CHILDREN OF TIME (2025 Edition) by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

CHAPTER 24 – THE END OF THE ROAD

14:25 (Iraq Time)

Wednesday, February 06, 2019 ‘A’

Small village near the city of Kirkuk

Border area between Northern Iraq and the

Republic of Kurdistan

The Al Jazeera three-man television crew was taking a well-earned break from covering the nearby fighting between Kurdish forces and Iraqi extremist Sunni militias, smoking cigarettes while standing on one side of the village’s market square, when they saw a pick-up truck of the Kurdish forces approach, a heavy machine gun mount fitted to its back. The Qatari men watched wearily as it rolled towards them, hoping that this did not mean some kind of trouble for them: the various factions involved in this conflict had often proved not to bother much about the rights of reporters. However the Kurdish forces, better disciplined than their Wahabi opponents, had shown much more restraint and even respect towards the handful of war correspondents doing their best to cover this savage war. A big factor in that was most probably that the Kurdish government was out to prove that it was worthy of being helped by the rest of the World against the collection of Sunni extremists, some being openly pro-Al Qaeda, which were bent on grabbing Kirkuk and its precious oil fields. Those Sunni extremists, who had broken away from the rest of predominantly Shia Iraq, had taken control of a portion of Northern Iraq and declared it as the nucleus of a new Sunni caliphate, applying to its population their harsh version of Islamic law. The Kurds, being quite tolerant on religious matters, had refused to bend to the assaults and terrorist attacks from the Wahabis and were in fact pushing back hard against them.

The pick-up truck finally stopped in front of the Al Jazeera camera crew and a person jumped out of the back, then grabbed a big backpack inside the truck and pulled it out before walking towards the Qatari men. The latter then smiled, instantly reassured when they recognized the tall woman wearing a blue bullet-proof tactical vest over her winter coat: she was the most famous war correspondent around the World, apart from

656

being a Hollywood star. The senior Qatari reporter, grinning from ear to ear, presented his right hand for a shake to greet her.

‘’Hey, we have the great Nancy Laplante with us today! How are you, Nancy?’’

‘’Just fine, Wahid.’’ replied in Arabic Nancy, who wore her now trademark helmet with incorporated video camera system. ‘’And you guys?’’

‘’We are alive and in one piece, which is more than I could say about too many innocent people around here.’’ said Wahid, his smile fading. ‘’Those damn Wahabi militiamen keep indiscriminately shelling this village and other villages in the area with mortar and rocket fire, causing many civilian casualties.’’

Nancy also became serious, eyeing a group of young children playing nearby in the snow-covered square, throwing snowballs at each other.

‘’Yes, I know! Those damn fanatics don’t care much about human life, yet they claim to do God’s work. So, what is the situation around here, guys?’’

‘’The Kurds have repelled a number of Wahabi attacks meant to complete their encirclement of Kirkuk, but the extremists are retaliating with indiscriminate mortar and rocket fire.’’ answered Wahid as the Kurdish pick-up truck turned around and started to leave the market square. Nancy nodded her head in acknowledgement.

‘’If you can’t grab it, then destroy it. That’s pretty much the philosophy of those nihilistic bastards. Have you…’’

Nancy suddenly froze, seemingly listening to something that the Qatari could not hear yet, then yelled with alarm in Arabic.

‘’INCOMING MORTAR FIRE! TAKE COVER!’’

The Al Jazeera men did not question if she was hearing correctly and scrambled at once for cover: when as experienced a war correspondent and ex-military officer like Nancy said that mortar bombs were incoming, then one was best to react immediately. They, like Nancy, ran and crouched behind an old, derelict pick-up truck parked along the sidewalk and which had been the victim of a previous bombardment. The children playing in the middle of the square were slow at first to react until the first mortar bomb, its fall barely audible, blew up after impacting against the roof of a house in the village. Looking quickly from behind her cover, Nancy saw that the children were now dispersing at a run, screaming with fear and terror. Her heart sank on seeing that a toddler girl who was no more than three years old was still in the middle of the square, paralyzed by fear and crying. An older girl, maybe her sister, was running back to her when a second mortar bomb exploded in the square, maybe thirty meters away from the crying toddler.

657

Miraculously, the small child was not hit by one of the hot steel fragments from the bomb but the older girl was, crumbling to the ground with a cry of pain before holding her left leg. Nancy then reacted without a second thought. Rushing out from behind her cover, she ran towards the two children as a third mortar bomb exploded inside the village. The Qatari holding the video camera of his crew instinctively started filming her then: this was unfortunately a classic image of war and it was his job to show to the World what the reality of war was.

Nancy chose to go first to the toddler girl and put one arm around her waist, picking her up effortlessly before turning around and going to the wounded girl, kneeling besides her to examine quickly her wound. She did not even have time to assess the severity of the bleeding from the girl’s leg when a light whistle told her that another mortar bomb was falling. Hurriedly putting the toddler girl down beside her sister and forcing her face down on the ground, Nancy then lay over both girls, rolling her body so that she covered as much of the two children with her own body and tactical vest and helmet. The Qatari cameraman filmed that but instinctively jerked when a mortar bomb exploded right in the middle of the village square, no more than ten meters from Nancy and the two girls. Readjusting quickly his camera’s aim, the Qatari saw that Nancy was still crouched over the children. The wounded girl was still moaning with pain and moving somewhat, being pinned down under Nancy’s body, like the younger girl. Wahid was the first to react in their group, getting up and rushing towards the trio in the middle of the square, closely followed by his photographer, Yusuf. Wahid, sick with worry, knelt beside Nancy and the two girls and patted Nancy’s shoulder, speaking up loudly: she most probably had been at the least deafened by the nearby explosion.

‘’NANCY, YOU CAN GET UP AND LET US TAKE THE GIRLS… NANCY!... NANCY!’’

Only then did Wahid see the blood covering one side of Nancy’s neck.

‘’Oh God, please, no!’’

He saw numerous holes in her tactical vest made by the impact of fragments, some pieces of shrapnel even sticking out of the Kevlar fabric. Taking her limp right wrist, Wahid searched for a pulse as Yusuf was freeing the older girl pinned under Nancy, then picked her up in his arms and ran back behind cover as yet another mortar bomb exploded inside the village. Tears came to Wahid’s eyes when he couldn’t find any pulse. Turning gently Nancy on one side, freeing at the same time the crying toddler girl,

658

he saw that her green eyes were opened, frozen by death. Wahid started weeping as a pair of Kurdish fighters who had run out of a house arrived at a run, intent on bringing the toddler girl to safety. The Qatari looked up at them, tears rolling on his cheeks.

‘’She is dead! Nancy Laplante is dead!’’

16:56 (New Zealand Time)

Sunday, November 20, year 2989 Before the Common Era (B.C.E.) Hills north of the future site of the city of Auckland New Zealand

‘’Can you please slow down, Nancy? My feet are killing me!’’ Nancy Laplante ‘B’, already tall for a girl of thirteen, turned her head and smiled to David, the son of Miriam of Magdala and Yeshua of Nazareth. While one year older than her, David was however much shorter than her, being the offspring of a Jewish couple from the 1st Century, a time period when the average Middle East man stood less than 160 centimeters. In contrast, Nancy ‘B’ already stood 178 centimeters, not far from the full 183 centimeters she would be once a fully grown adult. She was already an accomplished athlete, having been raised and trained all her life at the secret base of the Time Patrol, located in the 3rd Millenium BCE on the future site of Auckland, in New Zealand.

‘’You have to toughen up a bit, David.’’

‘’Maybe, but I don’t intend like you to become a temporal agent. I only want to become an artist and a musician, remember?’’

‘’And? Look around at this magnificent scenery and tell me that it doesn’t inspire you.’’

David, a thin boy with brown skin and curly brown hair, had to recognize that Nancy was partly right: this corner of New Zealand was nearly like paradise on Earth, with a near perfect climate year long and a varied and beautiful geography. David knew that Nancy preferred to train outdoors instead of using the well-equipped gymnasium of the base, except for her bodybuilding training sessions. With her intense physical training, her balanced diet and her exceptional genetic pool, the result was a tall young athlete of Olympic caliber full of health. Nancy ‘B’ was already an Olympic level gymnast, an expert shot, a black belt in Juko, the mixed martial art developed by her adult timeline twin, a dangerous fencer and a first class horse rider. She had also started to develop

659

the sensual curves for which Nancy ‘A’ was justly famous. Some even said that she had also the same sexual appetite than her older twin. Nancy ‘B’, who had stopped for a moment to allow David to catch up, noticed with a smile how the eyes of the boy detailed her body, molded in a short sport leotard.

‘’We are close to the beach, David. We could go swim a bit and wash away the sweat from our hike.’’

‘’Uh, okay!’’

The two teenagers, Nancy ‘B’ in the lead, walked for another 300 meters, going down a gentle slope before arriving at a magnificent sandy beach with blue, clear waters. Nancy undressed as soon as she arrived near the water, smiling to David.

‘’So, are you going to swim with your clothes on, David?’’ While he was only fourteen, David remembered his past incarnations, thanks to Nancy ‘A’, who had opened the past memories of all the members of the Time Patrol aged eight and above. He thus knew more about sexuality and sexual techniques than the majority of normal adults. He had also seen Nancy ‘B’ and many other girls naked before. He thus hesitated only slightly before undressing and then running in the water to join Nancy. They had been swimming and playing in the water for about ten minutes, with Nancy ‘B’ becoming more and more audacious with David, when Nancy’s wrist videophone buzzed. Sighing with annoyance, Nancy opened the cover of her videophone, unmasking its viewing screen and activating it. The face of her mother, Susan Laplante ‘B’, then appeared to her. Her sad expression and reddened eyes alarmed Nancy at once.

‘’Mom, what is going on? You’ve been crying?’’

‘’Nancy, I will need you to come back to the base at once: your twin sister is dead.’’

‘’WHAT? NANCY, DEAD? HOW?’’

‘’She was doing her job as a war correspondent in 2019 ‘A’ when she was killed by a mortar bomb in Kurdistan. Come join us at the medical center. The Time Patrol has managed to temporarily take her body, so that her special implants can be taken out before an autopsy in the 21st Century could find them.’’

‘’I am on my way, Mom: I am presently on a beach one kilometer from the base.’’ Nancy then closed her videophone cover. The enormity of what she had just learned took a few seconds to fully hit her as she came out of the water with David. She then burst out in tears and sat down on the sand, crying the loss of her big sister, who had

660

been her idol and model. David, who was also crying, passed an arm around her shoulders.

‘’I thought that Nancy would never die.’’

‘’She…she was not immortal, David. She had said so many times. The One had told her that this life would be her last incarnation, that she would then become an angel, like your father Yeshua.’’

‘’That is correct, little sister.’’ said softly a voice they knew well. Raising their heads, Nancy ‘B’ and David saw Nancy ‘A’, wearing the white hooded robe she often wore as Overseer of the Holy Land of Palestine. She was standing in the sea, with water up to her ankles, and looked at the two teenagers with tenderness. Nancy ‘B’ got up slowly, unable to believe her eyes.

‘’Nancy, is it really you?’’

Nancy ‘A’ shook her head slowly in response.

‘’No! I am Nataï, the spirit which inhabited in succession the bodies of Saraï, Joan of Arc and Nancy. I am made of pure spiritual energy and can take any form I want, like now. I can also travel at will through time and space. The One judged that the mission of Nancy ‘A’ was too important to be abandoned simply because of her death. He thus sent me to take her place and continue her mission.’’

‘’Can you really be like Nancy?’’ asked in a trembling voice Nancy ‘B’. ‘’Can you be warm and sensitive? Can you eat and drink and enjoy life like Nancy could?’’ The angel smiled gently in response.

‘’I can be everything that Nancy was…for eternity. I am also in you and will guide you in your own destiny. You will eventually take the place of your timeline twin, but for that you will need the help of The One. Do you accept to become a Chosen of The One, with the responsibilities that it implies, young Nancy?’’

Nancy ‘B’ hesitated only for a second before replying in a firm voice.

‘’I accept!’’

The angel nodded her head in solemn acknowledgement.

‘’I am certain that you will honor The One, little sister.’’

661