by Drivtaan
Rip Hunter was softly whistling “Happy Trails” while recalibrating the settings on his Time Sphere when the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise, and the tune died away. In the Sphere’s glass, he caught the reflection of a stranger clad mostly in black, wearing a black cloak and fedora, standing behind him.
“Wherever in history you are bound this time, Rip Hunter, I need you to change your destination,” the newcomer said.
The Time Master turned to face his unexpected guest. “It is good to see you again, Stranger.”
The man known only as the Phantom Stranger merely nodded. “The time has come for you to travel to Alexandria.”
It was Rip’s turn to nod. “47 B.C. or 273 A.D.?”
The Stranger allowed himself a small, rare smile. “273 A.D. Although the scrolls you need to collect were at the Great Library by 47 B.C., their presence was recorded shortly before the second fire. They were believed to have been lost in the conflagration. We can’t have them go missing until just before then.”
Rip stepped inside the Time Sphere and made a few adjustments. “What is so important about these scrolls?” he asked.
“Upon these scrolls are recorded portions of this world’s forgotten history,” the Stranger replied. “They tell of a time when fell beasts and demons walked the earth and of the warriors who rose up to defeat them.”
The Time Master’s left eyebrow raised slightly. “Wouldn’t such tales go against your ‘Boss’s’ narrative?” he asked.
“Absolutely not,” the Stranger replied. “There are times in this world’s history that are unknown to man. These scrolls merely record that time. Although He was silent, He still observed all that transpired.”
“Aside from the fact that I can travel through time, why me?” Rip asked.
The Phantom Stranger looked at Rip. “Because you, of all men, do not want to see history lost. To preserve the time stream is to know all of time.”
Rip considered the Stranger’s words. “Am I to travel by myself, or is there someone you would prefer to accompany me?”
“That… is up to you,” replied the Phantom Stranger.
Before Rip could respond, he found himself alone once again. He knew it was useless to call out to the Stranger, for he was probably a continent away by now.
“So,” Rip said, walking to a computer station, “I wonder who would like to visit Ancient Egypt?”
***
Dr. Ashley Halberstam stood looking at a small bottle of sand on one of his shelves, a memento of his first trip to Egypt as a young boy. He picked it up, turned the bottle over in his hand, then gently replaced it. Turning around, he walked back to his desk and sat down. Looking at the blond-haired man sitting across from him, he shook his head.
“Well?” the man asked. “Would you be interested?”
The Egyptologist grinned. “A chance to journey back to Alexandria before the Great Library burns to the ground? Are you mad? Of course I am interested. I just have one question: why me?”
Rip Hunter smiled. “A couple of reasons, actually. While you may have never been credited with any major discoveries, there hasn’t been an Egyptologist or antiquarian who hasn’t confessed that some of the most crucial bits of information needed to make their finds came from you. The second reason is that you have always been so happy to share your knowledge with me, so what better way to repay you?”
Dr. Halberstam ran his hand across his bald head, a sure sign, Rip had come to realize, that the Englishman was pleased. “Obviously,” he began, “we will not be able to pass ourselves off as Egyptians, so how is your Greek?”
“It’s passable,” Rip replied.
“The proper Greek attire!” the Egyptologist blurted out. “We are going to need that as well. That should be fairly easy to acquire; my cleaning woman has a niece who works in wardrobe at Mammoth Studios. They did numerous period pieces a decade or so ago, so she should be able to provide us with whatever we need.”
Rip smiled as he listened to his friend continue planning. Much of this was already arranged, but he would make use of whatever Dr. Halberstam provided, if only to show his appreciation.
***
Alexandria, Egypt, in the year 273 A.D.:
Dr. Halberstam paused to take in the grandeur of the Great Library. After a deep breath, he sighed heavily.
“Is there a problem, Ashley?” Rip asked softly, careful not to be overheard.
“It is hard to believe that, within a week, this place and everything it holds will be destroyed,” the Egyptologist replied.
Rip patted his friend on the back. “I can promise you that not everything will be lost. Now, let’s hurry and find what we came for.”
Dr. Halberstam nodded, and the two men continued on, unaware that their brief interlude had not gone unnoticed. Seconds later, a tall man stepped from the shadows of a pillar and followed them at a discreet distance.
The time travelers moved unerringly through the Library, pursued by the eavesdropper. Several turns later, the two men arrived at a closed wooden door. The tall man paused at the last turn, just out of sight.
Glancing around, Rip softly rapped his knuckles on the wood. When he heard no response, he slowly pushed the door open and peeked inside. “It’s empty,” he whispered to his companion. The two men stepped inside and eased the door closed behind them.
Despite being currently abandoned, a half-dozen oil lamps placed strategically away from the room’s precious treasures provided a moderate amount of light. Rows and rows of shelves, bearing thousands of scrolls, filled the room.
“I am suddenly craving Italian,” Rip said, still keeping his voice low in case someone passed by in the corridor outside.
Dr. Halberstam dipped his pinky into the oil of one of the lamps, careful to avoid the floating wick, and touched it to his tongue. “They are using olive oil as their fuel source,” he said. “It burns rather clean, and it appears they have added a pinch of salt to help eliminate the majority of the soot.”
Each man gently lifted a lamp, which was little more than an oil-filled bowl, and began to look around. The scope of their task began to dawn on them.
“How will we ever find the scrolls we are looking for?” the Egyptologist asked. “Surely, we aren’t supposed to simply start grabbing papyrus willy-nilly.”
“Your words are not of the Greek tongue,” a voice said near the door, “despite your attire.”
Ashley froze, but Rip spun to face the newcomer, spilling oil on his hand in the process. His eyes widened in recognition. “Doctor… Mist?” he stammered in Greek. “What are you doing here?”
The man who had been following them cocked his head slightly. After a moment, the corner of his mouth began to creep upward. “I do not know this name, but I suspect it is one I shall acknowledge one day. I am called Nommo.”
Rip looked at the man standing before him. Without the trappings of modernity, he saw Nommo as less of a mage and more of a warrior. Standing an easy six feet four inches, if not taller, he resembled an NFL running back — lean but well-muscled, strong yet wiry. “Nommo. Yes. Forgive me.”
“You are not from this era,” Nommo stated, not overly surprised. “You are looking for specific scrolls, but for what reason? These shelves hold nothing of power save the histories of times past; not something a thief would desire. If you were simple thieves, then you would have already begun to collect the scrolls closest to you. I sense no malice in you or your intended actions. Please, enlighten me as to your reason for being here.”
Dr. Halberstam had turned slowly during the newcomer’s speech. His heart beat wildly against the inside of his chest.
“We seek certain scrolls, as you have said,” Rip began. “We are indeed from a different era, one many years from now.”
“And you seek to preserve these specific scrolls from the coming destruction,” Nommo said. “I have had visions of such an event.”
“Less than a week from now,” Ashley offered. “So much of this knowledge shall be lost.”
Nommo sensed the sadness in the man’s voice. “Follow me.”
As the three men started between the rows of shelves, Nommo spoke to Rip. “This name you called me, ‘Doctor Mist,’ means we know each other in the years to come?”
“Not as well as we should,” Rip replied, “but yes, we do.”
Nommo stopped suddenly, causing Ashley to stumble into Rip and splash oil onto the hem of his tunic. Before Rip could react, a knife seemed to appear in Nommo’s hand as if by magic. “If you have any means of defense,” he said, looking around, “produce it now.”
Rip reached down the neck of his tunic and produced the laser gun he often carried for emergencies. “Shoulder holster,” he explained in response to Ashley’s questioning look as he moved to place the Egyptologist between himself and Nommo.
“Where are our attackers coming from?” Ashley asked.
“The shadows,” Nommo replied. “Set has long sought an item rumored to be hidden in this room. When I first overheard your conversation, I thought you were here to collect it for your master.”
Before the conversation could advance any further, jackal-headed humanoids began to emerge from the shadows. The three men knew their chances of survival weren’t promising.
While Rip blasted away with his pistol, Nommo spun and lashed out with his blade. Whenever one of Set’s minions fell, another appeared to take its place. Ashley took a step back as one of the creatures dropped at his feet, a cauterized hole in the center of its head, then knelt and retrieved an Egyptian mace that had fallen from its lifeless hand. Wielding it like a cricket bat, he soon found himself holding his own against the onslaught.