22 September
126,892 BCE
Abiquiú, New Mexico
Nathan slouched on the edge of the bed, the spray bottle still in his hand, and stared at Haakon. His chest rose and fell with a regular rhythm. His color was maybe a little better, too. His shoulder was still red and swollen where the arrow had been, but it was no longer oozing.
Maybe he would be all right, after all.
What the Chaos was that nonsense about saber-toothed tigers? On the other hand, if Vikings can show up in Iowa, maybe there really were tigers here, wherever here was. For sure, Nathan had no intention of going outside to find out.
A whole boatload of questions clogged Nathan's head. There was no doubt they'd traveled in time, from fall to winter. But that whole "Timekeepers" thing? Haakon would have to do better than the pitch for a bad TV show to explain what was going on. And this place—it was like a craptastic movie set of a spaceship, all white and antiseptic. Creepy silent, too. Why were they here instead of at the HQ of this all-powerful "Timekeepers" cabal?
When Haakon woke up, he had a lot to answer for.
Nathan stood. His joints creaked and his muscles ached. It was like the day after a heavy workout in the gym after a layoff, when your body isn't used to exertion. Except that Nathan worked out three days a week, like clockwork.
He leaned over and laid a palm against Haakon's forehead. No obvious fever. That was something.
Dried blood covered the man's torso, and mud and filth crusted his pants. The sheets were a mess, too. There had to be a bathroom and clean linens somewhere in this place.
First things first. Where were his blasted glasses?
He returned to the octagonal room where he'd woken up. A glimmer of light let him locate his spectacles in a pool of vomit, blood, and mud. He wrinkled his nose at the stench and retrieved his glasses. His broken glasses. One lens was completely missing. The other was chipped, and a crack ran diagonally through it. He tried putting them on anyway, but they just made things worse. Perfect. Not only did he hurt everywhere, he couldn't see anything.
He eyed the mess on the floor and wrinkled his nose. If he had a mop, he'd clean it up. Time to explore.
Four doorways opened into this octagonal room. Three led to darkness, and the fourth to the room with the beds. The bathrooms were probably there, too. Now that he thought of it, he needed to find one.
He checked on Haakon again. Still no fever. Still breathing. God, he's got an amazing bod, with abs to die for. Nathan let his fingers run over the rippled muscles and the coarse dusting of black hairs.
Enough of that. He needs taken care of.
Nathan started opening doors. Clothes. Clean sheets. Bathroom. Check. All white ceramic tiles, polished chrome fixtures, and colorless LED lighting. Figures.
He relieved himself and then stood over the sink, washing his hands. His reflection stared back at him, sallow-eyed, sunken-cheeked, and blood-splattered. "Crap, I'm a mess," he murmured. The glassed-in shower looked mighty inviting. He'd come back after he cleaned up Haakon.
He'd need a bowl for soapy water. Maybe that was in one of the other rooms. He checked Haakon's forehead one more time before returning the octagonal room. Still no fever.
Pick a doorway. If only Monty Hall were here to help him choose. He walked through the one opposite the bedroom, and overhead lights flickered to life to reveal a lounge, perhaps fifteen by twenty feet in size. Someone had actually decorated this room, with warm, ash-colored paneling, earth-toned carpeting, and a stone fireplace along one wall. Overstuffed sofas and chairs scattered about in random conversation nooks. The wall facing him was entirely glass. It looked out on a sunny, green slope leading down to a meandering stream. A veldt rose from the opposite bank. Shoulder-high straw-colored grass waved in the breeze and stretched to distant mountains.
No bowls in this room.
The next room was as minimalist and utilitarian as the others, but held recognizable sinks, cooktops, and ovens. A kitchen. Good. In a matter of seconds, he found a pair of stainless steel mixing bowls. Perfect.
He used hot, soapy water to gently wash Haakon's torso, taking special care to avoid irritating the wound. The swelling seemed a bit less, and the sprayed-on skin—or whatever it was—seemed to be holding. Still no fever. That was good, too. Probably.
Fuck, he wasn't a doctor. Maybe he should be looking for a phone.
But he recalled Haakon's warning about saber-tooths. Somehow, he didn't think he'd find a phone. If Haakon was going to get better, it was up to him. And the nano-docs, whatever the hell they were.
Haakon stirred, and a moan escaped his lips. His eyes rolled under closed lids.
Nathan chewed the side of his mouth. For sure, the poor guy would rest more comfortably without those boots. With a little determination, they came off, along with his knitted socks.
The sheets were dirty, too, covered with mud and blood. Nathan pushed on the bed next to Haakon's so the two butted up against each other. If he was careful, he could slip a clean sheet underneath Haakon and then slide him onto the other bed where he'd have clean linens.
Except that he'd still be wearing those filthy pants.
What the hell. It wasn't like he was going to rape him or anything. Nathan unbuttoned Haakon's slacks and slid them off, revealing muscular legs covered with coarse, black hairs. The boxers are next. Trying to keep a clinical state of mind, Nathan finished stripping him.
The last thing was a Celtic cross that still hung about Haakon's neck by a leather strap. Nathan remembered it sprouted a holographic display that he'd mistaken for a mobile phone. He slipped it off and inspected it, looking for a way to switch it on. It was bent, dented really, and blackened as if it had been burned. That could be why the surface was partly melted. Nathan couldn't find any obvious way to turn it on, so he put it on the bedside table. Just another mystery for Haakon to resolve once he woke. He turned to washing Haakon's body.
It took about ten minutes, but when he was finished, Haakon lay on the clean bed, freshly washed, and underneath a crisp, white sheet.
Nathan's heart thudded, whether from exertion or the sight of Haakon's naked body he wasn't sure. Screw clinical detachment. No getting around it. The guy was one lean, mean, muscled machine. Hung like a horse, too. Just my luck, he's probably straight. What mattered, though, was that Nathan had taken care of him.
Weariness dragged at his muscles. Maybe a shower would help.
****
Nightmares roiled his sleep. At one point, he stirred and saw a shadowy figure hunkering over his bed.
“Hush, now,” the man murmured. “Trust your instincts. And Haakon. You are destiny.”
Nathan tried to speak, but only managed, “Who?”
“Who am I?” Amusement tinged the phantom voice. “Call me Ismael.” A knuckle stroked Nathan’s cheek. “Rest now.”
Nathan fell back into deep sleep.
****
Nathan jerked awake, naked and in bed. His muscles ached and his head throbbed. He'd had the most screwed up dream.
He stretched and fumbled for his glasses but couldn't find them. Someone snored on the next bed. A cold ball of ice formed in his gut.
It hadn't been a dream.
He sat up and re-wrapped a towel about his waist. He was lying on dirty sheets in the bed next to Haakon's. At least his patient looked better. A lot better, in fact. His color was good, and the swelling seemed to have gone down on his shoulder. Nathan felt his forehead. Still no fever.
His gaze landed on the med kit. "Shit." He was supposed to give Haakon an injection every three or four hours. Nathan picked up one of the cream-colored plastic tubes from the kit. It really did look just like a cheap ballpoint pen, except for the label someone had helpfully taped to the side.
nano-doc Injector-Emergency Use Only. Remove cap. For optimal use, position tip firmly against muscle tissue. Do not press against bone or insert into wound. After positioning, press injector button at top and release. Good for one dose only. Do not exceed six doses in twenty four hours.
At least the label didn't ramble on with lawyer-written weasel-words about possible side effects. Nathan frowned. How long had he slept? His watch read 3:48. It had been just before midnight when he'd checked before. He was sure he hadn't slept for fifteen hours, so it must be four in the morning. Just in time for an injection of nano-docs, whatever the hell they were.
The injector gave a little huff when he pressed the button. It must be gas propelled. Haakon stirred, but didn't wake.
All right then. What now?
Nathan hitched the towel tighter and walked to the octagon room. He hadn't noticed earlier, but a framed print of an enormous white flower hung on one wall, above a small LED sign that read, "Abiquiu, -10/31/126,892:16:35 BCE." The trailing five ticked to four while he watched. A countdown of some kind, then. The living room was straight across from him, the doorway on the left led to the kitchen, and the other one was dark. He thought about looking for coffee, but decided to check out the fourth room first.
The lights came on when he entered. Great. Another immaculate, white room with black tile floors. Whoever designed this place had real imagination. This room, however, had computer monitors, keyboards, and racks of equipment with flashing lights.
He sat at the nearest console and jiggled the mouse. The monitor flared to life and presented him with a logon screen. He tried user and password on the off chance whoever set this up wasn't security conscious. A window appeared and announced, "Username or password not found. Try again. This terminal will lock after three failed attempts. You have two attempts remaining."
So, they were careful. He slid to another keyboard and monitor and tried again. Same result, except this time it added that he had one attempt remaining.
Okay, then. This room was useful as tits on a boar, as his foster father used to say. Time to look for coffee.
In the kitchen, he recognized a fancy coffee maker, just like the one that asswipe Professor Wilson kept in his office. The cabinet above held supplies. The refrigerator had awful, fructose-based creamer, but it was better than nothing. The machine whirred, ground the beans, and brewed a cup for him. The aroma was fabulous.
He took a sip and then wandered back to check on Haakon. No change.
He really should change the sheets on the other bed. Maybe later. The lounge might be interesting. At least it had a view.
He ambled into the octagonal room and halted. The ebony floor gleamed in the fluorescent light. No blood. No mud. Someone had cleaned it up. When did that happen?
A machine buzzed behind him. He jumped and whirled about. A disk-shaped device a couple of feet across scooted around the room to where he'd dribbled some coffee. The puddle disappeared after one pass, and the little robot shot back into a hidey-hole in the wall. A Roomba, or something similar, except he'd never seen one so efficient.
If only there was a machine to change the bedding.
He wandered back to lounge. Outside, the forest cast long shadows, and the sun hung low in a darkening sky. It must be early evening local time. Nathan collapsed into one of the sofas facing the window and drank in the pastoral scene while sipping his coffee.
The building, refuge, or whatever this place was, sat on a little knoll overlooking the stream. It bubbled over a pebbled bed and curved around a sandy beach on the opposite bank. What looked like extra-tall, golden wheat rippled in lazy waves on the far side of the stream, stretching almost as far he could see. In the distance, a flat-topped mountain dominated the horizon. But what caught Nathan's attention was the herd of beasts that ambled over the nearest hillock and trampled the grass. "What the fuck are those?" They looked like someone crossed Texas longhorns with buffalo.
He stepped to the window and placed a palm on the glass. "They're real," he breathed. A calf, barely a quarter the size of its mother, splashed into the stream. Droplets cascaded down its face, and its gleeful cries filled Nathan's ears. It was like watching the best nature film ever. Midstream, sparks flashed on the animal's nose. It bawled and scampered back toward its mother, but one of its hooves must have caught on something in the river. It jerked to a halt, twisted, and wailed, but it was stuck. Its cries sounded clearly through the intervening glass.
But then Nathan's breath caught in his throat. The detail was incredible: the droplets, the web of wrinkles about the calf's eyes, the flies buzzing about the mother. He shouldn't be able to see those things, not without his glasses. "I can't believe it," he stammered.
Nathan pulled his hand away from the window, leaving a sweaty palm print behind. "I can see all the details," he breathed. Wrinkles, flies, everything. "Without my glasses." His palm print faded to nothingness.
What the fuck had happened to me?
A thunderous roar of hooves drew his attention back to the window. The herd was stampeding downstream. Two animals, the baby and what must have been its mother, stayed behind, panic glinting in their eyes. What was going on? It was like that scene from Jurassic Park, where all the dinosaurs took off at once right before the tyrannosaurus showed up.
The older creature splashed into the stream next to her infant and pushed. As she maneuvered, her hind quarter crossed midstream and more sparks flared. This time, something thunked on the roof above Nathan. A ruby beam of light flashed from overhead and into the creature. Where it touched her, flames sprouted and flesh parted. She fled, but then collapsed onto the far bank, not thirty feet from the window where Nathan stood. The baby calf had managed to free itself, and now stood on the bank next to its dead mother, baying in terror.
Smoke drifted upward from the mother's squirming body. Nathan frowned. The animals must have broken some perimeter and set off automated defenses. Maybe the sparks were some kind of warning.
A sudden blur of gray fur, muscle, and ivory fangs pounced from the underbrush. It swatted at the calf and flung it to the ground, where it convulsed. Blood spurted from ragged claw marks on the animal's side. In another instant, the predator was atop its prey, sinking its teeth into the belly of its victim.
Disgust and fascination combined to rivet Nathan's attention on the scene outside. The predator's fur was mottled, like a housecat's tortoiseshell markings. It even looked vaguely like a cat. But it was huge, nearly as big as the adult buffalo. It had broad shoulders and a humped back that sloped down to narrow hips. Most terrifying, though, were the fangs, now glistening with blood, that jutted out of its mouth and hung over its lower jaw. Intestines and blood splattered across the ground while the cat gorged.
The cat's enormous teeth looked just like sabers.
Fuck. First Vikings. Now saber-toothed cats. And magically repaired eyesight. What’s next?