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presentation. I nodded to
Wart--Ward Burton, Earth Core’s Assistant Chief--and to our fellow
catascopes, the Drexel twins, Dieter and Derek, who, looking up at
us from their seats, echoed Fydra’s alarm at our bloody condition.
With apologies to Gary for the interruption, I reassured my
colleagues that we were merely decked in impressively horrifying
costumes for our TV show covers. Spud and I each grabbed
a—washable, I hope—plastic chair and tried not to rest our stained
arms on the polished cherrywood surface of the conference
table.
    The central holo in front of us was
displaying an ancient city scene, with tunic-clad pedestrians and
overburdened donkeys trudging down dusty dirt streets that were
lined by small huts made of mud-bricks and stone. Women balanced
baskets of wheat on their heads as their rag-robed children rolled
pebbles on the road and dodged piles of equine excrement. Is that
where we were headed? Foo. I’d been hoping we’d score an assignment
at a luxury resort by the sea.
    Gary paused to welcome us, then briskly
resumed his narration. “Recent Zygint Central intelligence chatter
reports that Benedict is launching a new wave of guerilla attacks
in multiple locations throughout Zygfed, and, unfortunately, also
throughout time. There’s a strong possibility that Earth is now in
Benedict’s line of sight. As you know, one Andart operation last
year in Hutunye resulted in the deaths of over one million Zygan
citizens. If Benedict succeeds in destroying his targets again, we
could see a similar disaster on Earth.”
    “What’s the target?” I asked, alarmed.
    “Not what. Who,” Gary responded.
    The holo over our table dissolved into a
vision of a thin, wiry, dark-haired boy about, I’d guess, the age
of my brother Billy. Twelve or thirteen. He seemed to be engaged in
an animated discussion with a group of bearded older men in what,
judging by the décor, looked like a place of worship. The chamber’s
walls were lined with wood panels bearing carvings of winged
figures, palm trees, and flowers, all painted or gilded with
gold.
    “Yeshua Bar Maryam,” Gary continued. “Our
last trace of him here was a couple of years ago.” He nodded at the
holo. “In Av, 3778, our contact metrics in the period, he is
reported to be about eighteen years of age and working as a
tradesman in Sidon, one of the largest cities in ancient Phoenicia,
western Lebanon today.”
    I glanced over at Spud who was taking in the
information in his typical pose, leaning back in his chair with his
eyes half closed, his hands resting on his abdomen, fingertips
together.
    “We haven’t been able to track his exact
location. Frankly, Zygint Central dropped the ball on this one.
They weren’t expecting Andarts to be able to access time travel, so
they weren’t tracking incursions into the past. Central now
believes that an Andart or two might have gone back in time to
ancient Phoenicia, with the mission of eliminating Bar Maryam.”
    Spud raised an eyebrow. “Time travel? Without
Ergals? How could that be possible?
    Gary shrugged. “Don’t ask me. But Central
isn’t ruling it out.”
    “I’ve got another question,” I said, puzzled,
“Every life is precious, and none more so than Earth’s, but I’ve
never known His Highness, or Zygint, for that matter, to expend
resources just to preserve one life.”
    A wry smile crossed Gary’s face. “No, no,
you’re right… not typically. But, the Bar Maryam you see here is a
young man. As an adult, he plays a critical role in Earth’s
history—” Gary seemed to stop himself. “If the Andarts kill him,
the impact on the future would be devastating. Earth’s timeline
would be changed forever.”
    “That’s not good.” People were still talking
about the mess Gary had made of Roswell. Changing Earth’s history
thousands of years in the past might mean that Earth’s events
evolve very differently and our present might never even
come to pass. And neither might we .