“Interesting names.”
“We are the sons of a preacher man. He liked the sound of those ancient biblical names.” Priest was clearly the mouthpiece of the duo. His brother continued shoveling food in his mouth, jaws working furiously as he chewed, head bobbing to some unheard tune.
“So I take it that’s why you adopted the call sign Priest?”
“Yeah, I quote scriptures and my bro reads the stars and heavens.”
“Really?” Ethan got a second helping of bacon and scrambled eggs, scooping a heap of them onto his plate.
Priest grunted. “Hell no, that is some gay ass shit — you’d have to be an idiot to believe that.” Another egg white disappeared into his mouth.
The other men snickered; they’d probably all heard this line before.
Priest left no room for interruption and started up again, “C’mon man, you don’t get to give yourself your own moniker — it’s against the rules — someone else does. It’s probably written down somewhere.” He stole Zodiac’s coffee, then continued. “Anyway, on my first assignment I was only eighteen then and had stones like no other. My brother hadn’t joined up yet but he was hot on my heels. I was sent into Bolivia, as green as Kermit. On that operation I killed a certain missionary.”
The giant pushed his remaining food aside — as if it was invading his personal bubble — to continue the story unencumbered. “So it turns out this man of the cloth wasn’t just saving souls but was smuggling in weapons for Che, not to mention sodomizing most of his congregation.” Priest’s face morphed into a look of disgust. “Children even. That is some twisted ass shit. How could someone do that and even remotely think it’s okay? Anyway, my commander said there was a special spot in heaven for executing justice on such a scumbag.” Priest sat back and spread his arms. “From then on, Priest it was.”
The manner in which Priest had said the word ‘executing’ gave Ethan a feeling the commando had delivered a slow punishment for the missionary’s crimes. He suppressed a shudder and directed his next question to Zodiac. “How about you?” Ethan poked his fork at Timotheus before taking his next bite.
Timotheus shrugged. “I can’t remember, but maybe because the first animal I killed was a Zodiac bear.” He made a grab to reclaim his coffee when a palm strike from his brother caught him hard between the shoulder blades, nearly choking him on his food.
“That’s a Kodiak, you dumb shit,” Priest boomed, ignoring Zodiac’s scowl. “My brother is a badass when it comes to killing and weapons but he isn’t too bright sometimes.” Before Zodiac could recover and reach for his coffee again, Priest had snatched it back up.
“What about Hex over here?” Ethan jerked a thumb to his left in the brooding man’s direction.
Silence descended over the table. Hex gulped a mouthful of his food and glanced at Ethan. “I’m cursed.”
“Uh-huh.” Well, what could you say to that? Ethan wasn’t one of those hocus pocus, Voodoo and witchcraft believers.
Thankfully Hex elaborated, “On every mission something bad always happens to me. Maybe it’s because I take the most risk, but it never fails. I’m just waiting for my chute not to open one day.”
What a bleak outlook, Negative Nancy. “And this theory of yours doesn’t make you fearful for your life?”
The Cursed One edged forward, fixing Ethan with a serious look. “No. When you know that any second may be your last, you have no room for fear. You just act on pure instinct every moment. I pity all those who are scared of every black cat, number thirteen or what have you. In the end it’s all the same — you die. And you die alone.” He sat back and shrugged one shoulder, his face relaxing. “You must accept the first rule.”
“And what’s that — that we’re already dead?”
Hex shook his head. “You accept that God has control, and you can’t change shit.”
It seemed ironic to Ethan that the message Hex was trying to deliver ran in contrast to their entire purpose of traveling through time to change history. “Then why should I try to stop anything in the past?”
The commando stared at his plate like he was contemplating what to eat next. “You will not try, because you already have.”
Okay, Master Yoda! Ethan decided he was done with the crazy talk and turned to ask Tinman where he came from, when Jackman’s shape filled the doorway and all levity drained from the room.
“Ready up!” he barked. “Time to head in.” He threw a handful of clothes to Ethan who barely managed to catch them before they landed in his plate of food. “You,” Jackman ordered, “go get dressed.”
All his possessions had been returned to Ethan in his sleeping quarters, but as Wallace had reminded him, they would be of no use where he was going. The unspoken order in that reminder was that Ethan must not take anything with him. In silent defiance of that order, he pocketed both sets of keys he had — the one for his mustang and apartment, and Tobias’s house key with the Steelers strap attached to its ring. He couldn’t say why, exactly, he felt compelled to hold on to those items. But for some reason, they felt like the only thing that would keep him from forgetting his past.
The walk from the room to the elevator seemed short in a way that only nervousness and apprehension could accomplish. He gave an anxious tug at the collar of his era-appropriate shirt and with each step forward, his second thoughts grew. He decided to pep talk himself before his will gave out. Isn’t this what I wanted all along? A chance to make a real difference in the world, not just lock up one criminal at a time. The result here could save countless millions.
Again the cargo elevator ride was a great joy on the ears, but the room referred to as the Axiom was completely different today. The evening before it held an eerie quiet and when the echoes of Wallace’s voice played off the walls it jarred the senses. This morning the room was a buzz of activity as a slew of technicians and engineers busied themselves completing tasks at computer terminals and checking last minute safety concerns at each cable attachment.
Wallace approached Ethan and Jackman’s team. “Welcome again. Did you sleep well?”
“Look at the bags under my eyes and think about asking again,” Ethan said.
“I see. Well, this is Dr. Parikh and he will be assisting us today.”
A small-framed, serious looking Indian man approached and stood to Ben’s left. Ethan held out his hand, but Dr. Parikh merely offered a curt nod, oozing detached professionalism. Or maybe he was afraid of germs.
“Okay, we have a lot of ground to cover and not much time,” Ben said. “I need to instruct you on your weapons, your watch, the mission, diet, and a few other minor details.”
“Diet?”
Wallace gave him a patient look. “Mr. Tannor, you will be traveling back close to forty years. Your stomach will not adapt easily to the foods of that decade; your intestines lack the proper enzymes.”
Ethan almost laughed. “Is that really a problem?”
“It is. I doubt you’d like puking up your guts because you can’t digest correctly. Unless of course, you decide to never eat again.” He chuckled, amused by his own wit.
Real comedian, this guy. “So, how do I prepare my insides then?”
“With these.” Wallace showed him a handful of medicine bottles.
“Are those drugs?”
“Sort of. These pills help coat your stomach with the needed enzymes for processing foods that your body has not been acclimated to. By the time they’re gone, your body should have built up the tolerance for digestion. As you may have guessed, these pills are limited in quantity. They’re from the future as well, so don’t lose them; they can’t be replaced.”