Close Up the Sky (26 page)

As far as he could
see into the darkness, there was nothing but open desert around him. He closed
his eyes and held his breath, listening for any familiar sounds. Except for the
heartbeat throbbing in his ears, there was silence. After a few seconds he
fumbled inside the pack for his walkie-talkie. The usual burst of squelch
static did not crackle when he turned it on. He pressed the button a couple of
times, but the transmit light failed to illuminate.

"Can anybody
hear me?" he said into the mike. He waited a few seconds then repeated the
call. When there was no answer he picked up the flashlight, turned it on and
examined the radio. A thin crack ran along the back from the volume knob to the
battery compartment. It was ruined. "Damn!" he muttered to himself. "That
must have happened in the fall." He stuck it back into the pack and stood
up.

A large boulder
jutted up from the ground a few yards to his right. He walked over to it and
climbed to the top. Standing, he switched on the flashlight and turned slowly
through a full circle, imitating a lighthouse beacon. The beam was too weak to
illuminate anything beyond the immediate area of the rock, but in the clear air
the glow would be visible for a much greater distance. He repeated the ritual
several times, but there was no answering signal. After awhile he got off the
rock and went back to where he had left the pack. He unbuckled a side pocket
and took out a Beretta nine-millimeter pistol, part of the equipment issued at
Apache Point. The black metal of the gun was almost invisible in the darkness,
but there was a gratifying comfort in the feel of it. He considered firing a
shot into the air, but rejected the idea. There was too great a possibility
that someone other than his team members would hear it. His knowledge of desert
tribes was very limited but he knew they could be dangerous, especially where
strangers were concerned. And in this particular desert, no one was more of a
stranger than Matt Leahy.
I told you to
be careful
, Gail had said in his delirium. The spooky thought prompted him
to take an extra ammunition magazine out of the pack and stick it in his
pocket.

He positioned
himself as best as he could on the stony ground to wait for daylight. In spite
of the moon, the night sky was ablaze with stars. The absence of lights from
civilization and the pollution-free air made them stand out like ice crystals
on a winter lawn. Never before had he been able to discern their colors so
clearly. Green, red, orange, white, and yellow blazed against the blackness. One
beautiful ruby he thought might be Mars glowed brightly just above the black
mountain. How many times had Edgar Rice Burroughs’s heroic character, John
Carter, looked heavenward on a night like this and watched the moon Thuria
hurtle through the dark skies of Barsoom? The thought brought a smile to his
face. No matter how far from home you were, you could always find something
familiar to comfort you. He tried to find the star Polaris, but it was not in
its usual position in the north. In fact, the entire sky was of a different
configuration than the one he knew. The only familiar thing was the moon,
riding cold and beautiful on the horizon.
In
this time and place you are still a mysterious lady
, he thought.
But some day man will steal your virginity
and mar your face with the heel of his boot.
For some reason, the thought
saddened him. He rested his head on the pack and made himself as comfortable as
possible.

There was no way
to tell from looking at the stars or moon how far off daylight was.
Wristwatches were not worn by time travelers for obvious reasons
,
so he tried to estimate the hour by past events. They were supposed to have
arrived in this time era at four in the afternoon. Judging from the condition
of the flashlight batteries, he calculated that he must have slept in the cave
for about six or seven hours. That would make the current time somewhere around
ten. Then a thought occurred to him. In an inside breast pocket of the L-suit
was his Chronocom pager. He took it out and pressed his thumb against a small
pressure plate on one side. The cover popped up revealing a tiny row of lighted
numerals. They read 08.05.01250.2247. It was August 5, 1250 B.C., 10:47 P.M.

He looked out
across what little of the pale landscape he could see by the celestial light. At
this time of the year it would be at least eight hours before sunrise. He
glanced down at the pager. The numerals glowed red in their black background. How
easy it would be to reset them, and when Dr. Durant opened the portal he would
instantly be pulled through to safety. But he dismissed the thought even as it
occurred to him. Hundreds of lives depended on what he did here and how soon he
did it. Moreover, the success or failure of Babylon Station rested entirely on
the shoulders of his team. Then there was Edward. He had never once truly
believed that his brother was guilty of murder, but until he was found and the
murders were solved, there would always be doubt. He wondered where the graves
of the dead time agents were located. For all he knew they could be buried
within a stone's throw from where he was sitting, cold and decaying beneath the
rocky soil. However, the most dominant reason why he would not use the pager
was Taylor. In the last seventy-two hours she had become the most important
thing in his life. Under no circumstances would he seek safety while she
remained in danger. He closed the pager and put it away. When daylight came he
would try to find the Nile and make his way to Thebes.

The plan had been
to start the search for Edward there. They were to trek overland to the river
where they would trade for passage by boat to the lower Egyptian capital. It
would have been far simpler for them to
have transported
to a location nearer the city, but he knew such an option was impractical. To
materialize near a populated place might have attracted unwanted attention. Though
he had never witnessed it, he knew that the Chronocom caused a powerful release
of energy manifested by a bright flash of green light. Taylor had described it
as looking like a forty-foot column of swirling green fire that flared out
twenty feet at the bottom. The effect lasted only a few seconds, but the
unobstructed luminosity would be visible for miles. Because of that, no time
transfer took place near populated areas, day or night. The one exception to
the rule was transporting into eras where humans did not yet populate the
earth. In those cases there was no need for caution.

Leahy wondered if perhaps some of the ancient gods had found creation in
the imaginations of men who had inadvertently seen such energy releases and the
time travelers that appeared with them. Maybe the writers who speculated that
those gods were nothing more than ancient astronauts came closer to the truth
than they realized. He settled deeper against the pack. The bright stars and moon
reminded him of what he always thought the Arabian Nights should look like. The
scene was storybook beautiful. He lay still and let his eyes wander among the
points of light. Idly, he wondered if someone on a planet circling one of those
distant suns was lying in a desert looking at Sol, wondering if anyone was out
there. He closed his eyes and felt a gentle breeze drift over him. Not long
afterward, with thoughts of Taylor in his mind, he settled into a shallow
sleep.

Meanwhile, though they were not of another planet, alien eyes were indeed
watching. From atop the black mountain the watchers had taken note of the
flashes of light coming from the desert floor, and as Leahy lay sleeping, they
were making their way down its steep slopes toward him.

He awoke in the
gray dawn and scanned his immediate area. Nothing had changed during the night.
He opened the pack, ate sparingly from his supply of concentrated food, and
took a few sips of water. In addition to food and water, the pack contained
some contemporary clothing of the time period, part of his disguise while in
Egypt. He pulled out a thin cotton robe and looked at it. He considered putting
it on over the L-suit but could not think of a good reason to do so. There was
no one in the desert to see him, and it would only serve to restrict his
movement over the rugged terrain. He dismissed the idea as unnecessary unless
he began to observe signs of civilization. Next he took out an item that had
proven to be an essential piece of equipment for time agents. It was a black
nylon utility belt about three inches wide with zippered pockets sewn along its
length. The pockets contained items like medical supplies, folding knife, nylon
string, extra ammunition, and a variety of other things that might be useful in
the field, including a small plastic compass. He took out the compass, fastened
the belt around his waist with the Velcro catch, and stuffed the robe back into
the pack. When it was light enough to walk safely, he started out across the
desert.

The leading edge
of the sun was still below the horizon, but it already provided enough light
for good visibility. He estimated the Nile to be about fifteen miles due east. If
he walked in that direction at a normal pace, he calculated he should reach the
river just before nightfall. He gave the flat mountain a cursory glance and
froze. A thin, twisting ribbon of smoke was rising from its crest. He dropped
to his knees and tried to make himself as small as possible. Though he strained
his eyes, the distance to the mountaintop was too great to discern anything but
the smoke. He remained motionless for several minutes, watching. Most of the
mountain consisted of jagged cliffs, but in one place near the eastern face it
sloped to the desert floor at an angle that could be traversed by people. For
an instant he thought he saw movement on the slope, but at that distance he
could not be sure. Finally, when the movement did not repeat itself, he
dismissed it as heat distortion.

He got to his feet
and resumed his trek across the rough terrain. Occasionally, he glanced back at
the mountain. The smoke was still visible but there was no sign of its makers. He
had gone less than a mile when the edge of the sun broke the horizon scattering
red rays across the sky. He paused to observe the beauty of the sunrise for a
moment, then cinched up the pack and settled into a steady stride. The early
morning air was cold, but he could already feel sweat forming on his brow.

N
essif Eguic Famaed, Chief of
the Morruk tribe, pulled back on the reigns of the emaciated horse he rode. The
mountain slope was steep, and the sudden jerk caused the animal to stumble in
the loose rock. It squatted and dug in with its hind feet, recovering its
balance just in time to avoid throwing the rider. Fear made the horse’s eyes
bulge from their bony sockets. Nessif cursed the animal to his ancestors and
spat over his shoulder. One of the Morruks stumbling along behind him dodged
the stream of saliva. Nessif considered dismounting and leading the horse down the
mountainside, but thought better of it. It was not fitting for a chief to walk
in front of his men when he could ride. He formed his fleshy lips into a
grimace and leaned back against the horse's rump to compensate for the steep
grade. A feeling of urgency washed over him as he saw the sun edge into the
sky. Like everything else, time was against him. Had it not been for the
difficulty of negotiating the slope during darkness, he would at this moment be
standing at the source of the strange light. Now the sun would be well into the
sky before he could possibly reach the spot. He scowled at the thought of the
plunder he might lose because of the delay.

Nessif was
exasperated. The Morruk tribe had many mouths to feed, and the burden of
responsibility hung heavy across his shoulders. He and his band of ruffians had
been combing the desert around their mountain stronghold for almost ten days
searching for prey, but only a few mangy sheep and some worthless trinkets had
been brought in. It was barely enough to feed the tribe one good meal, and
certainly not worth the time he had spent away from his women.

Thoughts of the
female comforts he was missing fueled his anger. If things did not change soon
the tribe would have to eat the horse. He jerked the reigns again. The
terrified animal whinnied piteously and dropped its haunches to the ground. It
spread its front legs and stiffened them against the grade, but it was too late
to avoid a fall. Out of control, man and horse slid downhill in a cascade of
rock and dirt. Nessif threw out his legs and pitched backward over the horse's
rump. The fall knocked the breath out of him with a loud
whoof
. He stifled an outcry as he felt sharp rocks bite into his
back. He lay still for a moment, sensing for injuries, then sat up. The short
sword he wore on a thong around his waist had struck hard against the rocks. He
picked it up and examined the blade. There was a small nick on one edge near
the point. He clenched his teeth and glared at the cringing animal. It had
managed to regain its feet and stood shivering a few yards downhill. It walled
its eyes and nickered softly.

Nessif put a
finger to his lower lip and gingerly probed a cut received from the fall. He
licked his lips and spat a mixture of dirt and blood onto the ground. The other
members of his party had stopped and were squatting on their haunches around
him. They saw the look in their chief's eyes and kept silent. He shot each of
them a fierce glance,
then
glared at the horse. He
wiped a dribble of bloody saliva from his beard with the back of his hand as he
got to his feet. The Morruk leader reached out to one of his men and said in a
voice trembling with rage, "Give me your staff, Hanik!"

Hanik recognized
the dangerous tone of his master's voice. He had heard it many times, and knew
that a murderous rage was about to be unleashed on the animal. Obediently he
handed the long wooden staff to Nessif, who snarled and grasped the staff in
both hands. The muscles in his brawny arms bulged from the pressure of his grip
as he took a step toward the horse.