Touchstone (Meridian Series) by John Schettler, Mark Prost Page B

our eyes puckered against the
dark.”
    “Very poetic, you always overuse
that puckered eyes thing, but what does it mean?”
    “The alarm just went off and
we’ve got to get a line on what’s happening. Tell me: when was your mission
departure time?”
    The professor adopted that sheepish
look again, regret plain on his face. “Oh four hundred.”
    “And your retraction?”
    “Thirty minutes later.”
    “How long were you there?”
    “Forty-eight hours, though it
seemed like forever.”
    “And when did you meet the
Primes?”
    “What? You mean Wilde and
company? Well…” Nordhausen rolled his eyes, thinking. “I was about an hour just
taking things in until I got to my hotel room. Then another three hours until I
made it to the Opera house. The performance was two hours or so, and I suppose
I met Wilde an hour later in the club.”
    “That’s seven hours—in that
milieu, correct?”
    “Yes, I suppose so. But what is
this all about?”
    Paul squinted, slowing to round
another tight curve. “Well that’s odd,” he said. “The alarm went off at three
minutes after four—exactly—just a few minutes after you opened the continuum,
in our time line.
    “Yes, I know,” Nordhausen
admitted with a shrug. “I forgot about Kelly’s Golems. I mean, there hasn’t
been an alert since your inadvertent fall into that nest of Assassins at
Massiaf. I completely forgot that my mission would set off the alarm. Stupid of
me.”
    “Wait a second,” Paul stopped
him. “Hear me out.  The timing on these things is critical. The Golems call
home the instant they detect a variation. The first call came in at
four-oh-three. That’s three minutes after you breached the continuum—our
time—but that’s almost five hours at your target milieu.”
    “Five
hours? How can you know something like that?”
    Paul thought for a second. “Four
point eight hours, to be a little more precise. If you were running a 48 hour
breach over 30 minutes lab processing time, then each minute here was 96
minutes there. See what I mean?”
    “I suppose so, but—”
    “Well, what were you doing five
hours into your mission?” He went over the professor’s story again in his head,
vocalizing events and looking to Nordhausen for confirmation. “An hour futzing
about, three hours in your room…Why, that would put you at the opera when the
alarm came in.”
    “Yes, right in the middle of the
performance, I suppose.”
    Paul brought the car to a halt
at a stop sign, taking advantage of the brief break from driving to hone in on
something. “Think now, Robert. Did you have any significant contact with locals
during the opera?”
    “Not that I can recall. I was so
thrilled with the performance that I was totally wrapped up in it. Why, I
didn’t say a word to anyone.”
    “You’re certain?”
    “Absolutely. I just sat there.”
    “You didn’t try to pull anything
like you had planned for the Shakespeare play, right? You didn’t go back
stage…”
    “Not at all. What are you
getting at?”
    “The alarm went off before you encountered the Primes at the club.” Paul started off again, adjusting his windshield
wipers against a blowing squall of rain.
    Nordhausen stared at him, the
implications of Paul’s statement finally hitting home. “Very clever,” he said,
feeling a bit relieved, but still somewhat confused.
    “Assuming your estimate of the
time is accurate.”
    “The show started at 8:00pm , promptly. I looked at my watch when the curtain
rose.”
    “Too bad you didn’t do that when
you arrived. Then we’d have a real good time reference.”
    Nordhausen’s eyes widened with a
sudden recollection. “The bells!”
    “What?”
    “ Oranges and lemons, sing the bells of St. Clements…The bells, Paul! I
heard them ring the very moment I arrived. Why, I counted four—yes, exactly four PM —just a few seconds after I got there.”
    “Good for you! That nails down
the time, so it looks like the contamination happened