“What a storm,” Paul exclaimed. “Beautiful, isn’t it? And terrible.” Paul’s eyes widened at the at the sight, but his excitement left him when he saw the look on Nordhausen’s face. “What’s wrong?”
The professor stood up, sniffing the cold air, clearly disturbed. “That’s not a thunderhead, Paul. Smell that?… A kind of musty, sulfuric odor, yes?”
“Almost volcanic.” Paul was noticing things now, his senses attuned to the land and sky about him as the growing light revealed more features on the gloomy landscape. He had a sinking feeling that something was amiss.
“The only volcano of note in the area would be down near Ma’an. It shouldn’t be active, however.”
“What about all the volcanic wastelands out east?”
“Dormant for thousands of years,” said Nordhausen.
“You studied that map of yours well.”
“That and a few other notes on the geology before we left.” Nordhausen was hefting the stone in his hand. “Have a look at this,” he said as he extended the polished rock to Paul. “I saw a lot of them on the ground back there.” His arm gestured down the pathway where they had struggled in the rain earlier. “It’s quartz,” he said with an air of finality. “Shocked quartz, to be precise. Notice the striations under the surface? This is very rare, but look how the lowland glitters in places out that way.” He pointed at the gravely plain. “More of these quartz deposits, whatever they are. I found several pieces of it, and lots of little glassy beads on the ground as well.”
“I’m not a geologist, Robert. What’s up?”
“Shouldn’t be here.” Nordhausen shook his head as he shielded his eyes, straining to pick out more features to the west. “We’re in the wrong place. We may have shifted east into the volcanic debris fields after all.”
“You’re telling me you can make that kind of judgment based on a few rocks?”
“Well let me put it to you this way—” Nordhausen had that tone in his voice that was just skirting the edge of sarcasm. “You wouldn’t expect to find palm trees in a conifer forest. These rocks are out of place—or we’re not where we were supposed to be. See any sand out there? It should be a broad flat plain rolling east from the rift valley edge, a dry and sandy region with occasional wadis and lots of multi-tiered islands of sedimentary rock. And this sky…” Nordhausen craned his neck up at the heavy clouds overhead. “The air is heavy, alright. It’s laden with sulfur and ash and other airborne particles. Look here.”
He stooped and groped the flat rock he had been sitting on, holding up his hand as evidence. A ruddy smear stained his palm. “I’ll wager this is all over the place. And it’s not only the rocks.” The professor held up a small blanched leaf.
“Taking samples, Robert? I thought you were interested in history, not botany and geology.”
“Couldn’t help but notice this bit here.” Nordhausen offered his last exhibit. “Fern,” he said quietly. “Nothing I recognize, exactly, but the leaf structure is very apparent. Now, how can I be plucking dead fern leaves out of the Jordanian desert in 1917?”
Paul looked at him, wanting to argue the point for hope’s sake but seeing that Nordhausen was very confident about his assessment. The sinking feeling grew to a pit of anxiety in his gut. “Great,” he said. “That’s just great. We have one chance to save the world and we botch up the coordinates. Well, if we’re not in the Arabian desert, then where the hell are we? Can you tell me that much?”
“I don’t think it’s a question of where, Paul. I think it’s a question of when.”
The implications of what Nordhausen was saying finally hit home. Something was terribly wrong in the setting all around them. The sun was struggling to rise, laboring up through the menacing sky, but it didn’t seem to be getting much lighter. The wan light was filtered by the brooding clouds, casting an eerie henna glow on all the land about them.
“But Kelly said he was just going to shade the variable a bit.” Paul’s protest seemed futile. “He said it was too late to change the time coordinate; that all he could do was nudge it a bit. I don’t understand.”
“Oh, he nudged it, alright. Lord!” Nordhausen’s eyes were alight with a sudden realization. “Shocked quartz, glass tektite bead deposits, withered fern…” Before he could voice his conclusion Paul pointed at something down on the eastern slope of the ridge.
“What’s that?”
Nordhausen followed the line of his arm, noting a strange form on the ground a few hundred yards below them. They instinctively started towards it, drawn by its smooth regular shape and blanched color in contrast to the reddish-yellow cast of the ground around them. If they had brought any sense of caution with them, it was quickly abandoned when they finally reached the spot. Nordhausen could barely believe his eyes.
“Look at this! It’s in almost pristine condition.” They were staring at a strangely familiar shape embedded in the rock face. It was an almost perfectly preserved fossil, over two meters wide; a beautifully regular shell that curved in a graceful arc from the edge of the ridge. There were long, tubular extensions from the base of the shell that reached out for several feet in curvy parallel lines before they vanished beneath the russet crust of the ground.
“What is that?”
“It’s an Ammonite!” Nordhausen smiled. “They were large squid-like creatures—very ancient. Look at the preservation! I’ve never seen anything like it; particularly exposed to the elements like this. It’s hardly calcified.”
“But what’s it doing here?”
“Oh, they’ve found quite a few fossils like this in the region,” said Nordhausen. “This whole area was once a shallow sea bed swarming with these big fellows. But that was millions of years ago. In some locations in Jordan, such as the Ajloun region, Ammonite fossils were found in building stone. Most of the time you can hardly recognize them, as their hard shells are deeply embedded in the soft limestone. You’d never see one like this!” He circled the find with obvious admiration. “Why, it’s too complete, and too well preserved.” His voice began to take on a hollow tone, losing its enthusiasm.
“It’s too young.” Paul came to the obvious conclusion, and each one looked at the other, as though waiting for an answer that would lead them out of the dilemma that was becoming ever more apparent to them.
“Shocked quartz, glass tektite bead deposits, withered fern—”
“And Ammonites.” Paul folded his arms, as much to console himself as to fend off the chill of the morning. They stared at the fossil and then looked around them at the roiling sky. The horizon was still blood-red, lightening to shades of ocher and orange. The sun was making no headway against the overriding gloom above them.
“What’s it all mean, Robert?”
“Well,” Nordhausen gathered his caliph’s robe about him and sat down, square on the smooth rounded shell of the Ammonite fossil. “It means we may very well be in Jordan, but I’m damn well certain it’s not 1917.”
11
Maeve stood in the great oval entrance to the Arch corridor. The sliding doors were open and she could still see the strange, milky auroras of light swirling between the metallic ribs of the Arch itself. There was a solid yellow line on the floor, and she edged toward it cautiously, keeping well back. The sound of the generators was slowly winding down, and the vibration under her feet stilled itself. She called out for Paul and Robert, peering into the montage of dissipating color, but heard only the returning echo of her own voice.