. “…A poem I read once. Free markets? Capitalism? Haven’t you studies the history of the financial shenanigans that brought on the second great depression? The problem with all the wonderful things that empire provides is that millions have to die for them. Democracy? Equity? The West is guilty of a thousand felonies on that count, monsieur LeGrand.”

  “Yes, yes—we went through all this before, didn’t we? But look at the time!” His eyes flashed up at the clock, laden with anxiety and emotion. “We can’t sit here and quibble over the morality of our culture—it’s dying! Yes, that means the poetry you’re so very fond of, my dear—Shakespeare, Milton, Chaucer and all the rest. They don’t exactly resonate with the edicts of Sharia and the Koran! Now please—just hear me out. We’ve come to you again, in our last extreme. The whole thing has come full circle. You chose once, and now you must make a choice again. Will you help us? Because if you do not, then you forfeit the entire heritage of Western culture. Nothing of it will survive this hour if you do not act to save it.”

  LeGrand looked from one to another, pleading, and it was Paul who spoke first.

  “What is it you have come to ask of us?”

  “A mission—from here—just like the first time. This is the first wound in the flow of Time, here and now. No other Arch exists prior to this point on the continuum. They can do what they might in years to come, but from here you can act with impunity. No one else can interfere. Do you understand?”

  “Act with impunity—yes, I suppose I do understand. But what would you have us do?”

  LeGrand hesitated for the barest instant, then blurted out his response, desperate to persuade. “You must find the touchstone! That’s the key. The professor had it by the earlobe all along. It was Mister Kelly’s idea—the RAM bank, the touchstone database. If you are going to change the history, how will you preserve a record of the way things were? That’s why you sent out your Golems—to keep watch, find variations in the data and warn you of a crisis like this. Well it’s come, and what will you do about it? You’ve got to find their touchstone, that’s what. Find it and destroy it before we loose the whol
e.”

  Part IX

  Decision

  “Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision”

  —Joel: 3: 14

  25

  Kelly was the first to speak, gesturing to the lab complex as he did so. “The Golems are not operating,” he said flatly. “We have no way of identifying a variation in the history without them.”

  “Yes,” said LeGrand, “but you do have the original RAM bank still operating, and it has an imprint of the history as known to this point on the Meridian. That research will be essential... if our plan is to succeed.”

  “Research?” Maeve leaned heavily on the table. “You mean to say you want us to find this thing, this touchstone, by using the data stored in our RAM bank as a guide? That could take years!”

  LeGrand smiled wanly. “Possibly—just as the research on the Pushpoint that reversed Palma could have taken years as well. But we gave you a nudge in the right direction, didn’t we? I have come to aid your quest again. I can put you on the target, if you’ll hear me out. The rest will be up to you.”

  Maeve pursed her lips, obviously struggling with the whole notion of using the Arch again to support this man’s plans. “How do we know you’re telling us the truth? How do we know you’re not just manipulating us into furthering your war plan?

  “I was wondering if that would come up,” said LeGrand. “Fair question. As of this moment, you have only my word. If you’d care to test my assertions concerning the world outside the influence of this Nexus, be my guest. I would not advise it, however. Paradox is quite unforgiving.”

  Paul intervened, seeing that the present line of argument would lead them nowhere. “You have information for us? You have a plan?”

  “We hope as much.” Then LeGrand turned to Nordhausen. “We are really in your debt, professor. The moment we realized our adversaries were using a decidedly low tech solution, we immediately knew where it had to be hidden—give or take a few hundred years.”

  Nordhausen squinted, thinking hard. “In the past,” he said. “It would have to placed as far back on the Meridian as possible.”

  “Of course!” LeGrand smiled. “And what would you say is the oldest locus on the Meridian that would offer us promise?”

  “There are hundreds of ancient sites that might qualify,” said Nordhausen, “but considering the Assassins were using hieroglyphics, let’s confine our search to Egypt.”

  “Correct again!” LeGrand clapped his hands, obviously relieved to have the discussion moving in his direction, but still giving Maeve a cautious glance now and again.

  “Well,” Robert scratched the back of his neck. “We could have a look at the Step Pyramids—they’re the oldest Pyramids known… About 2700 B.C.”

  “We’ll have to do better than that,” said LeGrand. “Besides. The pyramids are too obvious. They stand out like a sore thumb in history, begging to be excavated. This touchstone, if indeed one exists, would have to be kept secret—hidden from the prying eyes of a thousand generations.”

  “Then we would have to move to the Pre-Dynastic times. The oldest-known temple in Egypt is at Tell Ibrahim Awad in the eastern Nile Delta—at least as far as we know now. It was the dedicated to the God Thoth, who appeared in the benevolent figure of a baboon.” His eyes flashed as another thought occurred to him. “Thoth was also the Egyptian god of writing!”

  “Interesting,” said LeGrand. “How old?”

  “About 3400 B.C.—Before its discovery, the oldest-known temple was at Hierakonpolis, which dated to 3200 B.C.”

  “A good candidate. We looked at it. There was nothing there.”

  “See here,” Nordhausen gave him a frustrated look. “Why make this a game of twenty questions? If you have information on the location of the stone, then speak up, man!”

  “I was told to sound you out and discover your thinking on this matter before divulging our best guess. But, as time is pressing, I will tell you that we believe the touchstone lies at the base of the Sphinx.”

  “At Giza?” Nordhausen gave him an incredulous look. “That was thought to be built by Khafre, around 2600 B.C. There’s a stela erected between the legs of the beast that bears his name.”

  “It was placed there by Tuthmosis IV in 1400 B.C., long after the monument was built. We believe the Sphinx is far older than Khafre’s pyramid at Giza, and that he had nothing whatsoever to do with its making. Oh, you will find similar rumors in your RAM bank data if you look. The work of Dr. Robert Schoch, John West, and the noted archeologist Michael Poe all assert the Sphinx may date well into the Paleolithic.”

  “That’s nonsense,” said Nordhausen. “None of that research has been proven. It’s mere speculation. Besides, the use of hieroglyphics was developed in the Old Kingdom, much later. Even if there were a hidden chamber beneath the Sphinx, as many have suggested, why would they hide their touchstone there? You said yourself that the pyramids were too obvious a target. The Sphinx is even more prominent, more compelling.”

  “Good arguments,” said LeGrand. “Our research people made them as well. But a lot happens between your time and ours. We have a great deal more information to bring to the quest. Let me be brief and say that we believe there is a hidden chamber beneath the Sphinx—or at least the place where it once rested.”

  That last remark took the professor off his kilter. “What’s that? Are you saying the Sphinx was destroyed in the years ahead?”

  “Yes, it was destroyed, but not in the years to come.”

  Now Robert was beside himself. “That’s ridiculous. Certainly it was damaged. Why, the French soldiers used it to calibrate their artillery fires during their expedition to Egypt. It’s a pity I didn’t get a chance to see them try that little stunt. I would have knocked them senseless! Speak plainly—was the monument destroyed or not?”

  “It was destroyed thousands of years ago, when the Nile floods were so severe one year that they changed the course of the river itself.”

  “Don’t be daft, man. The Sphinx exists in our time! What are you talking about?”

  “Well, it should be obvious that I’m not talking about the Sphinx at Giza.”

  Maeve had been listening silently, inwardly amused as the two men jousted over the history. Now she spoke up, determined to move the discussion to some conclusion.

  “They come in pairs, Robert. Have you ever seen the image of a Sphinx carved without another in tandem?”

  Nordhausen turned to her, more to see if she was serious by checking the expression on her face than anything else. He could quickly see that her remark was not made in jest.

  “Exactly!” LeGrand was quick to reinforce this new track. “They come in pairs. Well said. To put it plainly—we found the mate to the Sphinx you know today. It was located on the eastern bank of the Nile, directly opposite the existing monument. Together they served as the guardians of the lower Nile—a kind of gateway, if you will. It was destroyed when the Nile flooded and changed its course. The remains of the monument were carried off by the locals after that, to use in other construction projects. Nothing remains at the site—at least where we believe the second Sphinx once rested. In fact, the city of Cairo has completely covered the area.”

  “Amazing,” said Nordhausen. “And you have confirmation on all this?”

  “We are relatively certain of the location, in spatial terms. And we know, for a fact, that both monuments did indeed have a hidden chamber beneath them. You’ve heard the pronouncement of Edgar Cayce. He claimed there was a hidden chamber beneath the western Sphinx, the one at Giza, that was hermetically sealed. He said it contained hidden knowledge of the history of the world, dating from a remote golden age the Egyptians called Zep Tepi. A remarkable man, mister Cayce. He was correct, of course—only he got the location wrong. The history chamber was hidden beneath the eastern Sphinx—which is long since gone. Now… does that sound like a clever place to hide a record of events—carved in stone—so a man might take a rubbing on papyrus, and carry it about in
a completely unbreakable code? No modern man has ever set eyes on this second Sphinx. It is lost, a distant rumor whispered across the ages, yet it is as close, in practical terms, as the cellar of some unknowing peasant in the suburbs of Cairo.”

  The silence in the room was a testament to the impact of LeGrand’s revelation. The professor could hardly believe it, yet he was torn between his natural skepticism and the desire to immediately plumb the depths of this new research. He was the first to voice the obvious conclusion, and the reason for LeGrand’s desperate visit.

  “Then you mean for us to go there? You have the location?”

  “You have numbers?” Kelly spoke next.

  “We can give you the exact spatial location, and a good read on the temporal locus as well.” LeGrand smiled, convinced that his job of persuasion had been successful.

  “A good read?” Kelly wasn’t happy. “It can take an Arion system days to crunch temporal coordinates. The farther back you go, the more processing time you need. We’ll be lucky to keep the Arch spinning for another two hours!”

  “We took care of that for you. It was a bit of a task. The trick was not the calculations, but how to get them to you. I am deeply honored to present you this, Mr. Ramer.”

  LeGrand reached into his cape pouch and produced something, a small shiny disk that Paul immediately recognized.

  “I believe you called these things DVDs, am I correct?” LeGrand extended the jewel case to Kelly, handing him the disk.

  “Where did you get that?” Paul seemed incredulous now.

  “You know very well where we got it,” said LeGrand. “You and the professor were quite upset about it.”

  “You mean you ran a mission to retrieve DVD media from our time?” Kelly voiced the obvious conclusion.