A Collision In Time

People’s personalities, like buildings, have various facades, some pleasant to view, some not.

– François de La Rochefoucauld

Winter, 3203 BC (November 9th, Gregorian), between Uruk and Eridu, Sumeria

The echo of distant footsteps.

Someone is coming.

No, many are.

Cara stirred and opened her eyes, fully aware. What now? she wondered. She lay on her side in the far corner of the dark cell, with her arm propped under her head providing an inadequate substitute for a pillow. The cold moved through the walls and seeped into her bones, making it impossible to sleep, as did the activity in her brain. Her body ached and she shifted position to try to find comfort on the stone floor.

The firefly approached her. Uriel’s little body glowed, his wings vibrating as he rested on her arm. Cara touched his head with her finger. She directed her thoughts to him. “Some people are coming. You should hide.”

“Yes, I hear them.” He flew to the window, where early morning light struggled to brighten the atmosphere of the cool, rainy day.

The door opened and three men dressed in black tunics entered. They stood in the shadows, engaged in a heated discussion.

“I can’t understand them,” she thought to Uriel.

Uriel translated within her thoughts. “They are arguing about where to put items. Interesting.”

“Items? What does that mean?” she thought to Uriel.

A fourth man entered the room, carrying a torch. He barked orders to the men.

“Asmodi?” she said out loud.

The Sumerians froze and glared at her.

“Hush, Cara,” said Uriel. “Be careful.”

Cara said nothing and watched as the men hauled in a bed, blankets, a table, and two chairs. Another man followed with a goblet of beer, baskets of fruit, a plate of fresh dates. They placed reed mats on the floor and brought in a pottery bedpan and cushions. Fresh clothing was laid out: clean tunics, white scarves, and colorful sweaters. Finally, a small primitive wood stove was assembled near the window, and a fire started. By the time the men had finished, the room had been transformed from a barren cavity to a luxurious suite.

Modi dismissed the three workmen and remained with Cara. He waited until the door had shut. “Is this better, Cara Zitkala-Sa?” he said in a perfect Oxford accent.

Unsure, Cara didn’t answer him.

“It would be impolite to not thank me. Your stay here can improve considerably while you wait for your friends. Mind, Cara, this is all temporary.”

Again Cara didn’t respond. She fought to resist the many questions racing inside her head.

“Aren’t you curious?” Modi asked.

“About what?”

“Ah, you speak. For a while I thought that Uriel had got your tongue, or perhaps more likely Dov, for obvious reasons, of course.” He grinned.

Cara didn’t take the bait. “What the fuck is happening, Modi?”

“You must stop calling me that. My name is Noha. Please do get it right. And what’s happening is that I am making you comfortable. That’s all.”

“I don’t want comfort, I want to be free…Asmodi.” Cara articulated his name slowly.

Modi approached and stopped directly in front of Cara. His breath smelled sickly sweet and reminded Cara of overripe bananas. “You must call me Noha, Cara. Your rebellious nature will be your undoing and my disappointment.” Noha stepped back. He looked into her eyes and directed his gaze up and down her body. “You are stunning. I really should have noticed earlier. A healthy body, and an intelligent mind. A blessing and a curse, don’t you think, Cara? Who would take you seriously?”

“What the fuck do you want, Mo—”

A slap across her face stung her. She glared at him as he walked a few paces back to the door. Her cheeks felt flushed and the side of her head began to ache.

“How ungrateful you are. You are lucky I am attracted to you. Would you force me to hit you again, and again? Must I watch the men outside smack you? Though I am sure they are more interested in other activities.”

“Cara,” Uriel said inside her head. “Apologize. Don’t be proud.”

Cara hesitated. She tightened her fists, letting her nails dig into her palms, and took a deep breath, then unclenched them. “Why should I trust you—” she paused “—Noha?”

“Ah, good girl. Let me answer your question with a story, if you could spare me just a few minutes of your time.”

Cara rolled her eyes.

Modi ignored the defiance. “As a time scientist you might not be surprised to learn that I leverage time travel and the harmonic vibrational nature of the universe as a powerful tool. I am on a mission to prevent catastrophe. My purpose is to ensure progress amongst civilized life across, and with, the universe. It’s quite exhausting adopting the culture, language, and technology here, there, and everywhere. But so be it. Occasionally my techniques may seem crude, but I have saved billions of lives. This planet offers my biggest challenge.

“My story today begins when I became alerted of terrorists intent on causing disruption. These insurgents manipulate facts, distort, lie, and cheat to accomplish their goals. My mission is to defeat the perpetrators and prevent significant human misery —”

“I am certain he considers me a terrorist,” thought Uriel to Cara.

Cara absorbed Uriel’s thoughts but addressed Noha. “You caused World War One, Mod…Noha?”

Modi stepped closer. His cheeks reddened. He yelled, “No, you have been manipulated. I did everything in my power to contain it. And I did the same for you in Boston. I saved your life.”

Cara recoiled as Modi’s spit hit her. Her pulse raced.

“Calm him down,” Uriel thought to Cara. “Be cautious.”

Cara took a breath. “I am sorry, Noha. please continue.”

Modi gazed at the ceiling. “Funny, I feel another presence in the room.” He paced, and turned his attention back to her. “Let me explain further. In Dov’s timeline the First World War did not happen. However, as you learned in your history classes, the First World War led directly to events that caused Germany, Japan, and Italy to launch the Second World War. Then came the Cold War, the Ukrainian Occupation, and so on. The outcomes from those great conflicts established international organizations and peace treaties that succeeded in releasing tension. In the timeline of Dov and her two heartless robots, those lessons were never learned. So Europe and Russia and the Far East instead released their pent-up hatred in the mid twenty-first century. But this time civilized man used far more terrible weapons, and the wars resulted in much greater destruction and catastrophe, measured in billions of lives. There were no international institutions to facilitate peace. So what is worse, the wars of the twentieth and early twenty-first century or far greater destruction later? As Dov seeks to preserve her future, she is willing to sacrifice billions of souls.”

Modi stopped and watched Cara. He continued. “I have friends in Pachamama. A community of activists seeking to establish compatibility with a more balanced universe. Yet Dov and her science fellowship continue to seek technology that undermines real human progress. I ally with those who ally with the natural order. One day my hope is that Dov will join in the movement toward enlightenment. She…you all can lead humanity to its rightful place in nature and the universe.”

What a simplistic version of alternative history, Cara thought, but asked aloud, “Why did you try to kill me in Boston?”

“I didn’t. It was your doctoral supervisor I sought to extinguish. The work he studied will result in the development of horrible weaponry.”

Cara shook her head. “And Emerson?”

“Emerson is a pathological human. One day he will lead armies with the zeal of Genghis Khan. I was simply trying to redirect his energies toward love rather than hate. Cara, I am the good guy here.” He paused and grabbed an apple. With a knife he cut a slice from it and ate it. “I will grant you an opportunity to reflect. You will see the truth of it. Here, Cara,” Modi picked up another apple and tossed it to her. “You must be hungry. Eat.”

Modi headed toward the door. “I am rather busy these days, so I regret I won’t be able to see you until tomorrow. Please rest and consider my words of truth. A warning, however, Cara Zitkala-Sa: you are either with me, or against me, and the life of one pales in comparison to that of billions. I won’t give you long to consider. I trust you understand the option I present. For now, adieu.”

The door shut with a thud. Cara listened to the scrape of a wooden beam sliding into place.

“Uriel?” she thought. “Did you catch all that? And what was that last comment about, a threat?”

“It was indeed. I would like to follow him. Do you mind?”

“No. Indeed, go.”

The gentle buzz of wings softened the mood in the room as Uriel flew off in pursuit of Modi. Cara rested on the newly acquired bed and considered the conversation. She had no intention of considering the proposals and the lies of Modi, but what sort of consequences might there be if she refused to join him? She wondered what Dov would have thought of Modi’s speech.

* * *

On the path to Eridu, the early morning drizzle had quickened to steady rain, but despite the changing weather, the group proceeded forward with collective energy and newfound enthusiasm for the final few hours of walking. By early afternoon the first signs of a city appeared as they walked next to farms ripe with crops, and a date orchard. Long canals irrigated fruit trees and watered domesticated cattle and pigs next to adobe brick homes. The road became noticeably improved and widened.

The ziggurat of Eridu appeared long before any other structures within the city could be seen. It was far larger and broader than its counterpart in Uruk, standing almost twice as high and disappearing into the low-lying rain clouds.

“The original tower of Babel,” said Arion. “There will be others that try to copy this, but not as well.”

“This is Babylon?” Dov asked.

“No, but this tower is the inspiration,” answered Arion. “Who knows, perhaps the city as well.”

“The workmanship is phenomenal,” said Dov. She wiped the rain from her face.

“A lot of slaves and a lot of lost lives, don’t forget, Dov.”

The closer they got to the city, the more impressive the details of the tower became. Rather than being rectangular, it was formed as a cone that sat on a square base of rammed earth, surrounded by trees and a garden. The base of the cone was formed of brick, bitumen, and mortar shaped as connected arches and beams. The upper layers resembled a modern but conical high-rise apartment, with punched windows evenly placed around the structure, each level narrowing toward the top. Arches finished the summit as an elegant hat.

“Welcome to Eridu,” said Kushim to the delegation once they arrived at the gate. “We must sleep here until morning out of respect for the workers who are resting now. Let us camp alongside the city walls; shelters will keep us dry from the rain. We have traveled in a short time. Tomorrow will be a good day. The sun will return, I am certain.”

* * *

In the refurbished cell the day passed without incident. Uriel returned early in the evening as the sun began to set.

“Cara.”

“Uriel.” Cara smiled as he landed on her wrist. “Did you discover anything?”

“Asmodi is busy. I am convinced he is planning an attack. I flew by the port and saw hundreds of oar-propelled boats arrive from upriver, each carrying many dozens of soldiers—archers, infantry, and javelin men. It reminds me of Sandon all over again.”

“And does this relate to the time disturbances?”

“It can’t be a coincidence that you, Emerson, and Kushim find yourselves here, so it must relate.”

“Find out more if you can, my firefly.”

“First I must recharge., I can use the heat and energy from your fire to do so.” Uriel flew to the chair placed near the fire and settled.

Cara went to the bed and lay down. She closed her eyes.

The sound of the opening door surprised Cara. She had been expecting a warning, like footsteps. She sat up quickly.

Modi stepped inside. “I have brought you more food and a treat—a pitcher of wine. Do you care to join me for a drink?”

“I would try and avoid that,” thought Uriel from his hidden vantage point at the windowsill. “I cannot analyze it.”

“I am not thirsty, Noha, and I prefer to think straight, as I am not a good wine drinker,” Cara responded.

“I understand,” responded Modi. “Some fresh bread, then?”

“Again, I thank you for your generosity, Noha, but I am not hungry.”

“You do not trust me, do you, Cara?” Modi snapped at her.

“I’ve recently eaten, and as I said, you have been generous to me. This has nothing to do with trust.”

“Cara—” Modi raised his voice, but immediately calmed. “Oh, but it does. For millennia food and drink are enjoyed during formal agreements, like contract signing, peace deals, the celebration of partnerships, and an understanding of mutual goals. I know you know this. By rejecting my offer you are telling me all I need to know. The symbolism is clear and stark. Though you slept on the bed that I gave you—”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Cara interrupted. “I couldn’t sleep because of where you have me.” Cara’s voice escalated. “I couldn’t sleep because of the lies and deceit you play at.” Cara looked directly into Modi’s cruel eyes. “I couldn’t sleep because you have terrible breath and cold eyes. You are an ugly motherfucker. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

Modi raised his hand toward her defiant face. Two hours later the firefly buzzed out of the room. Cara lay in a bare cell, rolled up in a fetal position and in pain.