A Hunter and His Legion (The Praetorian Series - Book III)

By Edward Crichton

After having narrowly escaped a trap set for him by Empress Agrippina the Younger, Jacob Hunter and his band of weary time travelers lay low in the ancient city of Damascus, planning their next move. Joined now by a team of Special Forces operators from an alternate and skewed timeline with their own agendas and motivations, Hunter now finds himself without direction.

Since escaping Ancient Rome four years earlier, his only goal was to survive long enough to enact his schemes to remove Agrippina from power and place Vespasian, a once and future emperor of Rome, on the throne in her place. But all his well laid plans came to a fruitless end when he and his friends narrowly escaped a grisly fate at the hands of Agrippina. However, there was one thing that survived Hunter’s encounter with the empress to focus his mind.

The orb.

He has often thought on it, but has never really understood it, yet now comes the moment when he must come to grips with the fact that only by understanding its nature will he be able to harness its power and send everyone home. The orb should have been his sole source of focus from the very beginning, but it was only after his recent failure to apprehend Agrippina that this fact was fully realized.

Found in the rubble of Agrippina’s villa was a note left for him by his deceased friend Marcus Varus, tasking him to track down ancient Druids who may be able to help him. Now, after years trapped in Antiquity, Hunter must finally seek answers to the central mystery that has plagued him since becoming history's first recorded time traveler. Armed with fresh clues and a final destination, Hunter and his company embark on a new quest, one that will take them beyond the boundaries of the Roman Empire in search of centuries old information about a relic few even know exists.

But a darkness accompanies them.

While the orb is a powerful tool, it is also a deadly device in the hands of those who underestimate or do not understand its dark potential. With its ability to grant certain users the ability to manipulate time, also comes a degenerative property that can reduce an individual into a simpering, doddering fool, or warp him into a tyrannical despot. The orb’s ability to do this is well documented in both Caligula and Claudius, and perhaps Agrippina too, but it is Hunter who should be most concerned by its influence. He has interacted with it far more than anyone else, and as he and his friends begin their odyssey, his challenge will be greater than simply discovering the truth about the orb’s origins, but overcoming and surviving its ill effects as he struggles to maintain control of his mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Crichton
• Release date: Sep 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301515905

Edward Crichton

Edward Crichton, a native Clevelander, lives in Chicago, Illinois with his wife, where he spends his time coming to grips with his newfound sports allegiances. A long time enthusiast of Science Fiction, Fantasy, History and everything in between, he spends his time reading, writing, and overusing his Xbox (he wishes). Until recently, Crichton had often hoped for a cat, but his wife decided to let him have a baby boy instead. Born in November of 2013, the child has turned into a little hellion but he and his wife couldn't be happier Nearly two years old at the time of this Bio update, said little hellion has grown into a wonderful little boy who keeps his daddy busy and occupied doing anything and everything but writing. Now a work-from-home-dad, Crichton squeezes in bouts of writing when he can. Due to his changed lifestyle, he has decided to shift his focus to shorter stories to improve productivity. His first novella, Along the Path of Darkness, will be released October 1, 2015. Following its release, Crichton will return to work on his long dormant Starfarer Series, again focusing on tighter stories to keep the words flowing...

Book preview

A Hunter and His Legion

Praetorian Series Book III

By Edward Crichton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013

This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only and is not to be reproduced, resold, or altered in any way. The author thanks you for respecting his intellectual property. If you wish to share this novel with others, please refer them to Smashwords.com.

Acknowledgments

Normally, this is where I thank all the people who I thanked in the acknowledgments sections of my first two Praetorian books, but they’re all too busy to read my work now. Instead, I’ll thank my sister Amanda (who did read it) and Teresa, my new editor who emailed me out of the blue and kindly offered her services… which I sorely needed. Thanks!

Books by Edward Crichton

The Praetorian Series

The Last Roman (Book I)

To Crown a Caesar (Book II)

A Hunter and His Legion (Book III)

Book IV – Spring, 2014

Starfarer

Rendezvous with Destiny

Table of Contents

Haiku

I – Revelations

II – Paradoxes

III – Generals

IV – Alexandria

V – Mediterranean

VI – Britannia

VII – Wilderness

VIII – Anglesey

IX – Northward

X – Facepalm

XI – Answers

XII – Decisions

Author’s Note

Starfarer

Author’s Bio

How the F#!% We Got Here

In Haiku

By: Johnathon Archibald Santino III

It was World War Three,

The year 2021,

And the end seemed close.

Russians and Chinese,

Americans and assholes,

Fighting each other.

The war was pointless,

But then I joined a new crew.

Ended up in Rome.

I joined a new team.

Badass Special Forces, all

And Hunter came too.

Sent to Syria.

Our mission: Kill terrorists.

But we screwed it up.

Time travel exists.

How do I know, you may ask?

I’m in Ancient Rome.

That’s right, ANCIENT ROME!

Met all kinds of cool people,

Oh, yeah… ANCIENT ROME!!

We met the Caesars.

Caligula was awesome.

Claudius, a dick.

And Agrippina.

Damn, she’s a hot piece of ass,

But a total B.

Claudius rebelled.

Caligula reclaimed throne.

History was changed.

Caligula dead.

Agrippina was made queen.

Wasn’t my first choice…

So she exiled us,

And for years, we were homeless,

Wandering Europe.

Guy named Vespasian.

Hunter said he’s the right guy,

So we went to work.

Failed to capture her.

Big fight in Byzantium.

Broke Caesarea.

I’m struggling here.

Haiku can kiss my big ass.

Really… fuck Haiku.

So let’s wrap this up.

Agrippina kicked our butt,

Again. Yeah… again.

But then others came.

New time travelers arrived,

and saved our asses.

They helped us escape.

We went East to Damascus,

To hide and lay low.

I told you I could,

I just knew I could Haiku.

So F U, Hunter

fin

I

Revelations

Outskirts of Damascus, Syria

October, 42 A.D.

While indistinguishable from each other in terms of function, held within my hands were two objects vastly different in design. In my right was paper, the kind akin to what I remembered as printer paper from the nineties, perforated edges and all, while my left hand held a medium for writing that was heavier, stiffer, and far larger. It was a piece of papyrus rolled into a cylinder and then flattened, but yet to be opened. And in each document was information, but while I had no desire to actually read them, I knew I owed it to both authors to try, especially Him.

Him.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to think about Him just yet.

I let my hands fall into my lap, the weight of my arms heavy upon my legs, just as my shoulders felt around my chest, and my mind within my head. I looked up and out, surveying the small oasis where we’d made camp, located a few miles east of the ancient Middle Eastern city of Damascus. The scrub brush desert land around us was vast and desolate, the small blip that was Damascus notwithstanding – a perfect place to hide. An oasis may have been an obvious place to lay low, but the desert was immense. With luck, we’d evaded our pursuers long ago, giving us time to regroup and come to grips with our current situation, which again was something I’d rather delay thinking about for as long as I could.

The oasis was small, no bigger than a basketball court if adjusted properly. A few stray palm trees dotted its perimeter, lending a certain amount of shade to the area, but bushes and scrubs were the dominate flora in the area, as was the small lake, no bigger than a pond really.

With the sun setting on the horizon before me, the spot was quite beautiful, tainted only by the thoughts that raced through my mind and the pain that emanated from my side whenever I twisted or pulled in the wrong direction. But pain I was trained to deal with, and my mind could be placated when I concentrated hard enough, yet nothing could remove the foul existence of the two documents held firmly within my hands.

I looked at them again.

In that moment, instead of debating which to read, I tried to discern how such unassuming objects could feel so heavy in my hands. Paper and papyrus. Fifty pound dumbbells they were not, yet they felt even heavier, so much so that I had trouble lifting them from my knees to hold at eye level again.

But I did.

As I looked at them, I knew the object in my left hand could wait. The papyrus. The information contained there was likely more important, but the only thing that could truly soothe my curiosity and frustration was held in my right hand.

I gave the papyrus one last long look before leaning to my left and placing it within the bag that rested comfortably next to the rock I was perched on. A second bag just to the side of it caught my eye, but despite wandering fingers that inched in that direction, I fought off the urge to grab for it. With a clenched fist, I straightened carefully to avoid further discomfort in my side. I tried to relax my upper body but winced at even that slight gesture, and took a moment to lift my shirt and prod the thick bandage that covered my entire left flank, from nipple to shoulder blade. Its former whiteness was now a pale red around its edges, but a darker streak ran right through its center.

I suppressed a gag reflex from the sight of it, and turned to look out over the water at nothing in particular, carefully repositioning my shirt over my midsection at the same time. But after a few moments of quiet introspection, I again returned my attention to the paper held before me. Six in total, each page contained two columns of information. On the right side of each page were photographs of a tattered and ancient piece of paper with a barely legible but familiar scrawl written upon it, and on the left was a transcription of these photographs – or so I was told.

I separated the first page from the rest and turned it over a few times and back again, inspecting its quality. It didn’t appear digitally rendered and enhanced, as I would have expected of such a thing from my own home, but more as if someone had simply taken both the original document and the transcription, placed them on a copy machine, and ran them off onto a single piece of paper together.

Considering what I already knew about where the paper came from, I couldn’t say I was surprised.

I placed the sheet back with its siblings and stared at them again without reading, preparing myself as I had done every night for the past few days. On each of those nights, I’d sit upon the very rock I sat upon now, and would look out over the small body of water, unable to read that which I had already written once before…

In another lifetime.

In an entirely different life completely.

Written by another me.

The Other Me.

I’d kept a journal for about the past six months of my life, something those of us in the military liked to call after action reports: a self-reflection of prior missions and an outlet for arranging thoughts. I’d written nine entries and my friends had provided two others, but somehow, someway, a twelfth entry existed within my hand.

They’d told me I’d written it.

But I hadn’t written it. Not me. Not exactly. It had been another me.

An alternate me.

The Other Me.

The one that hadn’t made it. A me that had died, initiating a chain of events that led this very document to reside within a cargo container for two thousand years before it was finally found, and then brought back to me, the actual me, the me right now. It had spent two thousand years rotting away in the desert only to travel back in time to the day it had been created – just three days ago.

I squinted at the top page, but a sudden dimming of light delayed my inevitable reading of it.

I looked up again, noticing that the sun had just kissed the horizon, and that dusk was upon us. At first I considered myself saved from the task before me, but then fate, as it always seemed to do, intervened.

Here, Jacob.

The voice was close, only a foot or so behind me, and I marveled at either the interloper’s stealth or my own distractedness. Either way, I didn’t bother to turn, as I already knew who it was by the sound of her voice alone. But even if I hadn’t, I knew there was only one female in our group who would risk approaching me in a time like this.

Preceding her was a bright green glow, the radiant light produced from a simple glow stick used by millions of raving teenagers back home. She held it out by my shoulder and I accepted it with my free hand, nodding in thanks for the gift. I clipped it to the collar of my shirt, letting it dangle in front of my chest, and I suddenly had plenty of light to read by.

Thanks, I told her.

No you’re not, she countered, but there was humor in her voice.

I smirked to no one but myself. No, I guess I’m not.

Nobody’s forcing you to read it, she said as she placed her hands on my shoulders and kneaded them gently. Even Archer said it might not be a good idea.

An annoyed breath escaped my lips as I sneered at the name. I know, but I have to read it. I… just have to. I have to know what happened to the Other Me.

She took her hands off my shoulders and I heard her take a step back. I waited for her usual monologue of encouragements and reassurances that usually followed such comments, ones that also usually fell on deaf ears, but they didn’t come. I continued to wait, but the silence lingered, and I felt sad. Maybe she’d finally given up on me after all.

Or maybe she was simply trying to see if I’d grown up a little.

I may be here for a while, I said, deciding a continued silence wouldn’t help either of us. I turned my head so that she could see the side of my face, and smiled for her benefit. I could just barely see her tall form at the edge of my vision, but I managed to catch her nod.

Try not to be too long, she said as her voice moved away. There’s something I want to show you.

Wondering what could possibly exist in this godforsaken world that was worth showing me, I completed my turn so that I could look at her, but she was already walking away. As she strutted away, my eyes were drawn downward to her backside, clad in the last of her black, tight fitting running shorts. But what really drew my eyes to her was the way in which she walked – lifting her hips high with every step in an exaggerated catwalk.

Just before she was out of sight, she turned her head to look at me, and while her face was concealed in shadow, too dark to make out her expression, my imagination filled in the rest. I turned back to the document eagerly, and like a kid who knew he had to eat his broccoli before he could have his ice cream, I settled my nerves and decided to read. When Helena was in that kind of mood, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t shovel that broccoli down my throat as quickly as possible and get back to her.

So I read.

Mission Entry #12

Jacob Hunter

Syria, October 42 A.D.

I’m done.

It’s finished. I’ve kept myself alive for months for reasons I no longer remember. I’ve been dying formonths, buried alive in a supply container, left with nothing more than the clothes I wore the day we were captured, a glow stick, my journal, andthe orb.

The orb. It works. I can work it. Every few hours, I’ve used it, and gone back. Hour after hour. Day after day. For months? Years? Gave me time to think. To think. To ponder. To remember how they all died. To relive each death over and over.

The memories, the pain, the anger.

They took us an hour after we survived Agrippina’s trap. SHE took us.

Wounded. Pained. Slowed. Hurt. No ammo. No chance.

They took us.

Killd my friends. Tried to break me. Made me watch. Them die, one by one, over the course of weeks… months? I can’t remember. Crucified them. Tortured them. Made them suffer. Made them die. Agrippina. Made me use the orb. Watched over and over.

They’d saved Santino and Helena for last.

Helena… I… She… Gone 4 good this time. Gone. They…

Never thought you’d actually come around to reading that thing.

I jumped, the voice so abrupt and my mind so enraptured that I hadn’t heard it coming. I tumbled from my rock and fell in a heap beside it, but somehow managed to hang on to the papers in my hand. I just barely avoided slipping into the cool water, and a spike of pain erupted out from my side and I was forced to clench my teeth to help bear the pain.

I let myself lay there for a few seconds, trying to slow my racing heart and stave off embarrassment and pain alike. While the latter diminished slowly, the former lingered, and I almost didn’t want to return to my feet at all. But a hand was lowered before my eyes, almost helpfully, surprising considering the source. I looked up to see a man with a bare upper body that was encased by a harness of combat webbing meant to carry gear. His entire physique was immensely strong, hard, and solid, with a series of weed like veins stringing their way along his outstretched arm. Atop his body was a chiseled face, not one I was entirely used to anymore, with blue eyes and topped with blond hair cut like an overgrown crew cut.

I looked at him suspiciously but brought myself to grip his dangling forearm, allowing him to pull me to my feet, surprised at how genuine the gesture seemed. Once upright, I ignored the man who’d helped me up, and dusted off my pants and shirt as I returned to my rock. He sighed as I reseated myself and held the pages out before me with my left hand, and wrapping my right around my body so that I could hold my wound. With no intention of speaking to my new guest, I prepared myself to pick up where I left off.

How far in are you?

I froze again and my eyes shot to the sky in silent annoyance. I let the papers fell between my knees as I glanced at my guest, who now stood beside me eating noodles from a steaming Styrofoam cup.

I took a deep breath and decided to play nice. Almost done with the first page.

Skip the second and third pages, Hunter, the man said, his voice hard, as he twirled his eating utensil at me. For all our sakes.

I looked at him with chilly eyes as I inspected his face, which was illuminated by the light of his own glow stick attached to the right shoulder harness of his gear webbing. He was in full combat gear sans a shirt – at least what could be passed off as full combat gear by these newcomers, as their kit seemed no more advanced in terms of design and quality than what grunts had used back in WWII where I came from.

Why? I asked, not even trying to hide my frustration.

The man slurped another fork full of noodles into his mouth and chewed patiently as he gazed at me. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pointed his fork at me. You’ve always been high strung, Hunter. The past six months especially. We could all read it in your journal. You let things get to you. And I know what’s in those next two pages. Listen to me when I tell you: do not read them. The Other You rambled, and it isn’t pretty.

I nearly lost it at that point, no longer in the mood to hear what anyone thought about anything, especially when it concerned me, and I certainly didn’t care about his opinion.

How could you possibly know anything about me? I asked, looking out over the water. I don’t know anything about you! From where I come from, you’re dead! You’ve been dead for half a decade as far as I’m concerned, in fact. I paused and leaned away from him. You don’t know a thing about me.

He shrugged. "Believe what you want, Hunter, but you seem exactly how I remember, even if you are from some… alternate timeline, or whatever, and not the actual Hunter I knew. I can’t explain it and neither can anyone I’ve talked to, but that doesn’t meant I don’t know you. I do. Just try and convince me otherwise."

I didn’t even bother. We both knew I couldn’t.

See? He asked. Exactly as I remembered. Now explain that.

You know I can’t. Net yet, anyway.

That’s fine, Hunter. Take your time. It looks like we’re going to be here for a while.

Great… I muttered.

He ignored me and decided to put his hand on my shoulder. I felt my head instinctively snap toward it, my mouth ready to bit off a finger or two, but I didn’t. I just sat there with the pages between my legs, looking at his hand.

I know we’ve had our differences in the past, the man said as he squeezed my shoulder, but the Hunter I knew made his peace with me, and so did Artie. I just wish you and I could do the same, so let me start by saying again: do not read the next two pages.

He finished with that and left as abruptly as he’d arrived.

I turned to watch him walk away, his back a wall of muscle as his figure was slowly obscured by the invasion of night. I watched him go with a frown, feeling little comfort at his words. The only reason I’d decided to read the Other Me’s twelfth mission entry in the first place was because I’d hoped to learn where he’d screwed up and what he’d done so wrong that ended with Archer, Artie and the rest of them showing up here. I’d also hoped to find answers as to why and how they were such different but eerily similar versions of the people I remembered, but it wasn’t exactly something I wanted to do. I’d always been too curious for my own good, or at least that’s what people kept telling me, and my present circumstances hadn’t changed that.

After Archer and Artie had told me that they’d found my skeleton in a cargo container with nothing but the orb and my journal in some warped, alternate version of the year 2021, I’d known almost immediately that I had to read it. But I had been terrified of what I’d learn, and still was, and now that I’d gotten my first taste of it, I was glad for Archer’s warning.

Despite how convoluted the Other Me had started, I’d been drawn to his words, entranced by his broken story. If not for Archer’s intervention, I would have read right through to the end without pause, only realizing what I’d done once it was too late, because I already knew how it was going to end. I already knew the evidence that the Other Me had gone insane would be quite evident in his words.

I knew this because I could already feel it happening in myself.

It started six months ago when I tortured one of the most beautiful women in antiquity.

It had continued when I saw a friend’s head blown to pieces.

It was furthered when I’d witnessed another friend’s stepson crushed beneath a slab of concrete.

Or, finally, when I’d watched the woman I loved die for a second time, a memory only exacerbated by the fact that she’d been carrying our unborn child.

Then again, maybe none of that should matter, because through the grace of God, science, and/or magic… whatever… the man with the shattered head had recovered. The crushed man had regained his lower half. And the woman I loved had been raised from the dead, and our baby preserved. But while they’d all come back, the pain I felt at the memories lingered, building and growing and becoming harder to handle as the days rolled on.

Archer was right.

I could do without the gory details and soliloquies I was sure the Other Me was bound to add. I was prone to them myself, and if what I’d just read was true, and if he’d repeatedly operated the orb, reliving the same moments over and over, thinking and thinking, trapped in a voluntary Groundhog Day scenario with nowhere to go and no one to interact with for what may have been years…

Well, I didn’t want to think about it.

Without another thought, I pulled up the pages again, peeled off the top three and placed them behind the rest. I angled my head down and read.

believe it’s come to this. We were ready. Prepared. So prepared. Shoulda listened to Helena. Should always listened to Helena. Never again. But never more. Dead.

Must find way to fix. Had two weeks to think.

How to fix this.

I’ve thought of something.

My name is Jacob Hunter. I was born in Greenwood, Indiana.

August, 199…

At 6, family moved to Columbus.

Dartmouth U.

History an Classical Studies.

Became Navy SEAL

Find my sister. Diana Hunter. Should be a astronaut.

I don’t know how the orbs work. Not really. Been using mine. Feels good to use. Been using mine for months but have no idea how. It just work. But the first time I connected with a Roman. Marcus Varus. Hes dead, but we connected.

I think. I thnk Diana and I can connect. Just like Varus and me. I… I dont know. Maybe she can help me. Help me somehow. Brng some light. So dark.

I need help.

I…

How’s the ending?

I didn’t jump at this latest voice, because it was far more recognizable than the last and I was used to it popping up when it was least expected – or wanted. I glanced up, only two pages left, and searched for the unwanted voice. I looked to my left but found nothing, and to my right, but also nothing. I hadn’t thought the voice had come from behind me, but maybe it had.

Over here.

This time it clearly came from my left and I looked at the small shrub that sat there. A shadow moved and grew taller, revealing the shape of a man. I sighed and stacked the pages against my knee and tapped them there to realign them. Neat and orderly, I held them up to cover my face.

This really isn’t a good time, I said.

The man in black strode closer, clad in his combat fatigues and gear, complete with face concealing balaclava. Acting as our quick reaction force should our Listening Post/Observation Post call in a bogie, he could react instantly while the rest of us geared up. It was standard operating procedure these days, and one we took very seriously.

The man in black shrugged. Just curious.

Do you want to know what happened? Really want to know?? I asked, anger rising in my voice.

Well, yeah, he answered.

I flipped through the pages in my hand, tearing free the skipped few, and flung them at him. He caught them in midair, but no more than ten seconds passed before the pages were held out before me again.

Never mind, he said. I don’t want to know.

I nodded and retrieved the pages, placing them back in their proper places. The man took a step back, just beyond the glow from my light source, but I could still see him cross his arms as we contemplated each other in companionable silence.

I probably shouldn’t have snapped at him earlier, but my mind was growing ever more difficult to reign in these days. My eyes reflexively peeked toward the bag at my feet, but I looked away just as quickly.

So… my companion started, never one for awkward silences or missed opportunities to annoy me, …about that sister of…

Don’t even think about it.

What? All I wanted to know is whether brown is her natural hair color or not.

This conversation is over.

He chuckled. Keep telling yourself that, buddy.

"She’s off limits, I said flatly. God knows how many STDs you’ve picked up since we’ve been here."

He laughed out loud this time. You wish. I’m clean. Trust me.

Not. Happening.

Lighten up, Hunter. I’m just busting your balls.

"Please… for the love of everything sacred… leave my balls out of this conversation," I pleaded.

He snorted and I couldn’t help but smile as well. In that moment, I hardly cared about Artie’s innocence or keeping her away from this smiling buffoon, because all I felt was that old tingle of happiness at the banter and idiotic levity he never failed to offer.

Which was why I kept this particular idiot around.

Because I loved the guy.

Platonically, of course.

Just get out of here, I told him with a wave of my hand. I’ll let you know what happens later, but I wouldn’t expect a fairy tale ending if I were you.

He held his hands out in front of him. "I’ve read enough. Don’t bother. Just remember that this didn’t happen to you. It happened to him."

I nodded, knowing the truth behind Santino’s words, and like always, was thankful for his random bursts of clarity and insight that were so unbecoming his normal character. I glanced at the closest friend I’ll ever have and watched as he melted into the shadows while I remained, keeping my ass firmly planted on the dry, hard, uncomfortable rock.

And read.

…need help.

I’m terrified. Made so many mistakes. Every one led us… me… here. There’s nothing to do. No more tricks. No more friends. No mre magical blue balls. Nothing. Nothing left. Just me and this box. My grave.

Air is thin. I can feel it. Could use orb, but Im done. Finished. Ready to die. Ready to join my love, my life, my… everything.

Helena.

I regrt. Much. Most everything. All my fault. Would never b in Rome. Only no regret is helena. But i killed her. Kill her baby. keeled them both. my Son. my grl. WIL nevEr kno.she wuld have be great mom. uch A woman. the prfct womn.

sory. Head feals lite. Gting dark.

rgrets. Regret what I did 2 timeline. i know it brokem. nothing is will besame. I feal it in m bons. Evrything is gainst me, an theres nothing i do. not thing.wouldt no wht do if ere ws

my falt.

Falt.

i…

I…

sorry. Trying to focus…

im ramblng.

I dont kno wht to do.

HELP

I stopped.

The Other Me continued on for a few more paragraphs after that, but I didn’t see the point of continuing. He had clearly lost his grip on reality long before his final words, and I was certain the orb had led him down the dark path we all suspected it could, and that it had plagued his mind, taking him on a quick trip toward insanity. He had been just as insane as Caligula in the original timeline and Claudius in the last.

I’d read enough.

My heart was pounding against my chest as I thought about it all, a rhythmic thumping that seemed to beat faster by the second. I placed a hand there to steady it, and felt the drum of my beating heart begin to slow, but the pain in my head continued to linger. The Other Me’s journal had more of an effect on me than I’d first suspected it would. It wasn’t so much from the content but from the fear of what had happened to him, and how I knew it could happen to me as well.

I pinched my nose and bit back the emotion swelling in my chest.

The man who had written those words had been me. He’d been a me that, for all intents and purposes, had sacrificed himself so that I… me… could live. Without his journal reaching my sister in the future of his timeline, there never would have been an opportunity for them to come back into mine and save our asses. Without Archer’s intervention, we would have been dead, just as dead as he was because he hadn’t had their assistance. Instead, we’d created yet another timeline, one where we’d all escaped Agrippina’s trap in the villa because Archer and his troops had arrived.

Just like when my friends and I had shown up two thousand years in the past, and had created a timeline that ended with us dead a few days ago, when they showed up, their presence had changed the timeline as well. We were now in yet another timeline. Whether their presence would affect more positive change in the long run was still up for debate, but since it had at least resulted in the continuation of our lives past a few days ago, I was okay with it for now.

I lowered my hand from my face and pushed off my rock, still clutching the six pieces of paper. I let my attention linger on the horizon, the shimmering water reflecting the moon’s image just below my focus, and found my mind wandering. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply before opening them and glancing down at my hand, realization setting in.

I was alive.

All of us were alive.

This arrogant, self-centered, pessimistic, wimpy, know-it-all Other Me had died so that I could live. Had it been a heroic death? No. In fact it pained me that his death was more of the opposite. It had been a whimpering death, one where he had died alone and unable to help himself, all while he fought a losing battle for control of his sanity. But that no longer seemed to matter anymore. The Other Me had died and I had lived. Whether he knew it or not, his mistakes were not so horrible after all because I would learn from them. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice. Not when I had a second chance.

I edged closer to the water and tore the six pages in half, then again, and again, until I was no longer able to continue halving it. I lost much of the document as I voraciously tore what remained to pieces, but when I was finished, I threw the rest into the lake like a relative releasing the ashes of a family member into the ocean. I watched as they scattered across the water, floating off into obscurity before dissolving into nothing.

I stood there thoughtfully, watching them go, when a soft sound emanated from behind me. Unconcerned by what sounded like someone coughing politely into his fist to garner someone’s attention, the only thing that concerned me was the identity of my latest visitor. I turned to see the outline of a small man standing a polite distance away, loitering near my old rock. He wore his night ops combat pants and a t-shirt that I assumed was white. Attached to his shoulders was a backpack that seemed comically large for his slight frame.

At the moment, he seemed embarrassed, almost bashful, but I knew better. Most of the time he was just as big of an ass as Santino, only this one knew how to read his audience and act appropriately when necessary.

Sorry, mate, he said in his Welsh accent. I didn’t mean to intrude.

I walked toward my rock and rubbed my palms against my pants, ensuring any last remnants of the Other Me’s documents no longer remained.

Don’t sweat it, I said. You’re not the first person to show up tonight unannounced, but I’ll at least give you extra credit for politeness.

The figure shrugged. You seemed pretty distracted. Considering the few days, I didn’t want to interrupt. I saw what you were reading and figured you had a lot to think about.

I smiled. You the team’s psychiatrist now too?

No, he said as he shrugged off his large bag. I’ll leave that bullocks to the Frenchy, but I’m still your doctor. Now sit down and remove your shirt.

I complied with his order and once again sat upon my rock, but found that removing my shirt wasn’t so easy a task anymore because of my wound, so our friendly medic had to help.

Thanks, I said as he finally pulled it over my head. I’m having mobility issues with the arm.

Expected, he said as he pulled out a small head lamp from his bag and secured it over his forehead. He flicked the light on and examined my side before beginning the procedure of unwrapping the gauze from around my chest. Your entire left flank was carved up pretty good, mate. You’ll be jammy if you gain full mobility at all, and it’ll certainly take a few months before you’re a hundred percent.

Wonderful, I said with a wince as he removed the pad attached to my side with a sticky, wet sound. I think I’ve had just about enough purple hearts for one career. Time to cash in my pension and get the fuck out.

Not bloody likely, he said as he completely removed the blood soaked pad.

I didn’t want to look, but my curiosity, like it always did, got the better of me, and I very nearly threw up at the sight and smell of it.

Aye, the medic said, pretty nasty piece of business there, and you’ve managed to pop a few of the stiches as well… great. Give me a minute to sew you back up.

I nodded and gritted my teeth in preparation. I felt a syringe plunge its way into the area, the morphine taking its sweet time before finally working its magic, but when the area felt numb, I risked another look, again immediately wishing I hadn’t.

The laceration was at least seven inches long, and despite the stiches, the wound was flayed open in places where they had popped, and the dark red wound gaped like a ravenous maw ready to devour anything that came near it. I was almost worried my surgeon would lose a finger or two to its voracious appetite, but my fears were quelled when he stitched me up in seconds, his deft movements dancing with practiced ease.

When he was finished, he carefully set his tools on an already laid out piece of cloth and removed another large gauze pad. He placed it carefully over the wound and used some tape to hold it place. Removing a large roll of gauze from his bag he got to work wrapping me up.

Thanks, I grunted as he pulled the wrap tight.

Not a problem, Hunter. Just try not to pop the stitches this time or it will never heal.

Agreed. I’m sick of your bedside manner anyway.

He chuckled and tied off the dressing, giving it a final inspection before nodding to himself. He then dug around in his bag and removed a cleaning rag and a bottle of disinfectant, which he used to sanitize his tools while I worked my shirt back on. Even with my arm refusing to cooperate fully, putting it on was easier than removing it, and by the time my companion was finished, I’d just about secured it around my waist.

The medic stood and shouldered his medical bag over one shoulder and turned to leave without another word. I twisted at the waist, immediately regretting it, and called out after him.

Wait.

The small, former member of Britain’s Special Air Service turned to appraise me with his large, round eyes that tugged just slightly at the corners. Need something more for the pain?

I shook my head. I’m good on that actually. It’s just that I was, um… just wondering what you thought about everything. I shrugged. About… where to go from here.

He didn’t answer immediately, and it would have been nice to see his face in that moment, but his own glowstick was attached to his pack behind him, not in front. I waited patiently, swinging my legs around so I could more comfortably wait for his answer.

I’m not sure, Hunter, he said after not too long, pointing toward the bag at my feet before continuing. But even though we got what we came for, we don’t have a direction. I know you’ve spent a lot more time thinking about everything than I have, but it seems to me that the orb is the most important problem we have right now. You may feel like you have an obligation to ‘fix the timeline,’ but what good is all that if we never get home? We’ll never even know if it’s fixed or not. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time we learned as much as we can about those things before we use one again.

I nodded and looked toward the ground, an old movie quote coming to mind at his words.

If the wine is sour, I whispered, mostly to myself, throw it out.

The wine, Hunter? He asked.

Hmm? I asked in return, barely hearing him. Oh, never mind, it’s just a quote from an old movie.

I didn’t bother to explain, realizing I was better tasked with focusing on my friend’s point instead. All this time I had been too preoccupied with the notion that I had to save the world from itself, that I was somehow the hero in this story because I’d caused everything to go wrong to begin with. I’d worried about Agrippina and what she could do with the power of the orb – what she could do simply with the entire Roman army at her command – but she shouldn’t have been my priority. History shouldn’t have been my priority. Debating theoretical time travel mechanics shouldn’t have been my priority.

The orb should have been my priority.

It always should have been.

If the plan was shit, we needed a new one.

Wang was absolutely right. This whole story revolved around the orb. It was our MacGuffin, the reason for everything that’s happened to us, and I should have known better than to ignore it. I knew what it did and I knew how it worked to some degree, and I knew to leave it well enough alone unless I really needed it, but I didn’t have all the answers. Not by a long shot. But that information had to be out there.

The answers I had always sought had to be out there somewhere.

Thanks, Wang, I said. I think you’re right. And I think I have an idea of where to start.

Cheers, he said as he turned and moved back into the camp.

I watched him go until he was completely concealed in shadow, and glanced down at the little bit of gear I’d brought with me to my rock. I had two bags, one being my typical go-bag containing a few soldiery essentials like my Sig P220 pistol, a flashlight, a multitool, extra socks, and the like. This one I picked up and shouldered on my good side. Once secure, I leaned down again to grab the second bag, but my hand stopped mere inches from where it lay. A great longing overwhelmed me to reach down and take it, a familiar sensation in recent days. My hand moved of its own volition, but with a tremendous effort of will, I clenched my fist and felt it shake as I struggled against the draw, but as the seconds passed, the yearning settled, and I was able to pull my hand away.

I stood, breathing heavily, staring down at the menace at my feet wrapped inconspicuously within a primitive burlap bag. The thirst I’d felt earlier seemed to have dissipated completely now, and I took a painful step back before forcing myself to take another, no longer feeling influenced. I didn’t know why such a feeling came and went like it did, and I didn’t know why I felt so drawn to the orb in some moments but not nearly so in others. However, I also suspected that when the orb was ready to send us home, I would need to interact with it more regularly, but until that time came, I knew it was best to just leave it alone.

Especially now that we had two of them.

Besides, Helena would already be mad at me for taking them to begin with.

For a reason I no longer remembered.

I left the bag where it rested on the ground and took a step back, followed by another more confident one. Despite all the things I didn’t know about the orbs, both mine and the one Artie had brought with her after we’d connected days ago, the one thing I did know was that they couldn’t move on their own. At least, none of us had ever seen such a phenomenon yet.

Feeling more at ease, I turned fully and made my way through the camp.

A half dozen or so tents had been set up only two days ago, half that looked familiar, the other half not so much. Even after five years of constant use, our tents still looked sharp and stylish when compared to the others that wouldn’t have been out of place in a movie about the Korean War. I shook my head as I passed by them, still unclear of the details surrounding Archer and his comrades, but was far more patient about such surprises than most other stuff.

I passed by a pair of the newcomers who were seated around one of their tents, a small fire blazing just outside. Santino was there as well, still geared up as our QRF, talking with Cuyler and Stryker.

Gunnery Sergeant Alex Cuyler was the new squad’s sniper, equipped with a rifle that looked a lot like an old M-14, a damn fine precision rifle back home that had been at the height of its popularity decades ago. Cuyler himself was maybe the oldest of the new bunch, of medium height, and slim, and had a shaved head with a full, red beard, a look he’d reportedly crafted for himself days ago, just prior to embarking on this mission. It seemed an odd styling choice for a Gunnery Sergeant, but I wasn’t about to question what exactly it meant to hold that rank in their alternate military.

Warrant Officer TJ Stryker, by contrast, was a burly younger fellow with a barrel chest and large arms, although of similar height. He didn’t look made for distance running, but if he could sprint, I wouldn’t want to be a bad guy running away from him. He had close cropped dark hair and gentle features with thick eyebrows, so at least he didn’t come off quite as imposing as his build suggested. They both seemed like nice guys during the few times I’d spoken to them, and they were certainly respectful, as Marines generally were, but since Cuyler was a sniper just like me, I figured I already shared some kind of bond with him.

As for what the trio was speaking about, I only had one clue.

Stryker had produced a sleek but wicked looking steel crossbow, and had it displayed out before him. Santino, who preferred close quarters combat with a knife, still appreciated any weapon’s lethality, and reached out to grip it expertly in both hands. He looked it over and nodded approvingly, and held it up to look down its sights. He aimed it off in no particular direction, but then I heard, rather than saw, a metal arrow streak through the sky. I cringed in preparation for it embedding itself in my eye, which would have been just my luck right now, but it never came, and I opened my eyes just in time to hear the arrow ricochet off of a rock before I heard the painful scream of someone in our camp.

My first thoughts were of Helena and Artie, because the cries were clearly from a woman, but the pitch didn’t seem quite right for either of them.

To my right, I saw a petite woman emerge from a tent, hopping on one leg while her hands clutched the other. I couldn’t quite make out her face, but I assumed it was Staff Sergeant Georgia Brewster, who had been part of the U.S. Army before joining Archer’s team. Shorter than even Wang, she had a fair complexion and pleasant, if plain, features, with light colored hair that fell to her shoulders.

The woman came bounding out of her tent so quickly I was certain she would fall over herself, but amazingly, she kept her balance. As she hobbled closer, I could see Santino’s arrow implanted in her calf. She raised a fist in his direction, but the first words out of her mouth weren’t directed toward my friend.

Stryker! Get back here and get your toy before I shove it up your fucking ass!

I smiled unwittingly, thinking of how many times I’d uttered a similar line at my old pal. I glanced at the trio of men, and saw Santino toss Stryker’s crossbow into the air and take off into the night. Stryker, so caught up in catching his weapon, barely even noticed Santino’s escape, and he desperately looked to find the man who was to blame as Brewster hobbled toward him. Cuyler, meanwhile, took that moment as a sign to leave as well, leaving Stryker alone to deal with the irate woman, but luckily for him, Brewster tripped and fell just as she passed by me. I lashed out with a hand and managed to grab the woman before she hit the dirt, but when I looked up for help, Stryker had vanished just as easily as Santino had earlier.

I looked back at the downed woman.

Medic! I called out, but without shouting.

Wang popped his head out from his tent, and I saw it fall against his chest in annoyance before he dipped back in to retrieve his bag. He trotted over seconds later and knelt beside Brewster, but then another woman fell to her knees beside him.

Technical Sergeant Patricia Martin was in the Air Force, and while I didn’t remember what the outfit was called in her military, it had sounded a lot like the Pararescuemen, who were combat troops that were doctors almost as much as they were warriors. Their motto was, That Others May Live, a slogan they took very seriously as they risked their lives to drop in behind enemy lines to rescue downed military personal who were too wounded to help themselves. They were a valorous bunch, and were just as well trained as my SEALs, only they were practically M.D.s as well.

As for Patricia Martin, she was tall and relatively good-looking, with brown hair not unlike my own, only cut even shorter and more haphazardly. She also had a tattoo of a blazing, red sun on her left cheek, something that wouldn’t have been allowed back where I came from. The tattoo and close cropped hair gave her an intimidating vibe, which seemed odd since she was a medic.

Days ago, when Archer, Artie, and the others had traveled back in time and joined us here in Ancient Rome, I’d originally thought Artie the only girl in the bunch. I had been dazed and woozy from the pain, medication, and my own episode with time travel, so I hadn’t even noticed Martin and Brewster being women until hours later when they’d removed their face masks and let their hair down – well, at least Brewster had let her hair down.

I’d been surprised to see such a high ratio of women to men in what was apparently a Special Forces unit, but when I’d later asked Archer about it, he’d nonchalantly made it clear that women had been serving as equally as the men in their armed forces for many decades. His comment made me think of Israel, and how women in that country had fought alongside the men for many years before the idea even entered into the minds of other militaries.

Wang looked at Martin’s arrival in surprise, not used to another medic around to help patch us up, but the two quickly got to work treating the wound and it was nice not to see friction between the two healers.

I stood and moved away from the downed Brewster before I found myself in the way. I knew when I wasn’t needed most of the time, and this incident was clearly something beyond my professional pedigree. I turned my head and noticed our pair of Romans, Gaius and Marcus, standing just outside their tent – this one clearly of the local variety – observing the medical procedure beside me. I sent them a wave and they returned it before the pair moved off to join Vincent, Titus, Archer, and Cuyler around the camp’s central fire.

I watched them go for half a moment before setting off again toward my intended destination. I noticed with an amused smirk that since I’d left my rock, I’d managed to stumble across every single member of our little contingent, both new and old, with the exception of four individuals: the camp’s remaining three ladies and Bordeaux.

The latter was situated on a small hill with clear sightlines all around the camp. It was a good location for our concealed Listening Post/Observation Post, or LP/OP, and Bordeaux could call in a threat from two miles out if he had to. With Santino’s UAV for aerial reconnaissance I was confident we were quite secure, although after Madrina’s not-so-proficient handling of it a few days ago, it wasn’t nearly as reliable as it once was.

That left the three women.

Madrina, Bordeaux’s German wife, was still recovering from a bout of unconsciousness suffered on the day we’d failed in our mission against Agrippina. She’d been little more than an ordinary house frau months ago, and hadn’t nearly been prepared for the shit we’d put her through. She’d been lucky, and while Bordeaux had rarely left her side since, I suspected the big fella could still use the time alone after what had happened.

And then there were two.

As I grew closer to my tent, I couldn’t help but overhear the faint giggles of two women laughing hysterically at something I was sure no one with a Y chromosome could ever find even remotely humorous. I stopped and did everything I could to build up some courage for what was to come. Taking a deep breath, I pushed into the tent.

Their conversation ended when I stepped through to loom in the entranceway, and both turned to regard me with smiles on their faces, heaving for air. The woman to my right was clearly the more attractive of the two, but I had to admit that I was slightly biased. The other woman, after all, was my sister, and while she had a cute smile with round cheeks and long, fine brown hair, I could never