Traveller Manifesto
82. Judaea - 1st Century

Judaea – 1st Century.

Professor Cowen arrived to a camp that was largely evacuated. He was determined to complete a couple of sketches he had been toying with. A few armed troops remained, while military engineers supervised the Transportation of personnel and gear from Camp Gamma of 1000 BC. He had deliberately requested that the two earlier camps have their evacuation delayed as long as possible, for their time at 2000 BC was still far too brief to have given results that could be deemed as conclusive. There was so much to research, so many images to peruse and film footage to inspect.

He was still unsure as to the reason for the sudden decision to end the project, but had his fears. It might have been the discovery of the Transporters by Helguard. That was always going to happen. He was prepared to simply share his data and then Historical Research International would have some of the most ground-breaking historical replaceings ever produced. He was certain they would work it out. All would be revealed and forgiven as the most audacious and controversial Traveller mission, Israel Traveller, was divulged to the world. It would then be revealed that a research team, himself included, had actually taken the courageous journey to ancient Israel itself!

Imagine what conclusions their combined intellect and ability could come up with. Imagine the faces of the other quorum members of Historical Research international when they learned of the use of more than one Transporter at a time. Yes, he thought with grim satisfaction, the study of History will never be the same.

As he watched, more of the personnel walked to the Area of Convergence and, after a parting wave, disappeared, taking their leg of the journey to Camp Alpha in 1020AD, and then home.

Having travelled back to the 21st Century on a number of occasions, Professor Cowen was immersed in the thrill of discovery. He accepted that his name would be known for good and evil for generations. A low rumble was heard and, surprisingly it built for only a minute until it subsided. An earthquake? Professor Cowen shook his head at the occurrence and gave it no further thought. It was only a mere grumble. He looked to the other members of the camp who had stopped at the sound. There was nervous laughter and jokes as the remainder of the UAV teams gathered with their precious craft crated carefully in reinforced travel cases.

With a blink, they vanished and there was an immediate pulse of force that rippled across the wadi. The quake, for it felt like an earthquake, pulsed with such a force that was shocking, knocking him from his camp chair where he had sat in contemplation. As taught by the military, he lay flat on his tummy and hugged the heaving ground. He gritted his teeth. The quake appeared to pulse from the very Transporter’s Area of Convergence.

Impossible!

Or was it? There was a theory that such an event might be the consequence of using too many Transporters at once, that there might be a cavitation in Space-Time itself. It had been dismissed as negative propaganda from the owners who began to suspect the use of a counterfeit Transporter. But what if it was true? He recalled hearing of an academic paper on the subject, but in the rush to publish some of his replaceings from Mississippi Traveller and complete the final preparations for Israel Traveller, it had been overlooked.

But what if the paper was indeed accurate, that there were issues they should have taken into account in organising the mission and possibly ignored. What had they done?

The grumbles faded and he lay a moment in shock, untrusting of the treacherous ground beneath him. After the mighty rumbles for what seemed like an eternity, the silence that descended came with almost as much shock. He gasped and, severely shaken and disoriented, climbed to his unsteady feet.

He watched Sergeant Maxwell, and the Israeli Sergeant Rahmer appear in the Area of Convergence. Had they felt the quake? With the privacy screen already removed, their silent arrival reminded him of the wonder of what they were doing. The soldiers were fully armed and were obviously to supervise the final evacuation of the few remaining staff. With the knowledge of the Roman spies and the Tower Hawk systems having been dismantled and sent home, armed guards were essential for their ongoing safety.

Professor Cowen was never sure of Rahmer. The young, good looking soldier was, as always, brisk and business-like. He had been a difficult person to get to know and, in the end, Professor Cowen had given up. “Let the soldiers be soldiers and the scholars be scholars,” Major Anderson had once told him. “It’s the nature of the mission to have some of the team not like you, just because of what we’re discovering.”

Major Anderson was, of course, correct. He had been an inspiring choice to command the on-the-ground operations for Israel Traveller and had shown a courage that was almost superhuman. To have stared a Roman army down would place him firmly into the world’s military history books. Then again, to have the world know what they had done, and to recognise their replaceings and the heroics of each of the team would be a wonderful chapter in defining the historical knowledge of ancient Judaea and Palestine.

Yes, the world would have to change.

Soon, the rest of the team from Camp Delta would be evacuated. That concession, the act of surrender from one of the most remarkable experiences of an era, was met with a wave of regret that had Professor Cowen almost sob.

He paused in his reassembly of the small easel that had fallen with the quake and watched as a gentle breeze blew dust across the wadi, a place that would soon be abandoned. Sergeant Rahmer chatted quietly with a couple of the Transporter engineers. There was a shrug of shoulders and they moved to the Area of Convergence. Professor Cowen would soon witness the arrival of the remainder of Camp Delta, an operation that would take about another hour and then would be one of the last to go home.

The two soldiers would doubtlessly wait, while two new engineers would arrive to take care of the final evacuation. The Transporters would then be dismantled and shipped home.

What a rush!

He turned to look over the desiccated wadi and breathe in the dry, fresh air. Using his thumb, he smoothed a few lines onto the paper to add shadow. Yes, every era smelled slightly different. Any minute now, the Camp Delta team would arrive. He turned to say something to Sergeant Rahmer, but they were gone. Nobody was there. He frowned in confusion. About twenty paces off a small explosion made a shocking thump as he watched the Transporter rock and then collapse into pieces. Despite the assurances of the scientists from DARPA, the device was never really robust. It stood up to the procedure of Transportation very well, but now its components lay shattered and in ruins.

Professor Cowen looked about him, suddenly alarmed. He sat alone. Besides the shattered Transporter, the only residue of 21st Century technology was what he wore, his mobile phone and camera, his easel, sketchpad, pencils, and the camping chair upon which he sat.

***

Vorenus had been awaiting news, but nothing like this.

After he received the report from the scout, he and a small squad had double-timed it to the abandoned wadi. Following the abject humiliation they had suffered at the hands of the mysterious Anders, he was eager to jam his gladius into the chest of that pompous cunnus. Somehow, their small army had been outmanoeuvred and, with their enemy’s mysterious weapons, outsmarted. Somehow! Vorenus didn’t know how they did it, but he would get them.

He had been told that there was now only one man. As ordered, the scouts had only watched, confident that their enemy would not even know they were there. The horse panted, its sides lathered, for the Jewish rider had raced back to camp with all haste.

Vorenus gave a nod of satisfaction. Their attack on the strangers had been a bloodbath, but not Roman, so it barely mattered. As least the stupid Jewish cavalryman could follow orders.

The only details in their gasped message was that the remaining man was one of the old men, and that he was crying.

Good!

By the time Vorenus and his troops arrived at the wadi, he was almost overcome with anticipation. Sweat poured into his eyes and he panted heavily, but that was of no concern. Who was this person? Why was he left behind by the army of strangers? Was this some kind of trick? It took a lot to fool Vorenus, but they had fooled him once and the whole army had paid the price.

They crept silently along the dusty gully. It was afternoon, so they remained in shadow.

He peered over a boulder to the area where the strangers had pitched their camp. Typical to foreigners, their camp had just sat there. There had been no defensive earthworks or palisade that was the hallmark of every Roman military camp. Every Roman camp left a clear square to mark their passing but, sure enough, nothing remained to indicate the strangers had even been there. An older man sat on a type of camp stool, his face in his hands. The only other remains of the strangers was a piece of shattered equipment that sat off to one side.

Vorenus turned and spoke to old Gallus, his second in command. He was a drunk, but a good man in the field. Every man in the patrol knew that. Gallus would be respected if anything happened to Vorenus.

“Keep a watch. I’ll go ahead. I don’t trust this,” murmured Vorenus quietly.

Gallus looked up from under the rim of his battered helmet. “Think it might be a trap?” he asked quietly. “Can’t see nothing.”

“No,” replied Vorenus quietly. “Neither can I.”

He watched for a few more moments. In the end he had to make a decision. He shrugged and left his legionnaire’s scutum, his square shield still with the shattered corner, leaning against the boulder. To leave it made him feel defenceless and exposed. He then stood and, without a backward glance to the other soldiers who huddled in the shadows, strode forward, like a Roman.

The old man stopped his weeping and looked across at the legionnaire in surprise, as if he had never imagined he could exist. There was a momentary look of hope, but he had that familiar look, the look of fear.

Good! Thought Vorenus. So far, so good. The soldier carefully scanned the wadi, but there was nothing hidden. No concealed soldiers watched, none of the strange flying things buzzed about. The tents and equipment were all gone. Yes, this was no longer a camp.

But why leave the old man?

He stopped about ten paces from the lone man who watched carefully. His eyes were red from weeping and he looked to Vorenus in that silent beseeching that many seem to get when faced with a Roman legionnaire. He was dressed funny, his clothes were fine, though the leggings looked like something Scythian.

Vorenus stepped forward and, without a further thought, removed his Gladius and jammed the razor sharp blade of his weapon into the old man’s chest.

There was a look of surprise, and then Professor Cowen died.

Too easy.

Vorenus grunted in satisfaction and, after withdrawing his short sword, dispassionately wiped it on the dead man who now lay in the dust. By him there lay a few charcoal drawings. The Roman gave them a kick, which sent some of the papyrus pieces to blow in the wind. After looking around again and replaceing them alone, Vorenus gestured his men forward.