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We had to make sure
Benedict didn’t succeed.
    “But you can’t identify Andarts in … Sidon?”
I asked, worried. “ Nothing on our scans?”
    Gary sighed. “Zip. If Andarts are there,
they’re under deep cover. We’ve started monitoring transport fields
for time-traveling invaders now, but the only way for us to catch
anybody that’s already gotten through is from the inside. If and
when they make their move against Yeshua.”
    “Any estimates on when that might be?” asked
Spud.
    “A week, give or take.” Our Head shook his.
“That’s the best we can guess based on their attack patterns—“ he
looked pointedly at me and Spud—“throughout the Milky Way and
Andromeda.”
    “Okay, team, History’ll give you the upload
and help you Ergal your costumes and look.” Gary stood up
decisively. “We’ll need you to M-fan in Sidon within the hour.” He
strode to the door then turned back to us for a final word.
“Remember, failure could be catastrophic.”
    “Got that, Gary,” I said, warily. “Isn’t it
always?”
     
     
    * * *
     
    Middle East—two thousand years ago
     
    In 3778, Sidon was a bustling Middle Eastern
port city on the Mediterranean in what was then an independent
colony in the vast Roman Empire. According to our History uploads,
the Greek poet Homer (who, as the joke goes, wasn’t really Homer
but another poet with the same name vi ), had sung the praises of
Sidon’s skilled craftsmen who manufactured glass and purple dye.
Think about it: if the Roman Empire had not supported its
Phoenician colony’s renowned industry, all the cathedrals in
western Europe today that are mobbed by tourists awed by their
exquisite stained glass windows might have ended up instead with
rather uninspiring wooden green shutters that wouldn’t be much of a
draw.
    Emperor Tiberius had newly risen to power and
was experiencing a brief honeymoon, perhaps launching the
Mediterranean as a favorite site for honeymooners; before his
nervous breakdowns led him to attack many of his close relatives,
perhaps launching the model of an spectacularly unhappy marriage.
Fortunately, in 3778 on the Hebrew calendar (around 18 ACE),
Tiberius was keeping himself busy in Rome and Capri, and didn’t
really have much influence in Sidon. His decision to stay far away
was completely understandable, as I would have much preferred an
assignment on the Italian coast myself, especially considering that
the average temperature in midday Sidon hovered at over one hundred
ten degrees Fahrenheit.
    “It is decidedly sweltering,” Spud moaned, as
he mopped his forehead with his mantle, an ancient white scarf.
From the zero degrees Celsius briskness of England’s moors to the
zero degrees Kelvin chill of deep space, Spud was much more at home
in a cooler environment.
    “It’s 120 in the shade.” I nodded, shaking my
tunic to create a momentary breeze. I looked at my Ergal. The
screen displayed a detailed map of the region. “About two more
kilometers due southwest.”
    Spud pulled his mantle over his head and I
followed suit as we trudged forward on the dirt footpath under the
blazing sun. I had hoped we could have M-fanned right in the middle
of town, but Gary felt our chances of discovery by an observant
Andart were too great. Sure, we could invisible-ize, but if the
Andarts had an unregistered holo scan pointed in the right
direction, they might be able to pick up our Ergal activity and
track us down.
    Spud and I had bronzed our skin so we
wouldn’t look out of place among the locals, and our costume beards
and mustaches looked genuine. Yes, plural. In ancient times in the
Middle East, there were a lot of things that women just didn’t do.
So, like Yentl, I’d dressed up as a man. Come to think of it, in
some of those countries, I’d do the same today.
    Cursing Gary’s caution, we plodded slowly
onward in the baking sun for what seemed to be forever. The
Phoenicians were smarter than we were. Most of them wisely opted