“I want one of those,” Ianna whispered in Martin’s ear as Tiamat walked up to them. They were back outside, on their benches under the canopy in the work room. “The bandeau. It will make me very happy.”
And if you make her happy, she’ll make you happy, Artie snapped, in silent. Yes, yes, we all know how this works. Bio’s. If you thought more with your brains and less with your—
Tiamat stopped just outside their canopy. Her head tipped up when Artie spoke and her eyes seemed to focus on a spot in the air up and behind Martin.
“I agree,” Tiamat said, in silent.
Shit! Artie said. He sounded surprised and afraid. Ianna can’t hear me in silent, but—
“Then I suggest you stay quiet,” Martin interrupted sharply, also in silent mode. He looked up at Tiamat. He kept a firm grip on the half-finished flint knife, all that was left of the stone, in his hand.
“Ianna,” Tiamat said calmly. Her voice was a pleasant mezzo-soprano, bureaucratically neutral and professional, like an AI voice.
“I’m here to inform you that your time, along with all the other Travelers in the camp, is now complete. Please gather your things. Six months present time minimum until you can come back here. A year would be better.”
“When do I have to leave?”
“Now.”
Ianna looked surprised, then stubborn.
“You can’t order me around!”
Tiamat just stared at her for a moment. Her expression froze and a muscle hardened in her jaw as she visibly worked to control herself.
It’s more than that, Artie said, puzzled. He used a different cipher to talk with Martin privately. Martin recognized the cipher. It was more secure than their usual private mode, but it took more processing cycles. The problem was, this timeline was inherently poisonous to Artie. Part of him was in phase-shift but part of him was anchored in Martin. More cycles meant more of him into Martin and more exposure to this timeline.
Which meant Artie was dying faster.
“Don’t do this,” Martin said.
Shut up, Artie snapped. Switch to the new cipher for private. I don’t trust her. And I promised to watch over you.
“Artie—”
I always keep my promises.
This time Tiamat looked at Martin suspiciously, as if she heard Artie but did not know what he said. She hesitated, then concentrated back on Ianna.
“You’re right,” Tiamat said calmly to Ianna. “I can’t order you around. Tell you what. Stay right here. I’ll come back tomorrow. We’ll talk again. If you’re still here.”
Ianna suddenly looked afraid.
“It’s that big of a change?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the worst was that I might be stranded in a different, similar, timeline,” Ianna argued. “Then all I have to do is wait until the next change nexus and I could slip back home.”
“Usually, that’s possible,” Tiamat admitted. She sounded bored, as if this was an old argument, one she had already gone over several times. “But this one is different. With this one, if you stay, you may not find another change nexus that leads home.”
“So what are my chances if I stay another day?”
Tiamat’s face went still, absent, for a moment. Then she was back.
“Your uncertainty factor is going up rapidly. If you stay, you may be here tomorrow. Or you may be… gone.”
“Gone,” Ianna said slowly.
“Gone,” Tiamat said briskly. “Don’t ask me where or when. I don’t know. Just… gone.”
Ianna glanced at Martin.
“What about him?”
Tiamat hesitated. Martin realized that, under the dirt, her skin was flushed, almost feverish. And her eyes were wrong, slightly off focus. She leaned from one side to another, as if it was difficult to keep her balance.
“What’s your name?” Tiamat demanded. “You’re not on my list.”
“Call me Mar.”
“That’s a Canaanite name. Old school. Your family is from Byblos?”
Martin shrugged.
“It’s the name I use.”
“You’re not on my list,” Tiamat repeated, peevishly.
“He’s military. He’s with the Chayil,” Ianna said, anxiously. Tiamat looked at Martin suspiciously.
“My contract is with the Kehin. They said nothing about any Chayil Travelers in this timezone.”
“Since when,” Martin said, carefully, his voice pitched low, “does the army report to the priests?”
Tiamat hesitated. In every Qart-hadast timeline there was constant tension between the Kehin and the Chayil, the priests and the army. Tiamat pulled out her knife from her belt, turned it so the handle was toward Martin.
Handle is double purpose, Artie announced. Inside is a quantum retro-causality analyzer. She wants to check you out.
“Two can play that game,” Martin said, in silent. “Tag her.”
You sure?
“Tag her.”
Martin reached out carefully. He made sure his fingers lightly brushed Tiamat’s wrist as he took the knife.
Done.
Martin examined the knife. To all the natives in the camp it looked as if the new hunter was having a chip in her blade looked at by their best flint knapper.
He studied it for a moment, nodded, handed it back to Tiamat. He held out his new, half-finished, knife blade. She made a show of studying it. Finally, she nodded and handed him back the unfinished blade as well as several strips of trail jerky.
Good showmanship, Artie admitted. She’s done this before. Everyone thinks she has just bought herself a new knife when you finish it.
“He’s got to leave also,” Tiamat said stubbornly.
And now we know she can lie, Artie said.
“He has less uncertainty than you,” Tiamat said, grudgingly. “He can stay a little longer. But you have to go now.”
Martin reached over, touched Ianna’s shoulder.
“You go. I’ll only stay a little while, to take care of our things,” he assured her. “I’ll tell Buyuwawa and our other local friends we’ve got to go to Lake Van to harvest more wheat. They’ll watch our beer vats while we’re gone. The rest of the stuff I’ll just give away or bury. We’ll be fine. I’ll meet you uptime. We’ll find that tub and the hot water.”
“But what if we get separated? What if we both can’t come back at the same time?”
Martin held his hands apart.
“What is, is. But you heard her. Our odds are good. But we’ve got to take care of you, first. Now.”
Ianna closed her eyes, then nodded. She leaned close to Martin.
“My name, back home, is Monica,” she said in a soft rush. “Try to find me. I live on the south side of Qart, near the university. I’ll try to come back but, my grant…” She hesitated. “You know faculty politics.”
You don’t know a damned thing about faculty politics, Artie snorted.
“Shut up,” Martin said in silent. He smiled and nodded to Ianna.
She turned and ducked into their hut. She came back a moment later, her few possessions tucked into a bent wood backpack, her datapad carefully disguised as a carefully polished stone rectangle.
Ianna looked at Martin, uncertainly. He reached down and picked up the arrowhead pouch.
“I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t have anything to give you,” he said. He pulled out an arrowhead and handed it to her.