Close Up the Sky (33 page)

In her thoughts
she returned to a mission two years earlier, when she had worked with a
research team assigned to study the court of Ramses II, the most powerful king
of Egypt's Eighteenth Dynasty. He was also the pharaoh presumed by many
Biblical scholars to have been the foe of Moses during the time of the Exodus. She
smiled as an image of Charlton Heston dressed in Hebrew robes materialized in
her mind. During that mission, she and her team had applied to the pharaoh's
court for access to the palace in order to write a history of his personal
achievements. Other time travelers had found this approach successful in obtaining
permission to study rare documents that might otherwise be inaccessible to
them. They knew that most people in positions of power have large egos, and in
that regard Ramses was no exception. The project had taken more than six months
to complete, during which time she had made numerous friends in his court,
including Queen Nefertari, Ramses’s favorite wife. The two of them had spent
many evenings together discussing the life of the king. She had eventually
become Nefertari’s confidant, privileged to hear secrets known only to the
members of Ramses's inner circle.

Taylor's
confidence in her ability to exercise control over her current situation
reasserted itself. That, coupled with the gentle yawing of the boat, began to
have a calming effect on her. The desolate beauty of the land she had grown to
love, and her memories of Nefertari, raised her spirits. Then she recalled what
Summerhour had said during their confrontation in the hut about Matt
being taken care of.
When they reached
Thebes and were alone, she would question him further about the comment. She
did not know how it was to be accomplished, but her feminine instinct told her
that everything was going to work out for the best.

She lifted a hand
to shade her eyes from the sun. Since leaving the hut it seemed to have climbed
much higher into the cloudless sky. She squinted against the glare off the
water as they passed some fishing boats. One of the fishermen waved a friendly
greeting and she waved back. Turning, she looked into the distance and saw a
larger boat coming toward them from the opposite direction. The oarsmen were
pulling hard, and within a few minutes it slipped by less than a hundred feet
away. As it passed she noted that it had a larger crew than usual for its size,
and that some of them were soldiers. She could also see a bearded man sitting
slumped over with his forehead against the mast. She strained to see his face
but was unable to make out any features. A blanket lay across his shoulders, an
unusual practice for the hot climate. Two of the soldiers appeared to be
standing guard over him. Several others moved to the boat’s rail and
scrutinized them as they sailed by.

"What are
they staring at?" Williams asked.

"Who
knows," Summerhour responded, "but from the looks of them I'm glad
they're going in the opposite direction."

As Taylor turned
and watched the boat pull away from them, anxiety suddenly replaced the
calmness she had been feeling. She scanned every foot of its exterior, but
except for the soldiers and the poor man at the mast, she saw nothing unusual. Before
turning back around she noticed a bright red pennant flying from the masthead. For
some reason she thought of a ghostly saying that her mother occasionally used
to explain an irrational feeling of anxiety. She shuttered and wrapped her arms
around herself as she repeated it aloud.

“Someone just
walked over my grave.”

M
att left his sanctuary as
soon as it was daylight. He did not bother to look at the Morruk bodies again. What
he had seen the night before was enough to last for the rest of his life. After
drinking some water and eating another of the ration packs, he started out for
the Nile. The morning air was cold, but it felt like balm on his parched face. As
he walked he remained alert for any signs of his team, but there was no
indication that anything had ever been there except the relentless sun and
wind. Resolved to make up as much lost time as possible, he settled into a
steady gait and trekked on.

The journey to the
Nile was uneventful, and he now lay concealed behind some bushes at the edge of
the village he had seen from the hilltop. As a precaution he rolled up the legs
of the L-suit and donned a contemporary robe and sandals before exposing
himself. The lightweight white garment was made of a flaxen material, and
reached almost to the tops of his sandals. It did a perfect job of hiding the
L-suit. From his vantage point he could see a number of people on the narrow
street that ran between the mud-brick houses. He could also see most of the river,
and noticed that just beyond the village a small quay jutted into the water. An
almost naked man was working at something near the bow of a boat tied up there.
He needed a boat to take him to Thebes, and this looked like a perfect
opportunity to acquire one.
He drank
the rest of the water from the skin, dropped it in the bushes, and began
walking toward the quay. A few of the villagers looked in his direction as he
walked along, but they appeared unconcerned at his presence. All of them were
clad in simple loincloths or other skimpy garments, and as he passed they
continued working at whatever tasks occupied their day. Occasionally, one of
them would nod a greeting, but to his relief no words were exchanged.

As he approached
the quay, the man working on the boat stood up and regarded him with mild
curiosity. He was short and lean, and his face showed the weathered lines of
many years in the sun. Matt guessed him to be at least sixty years old. A few
tufts of white hair poked out from beneath the skullcap he wore. He smiled and
waited for the stranger to speak.

Matt glanced
around the area then returned the old man's smile. He cleared his throat and
said, "The day grows warm already." He did not know exactly how to
open the conversation and feared he might say something offensive.

"Yes,"
the man answered. "You are a stranger here," he observed.

Matt's nervousness
increased. "I do not wish to bother you, sir, but I have come far and need
help."

"Please sit,
and cool yourself in the shade," the man offered. He indicated a small
cluster of palms a few yards from the quay. They walked to the trees and sat
down beneath them. The Egyptian crossed his legs Indian fashion and folded his
hands in his lap. His kindly brown eyes searched Matt's face as he waited for
him to speak.

"I am in need
of passage to Thebes," Matt said. "I saw you working on the boat and
hoped you might take me there. I have no money, but I can pay you in
goods." He took off the pack and placed it on the ground between them.

"Thebes is a
great distance from here," observed the old man. "But before we
discuss payment, may I know your name?"

"Forgive me,
please. It was rude of me not to introduce myself. I have spent many hours
crossing the desert and I forgot my manners. My name is Matt."

The old man
nodded. “I am called Tarel, and this is my village.” He swept a thin arm across
the cluster of houses. He squinted at Matt as though studying his face. "You
are burned. Has the desert sun done this?"

Matt instinctively
reached up and felt his face where the Morruk fire had reddened the skin. It
was still painful to the touch. "No, it was something else," he
replied. "But it is of no consequence. Will you take me to Thebes?"

Tarel nodded and
did not pursue the issue of the burns. "Did you wish to leave now?"

"It is of
great importance that I reach the city as soon as possible. Perhaps we could
reach it before nightfall?"

"I believe it
could be done," Tarel said, "but first I must provision the boat. I
am a fisherman by trade, so I am not prepared for such a long journey."

"Of course,
sir," Matt replied. "I understand. How long will it take to make
preparations?"

"First the
payment," Tarel said. "If I do not spend the day catching fish, my
family will have no food. I must therefore purchase it for them."

Matt nodded,
opened the pack, and spread its contents on the ground. There were a few
articles of clothing, a tube of concentrated insect repellent, some food
packets, a small first aid kit, and his boots. Tarel picked up each of the
items and studied them. The foil-encased food packets appeared to interest him
most. He rejected all the other items, including the boots, which were much too
large for his small feet.

"What are
these?" He held up one of the packets. "They appear to be metal, yet
they are soft."

"They contain
special food made by my people." He took one of the packets and tore off
the top, revealing dehydrated fruit. He held it out so Tarel could see the
contents. "You mix this with a small amount of water and it will be good
to eat."

Tarel nodded.

Matt folded the
top of the packet down and put it back with the others. The two sat in silence
for a few minutes while Tarel considered the bargain. At last he said,
"The trip to Thebes is long, and I will miss many fish while I am gone. As
I said, I must take care of my family. I will trade for the food, but it is not
enough profit for such a trip. I have no use for these other things. Do you
have anything else?"

Matt waited a long
moment before answering. He was reluctant to do it, but he reached under the
robe and took off the utility belt. He removed the two spare pistol magazines
and the pager from their pockets and kept them in his hand. He then emptied the
rest of the items out onto the ground along with those from the pack. There was
some aspirin, water purification pills, folding knife, and other miscellaneous
objects that would be of no use to a person of Tarel's time period. Most of the
items did not interest the fisherman, but when he saw the knife his eyes
widened. Matt opened the folding blade and handed the knife to him hilt first. He
ran his thumb over the edge of the blade and drew blood. He nodded, apparently
satisfied that he was about to make a good deal.

"I will trade
for the food and the knife," he offered.

"It is
done," Matt replied. He picked up the other things and put them in the
pack, including the empty utility belt.

Without speaking,
Tarel picked up the food packets and stood. He slipped the knife into the waist
of his loincloth and walked the short distance to the village where he disappeared
among the houses. While he was gone Matt put the pistol magazines and pager in
his pocket and sealed it shut with the Velcro catch. He then went over to the
river and threw the pack as far as he could into the water. The current picked
it up and carried it slowly downstream. It floated for a few seconds before
sinking. He sighed deeply as he watched it vanish beneath the water. Another
tie to the twenty-first century was gone.

Fifteen minutes later Tarel returned carrying a basket. "Come,"
he said, and walked to the boat.

True to his
character, Nessif had deserted his men and fled in terror from the battle with
the giant. Even now their death screams echoed in his head. He had cowered in a
gully almost a mile away from the scene until well after dawn. During the night
he imagined he could hear the monster's heavy breathing as it searched for his
hiding place. A fleeting pang of conscience assailed him as he thought of his
cowardice. But what else could he have done? Did not the deaths of his warriors
prove that ordinary men could not withstand the strength of the monster? Even
the powerful new weapon he had taken from the stranger had been ineffective
against him. After all, it would have been pointless for the chief of the
Morruk tribe to die with the others. Someone had to survive to carry word back
to the people. There was no logical reason for giving up his life so cheaply
when his tribe needed his leadership. That line of reasoning assuaged what
little reproach he had given himself and he put the episode out of his
thoughts.

When the first
light of dawn came he had examined the pistol. It was broken, and no matter how
many times he pulled the trigger nothing happened. He had no way of knowing
that he had expended all the ammunition during the battle, causing the slide to
lock back against the top of the empty magazine. He thought of throwing the gun
away, but reconsidered. It was still the most formidable weapon he had ever
seen, and if the stranger was still alive he might be able to persuade him to
repair it. He laughed softly as he thought of the methods he would employ, but
then his expression grew serious. Any plan he might make was contingent on
whether or not the giant had departed the area; that was his immediate concern.

When he mustered sufficient
courage he left the gully and crept back to the fire pit. He avoided looking at
the bodies of his men. He checked the pit and was astonished to find the
stranger gone. Huge footprints led from the ashes to some boulders a short
distance away. He followed them to where they terminated and examined the
ground. The dirt had been disturbed where someone had lain. He saw that the big
footprints led away into the desert, but another trail of smaller prints,
possibly those of the stranger, led back to the scene of the massacre. He
followed them and saw that they circled around the area in a definite pattern. It
appeared as though the man was searching for something. Nessif scratched his
head and continued to follow the trail. Eventually it led to the foot of the
hill where he found a small silver packet wadded up on the ground between two
boulders. He recognized it as one of those they had dumped from the stranger’s
pack the night before. He picked up the foil wrapper and sniffed. Food.

When he saw that the trail led away from the boulders toward the great
river, he smiled and fell into a steady trot in pursuit of his prey. The man’s
speed was slow, so it would not be difficult to overtake him. Somewhere along
the way he would have to find a weapon, and when he caught up with the
black-suited foreigner he would finish the job the giant had interrupted. Of
course, that could wait until after he forced him to repair the weapon. He
increased his speed as the terrain broke into open ground. As he ran he thought
fleetingly of his men, but did not bother to look back at the place where they
had fought and died for him. Failing to look behind him would become the
greatest mistake of his despicable life.