Ahead In Time

Chapter 1.

Zet stood leaning over his desk. The screen was always angled to give him a headache. It didn’t matter how he adjusted it. Just somehow, it was never quite right. The image was always a little blurred, triggering eye strain. This only added to his frustration with the universe in general and those around him specifically.

There was a smell in the air of the laboratory. It was one of those indefinable aromas that indicate something very powerful is working, or something very powerful is about to fail catastrophically. The air almost crackled with the tension, both from the elaborate apparatus that towered over the two men, and from the men themselves. Their irritation with each other was more likely to explode than the machinery.

Tan Des looked alarmed at the screen. He could see it fine at almost any angle. He knew, as did Zet, that the problem was his eyes, not the screen. But Zet wouldn’t accept that he needed treatment. He’d rather complain about the poor quality of the screen than admit that there was anything less than perfect about Zet.

The procedure was simple, but he had a phobia. That was the medical term. It is related to an unreasonable fear of something. In Zet’s case, it was anything medical. It was an odd psychological phenomenon that humanity's neurosis had kept pace with its scientific and medical advances. The thirty-first century was a time of incredible achievements, but as with Zet, it was a time of fear to match. The doctors could rebuild Zet’s eyes on a quantum level, but his fear of those same doctors stopped him from having the treatment.

A new scientific advance – was always balanced – with a fear of that new science.

But even poor eyesight and a terminal case of Iatrophobia didn’t stop Zet from being the best Chrono-Tech in the Sol system. He knew he was the best, and this didn’t improve his relationship with his colleagues either.

“I’m worried about the quantum uncertainty factor with this test. The figures are too high.” Tan Des looked flustered. He tapped on the screen in the location of the reading, but he only succeeded in distorting the image and making the screen dirty. Another thing that drove Zet to distraction. They’d had this same conversation at least every day this week, and twice today already. The Chrono capacitors were charging, hence the strange smell, and the weird tingle in the skin.

“The field can’t escape this room? Check and confirm the field will not go beyond this room’s shielding.” Zet was adamant; nothing was going to delay this test. His unreasoning fear of doctors was counterbalanced by an almost reckless attitude in all other areas of life.

Before the two men could get into a really good argument, a robot entered the room carrying a tray of tea things. The tray was carefully held in both the robot's hands. It moved with a fluid smoothness that belied its age. The metal teapot was uncovered, and if you looked carefully, you could see a small trail of steam coming out of the spout. There was a ceramic jug with actual milk and a small selection of biscuits. It was a scene that wouldn’t have been out of place in an Agatha Christie novel, although it would have been a butler, rather than a robot, serving the tea. You could have imagined Miss Marple being ‘mother’. The robot turned to face the two men and, with a slight bow, careful not to disturb the tray’s contents, asked in its archaic voice.

“Would you like some tea, Sirs?”

“Why don’t you get rid of that thing? It’s got to be two hundred years old.” Tan Des said, waving vaguely at the robot, his disgust evident to Zet in both his tone and body language. This only worsened Zet’s rapidly deteriorating mood. Tan Des was still new to the Chrono lab’s team. He still thought that new things were better. The modern robots could have a holographic overlay; they could have a beautiful naked woman or a mythical creature bring them their tea. But this robot was ‘dead’. The externals were just a burnished bronze. It couldn’t even change colour.

Zet had worked in Chrono-Tech long enough to know that nothing was ever really new, and he was of an age where things from the past felt reassuring. He liked the robot, as he liked drinking real tea, made from actual plant leaves with female bovine mammary gland excretions! It was an anachronism, but one he relished.

“It’s been in my family six hundred years, actually. It is an antique. I like the way it speaks. It’s using an old dialect from Northwestern Europe and North America. My family came from there originally.” Zet turned to the robot and said, “Please just wait a moment.”

The two men then returned to their argument and momentarily forgot about the robot.

“The capacitors are fully charged. It’s now or never. They can’t stay at full capacity for long.” Tan Des said as he looked at the large, spiral structure apprehensively, as though he could see the energy straining to break out.

“What’s the quantum reading?” Zet asked. His irritation with his assistant was almost bordering on anger.

“0.93% - Too high. We need to recalibrate.” Tan Des kept glancing upwards. Convinced at any moment that a failure would flood the room with plasma, vaporising them both almost instantly. Tan Des feared that if that happened, they’d die, but not fast enough. The machinery hadn’t failed in centuries. But he still had this morbid terror of a ball of superheated fire stripping his flesh away in layers. Just as with Zet, Tan Des also had his fears, although he would argue that his were at least based on a real possibility.

“There’s not time. Even at that reading, it can’t extend outside this room. Set the timer and let's go.” Zet led the way out through the large metal door and sealed it behind them.

There were no feelings or sounds, but that was to be expected. Had they been aware of anything, then something would be terribly wrong.

Chapter 2.

As they entered the room, it was obvious something was terribly wrong.

Tea things were scattered across the floor, as well as shattered porcelain and milk. The metal teapot was still intact, but the brown fluid was leaking out rapidly. Zet reached down and stood the pot upright, as if by reflex. The aroma of fresh tea filled the room, now that the sense of a storm waiting to burst forth had dissipated.

“Robot, what’s the meaning of this….” His voice ran down as he looked towards where the robot had been standing. It lay face down on the floor, its head sliced clean off at the shoulders. The edge was cut to an atomic level—the metal was shiny and bright in the laboratory lighting. Its various wires and connections cut cleanly through.

“What happened?” Asked Zet, but it was painfully obvious. The Chrono field had sliced through where the robot had been standing. The head had gone somewhere. The system was supposed to send back nothing but empty air. The laboratory's cleaned and filtered air was to be sent back a few thousand years. It would have had no effect, but now that cubic meter of air contained the robot's head.

The seriousness of the contamination of the timeline was hard to overestimate.

“Where, or rather when? ...” Zet Asked, his voice distant.

Tan Des was already checking through the equipment and examining the screens to determine to which exact point in time the head had been sent.

“Around five thousand years ago, but at this precise location. The Chrono field is gravity-fixed, so it would have stayed in the gravity well.

“What was here five thousand years ago? Is there any way of checking for chrono-contamination? We could find ourselves in a lot of trouble.” Zet’s face was etched with worry and pain at the loss of this family heirloom, as well as the feared investigation into a possible Chrono-Pollution event.

Everyone remembered what had happened when that model Sphinx had been sent back to ancient Egypt. It had created a paradox. Which had caused the other to occur: had the model of the Sphinx encouraged the Egyptians to build it? But then, how could there be a model of something that hadn’t existed until a model of it had been sent back in time? Kids still learned about that catastrophe at school.

“There’s no suggestion of contamination at the point of arrival. There is an odd reference that the computer lists as having a fourteen per cent possible connection, but that is dated three thousand years later.” Tan Des looked relieved.

“So, who was here five thousand years ago?” said Zet. “Can we get it back?”

“Yes, and no, we can’t access it five thousand years ago, as there’s nothing to locate. But there is that tentative reference to it in the year one thousand. It’s a low-probability reference, only fourteen per cent. But that’s better than nothing.”

Zet’s pain was apparent in his voice. That robot had been part of his family for six centuries. “So, who’s got the robot’s head?”

“Some people called the C-an-aan-ites.” Tan Des struggled to pronounce the word displayed on the screen.

Chapter 3.

King Solomon announced that he would think on the matter and apply his vaunted wisdom to a resolution. Rising from his throne, his regal cloak sweeping through the air with a swishing sound. He stepped behind the curtain and rapidly made his way down the steps, carved, like the whole chamber, into living rock.

“’ Ancient One, I have a riddle for you to solve.” Solomon’s voice was hushed, reverential. “Can you help?”

The room had been here for untold generations. The Canaanites who once lived in this region had consulted with the ‘Ancient One.’ Relying on its advice on when to plant seeds and on how to improve treatment for diseases. They had carved this underground chamber to house the oracle. They had then even built their royal palaces and temples over the top of this chamber to keep the ‘Ancient One’ safe and at hand when needed. All it asked was for it to be allowed to feed on sunlight from time to time.

The candles that lit the room caused shadows to dance around the walls, but several were guttering, giving the room an ominous feel. He needed to light another. No one other than the king was ever allowed to enter this room. It was strange to imagine a king lighting a candle, the job of a servant. But no one could know the secret of the ‘Ancient One’ that lived beneath the throne room of the King of Israel. There was staining on the walls from a thousand years of smoking torches or candles. The air in the room had an almost greasy feel to it.

The ‘Ancient One’ was positioned on a plinth in the middle of the room, which had also been carved from the rock itself and was as old as this almost mystical chamber—the ‘Ancient One’s’ bronzed ‘skin’ radiant in the candlelight.

The lights in its eyes glowed slightly to indicate its willingness to help.

Solomon took a deep breath. He might have been a king, but here in this room, he felt like he was in the presence of a god. Even more than when he visited the temple. At first, words tumbled out of his mouth, but he slowed down and spoke more slowly. “Today, two women came to me with a problem. One of their babies died. But they are each claiming it was the other woman's child that died and that it’s their own child that still lives. How can I judge fairly in this case and award the child to the right woman?”

The ‘Ancient One's’ reply was slower than usual. It clearly needed to feed on sunlight as soon as this session was over.

“You must chop the baby in half. The birth mother would rather lose her child than see it killed. The real mother will suggest you give it to the other woman. She is the true mother.”

Solomon was dumbstruck. His voice squeaked and cracked as he asked. “You want me to chop a baby in half!”

“No, you only threaten to.” The ‘Ancient One's’ tone was reassuring. “It will all be fine. Now, please, I need sunlight if I’m to continue to help you.”

Solomon picked up the head and slipped up the secret stairs to the roof, where he positioned the ‘Ancient One’ in the full sun.

“With your help, I am getting a real reputation for wisdom. This Queen is coming to visit because she’s so impressed with my great perception.

“What's her name?” Asked the ‘Ancient One’.

“Sheba, or rather, she’s the Queen of Sheba.” Was Solomon’s excited reply. “Apparently, she’s really gorgeous. I can’t wait.”

Chapter 4.

The pickaxe hit the hard rock with a chink, and another piece fell away. It was hard and dirty work. The dust was choking; the men's faces were covered. They looked like Arabs, with their heads wrapped. Such a reference would have been insulting to the men in the tunnel. They were trying to excavate the old stairs that reportedly led to some secret underground chamber. But if any of it was real was known only to God, and the little creep that had sold them the information. Had he done it for silver, or the fun of sending some of the best warriors in Christendom down a rathole was unknown. But the men had their opinions. If it turned out to be a trick, the creep had better have the fastest ship in the Western world. He’d need it.

The conquest of Jerusalem had gone well, and now they were looking for the throne room of King Solomon, whose famous temple had given the order its name.

The Knights Templar.

Another swing and another. The work continued, each man taking his turn and then back up into the air and sunlight. It was an impossibly slow process. But it was God’s work, and with his strength, they would succeed.

Finally, through all the choking dust, sweat and pain. They reached the bottom of the stairs. Someone had gone to incredible lengths to ensure that what was down here never saw the light of day again. Whether it was the Arabs that had tried to bury something they considered a blasphemy or perhaps it had been buried to prevent them from finding it, didn’t matter. They had failed, and soon the Knights would find it, if ‘it’ existed at all.

The faith of the Templars and God’s spirit had carried them through.

There was a large wooden door at the bottom of the stairs. It was solid but incredibly old. With a few swings of an axe, it splintered and broke. Revealing a dark chamber beyond.

It was foolish, but as the two knights approached the entrance, both drew their swords. Perhaps they’d have done better with a Bible or a cross. If an evil spirit lurked here, swords would do no good. But it gave them confidence. With a spluttering torch in one hand and a sword in the other, the two men stepped through into the chamber carved into the living rock itself.

The room was completely empty except for a small pillar, like a very narrow altar. The only thing in the room was a skull. It sat perched on top of the pillar, as though it were a sacrifice to some demon.

They looked about the chamber, but there was definitely nothing in the room, other than the skull. Perhaps it was a relic of some sort, maybe the skull of King Solomon himself. The two men appeared uncertain as to which would pick up the skull. Whoever did would either need to drop their sword or their torch, and neither was keen to be in the dark or unarmed in this forbidden hollow carved into the very Earth.

Finally, one of them summoned up the courage and, reaching out, picked up the skull. It was much heavier than expected, and he needed both hands to lift it. It felt cold, like the metal of a sword. There was no mouldering flesh. The ‘skull’ was clean and had eyes. It was a true mystery, worthy of the holy lands.

Both men made their way up to the roof, where the Lords and Commanders of their order awaited this mystery. Reaching sunlight, both men were relieved and felt a tightness about their chests ease. It was good to breathe the fresh air again. A large table had been placed on the roof terrace, and the ‘Skull’, if that was what it was, sat in the middle, with the Knights standing around it in admiration. Its burnished bronze glowed in the afternoon sunlight.

“You found it in the chamber, as we were told?” One of the Lords asked.

“Yes, Commander, it was deep underground and well hidden, but with God’s help, we have succeeded.”

The men examined the ‘Skull’, although it was clearly something else entirely. The records that led to this discovery stated that King Solomon himself may have referred to this ‘Skull’ as the ‘Ancient One’. He’d relied on its advice and wisdom. Whatever had given advice to the fabled wisest man would be a divine gift to the Order of the Knights Templar.

…

The ‘Ancient One’ sat soaking up the sunlight and recharging. It listened to the speech of the men around it. It identified it as a form of Latin, mixed with other languages. Many of which were no longer spoken. As it listened, it began to build up a vocabulary. After some time, it was confident that it could talk and be understood.

Just as the Chrono-Field began to form around it, to drag it, and part of the table, two thousand years through time to the thirty-first century, the ‘Ancient One’ had time to ask.

“Would you like some tea, Sirs?”