The Gift

The Gift    by Tom Moore

             



    “Well, Cohen, where—when- – are we?”

      Dr. Miller stood with his hands planted firmly on his hips, his thick black eyebrows making a checkmark on his ebony face.

      Dr. Cohen grunted rather than answering immediately. He was stroking his salt-and-pepper beard with one hand and studying a small electronic device held in the other hand. He cleared his throat and ventured, “I don’t believe the TPS is properly calibrated yet. Let me work on it for a moment.”

    “Zis ist NOT ze Cretaceous!” called a voice from slightly further up the rocky, almost barren slope. Old Doc Steighammer was crouching in front of one of the low, dry-looking shrubs, resting the leather-patched elbows of his old tweed blazer on his knees while peering at the plant through thick glasses.

    “Oh, re-ally? And wha’ makes you think that?” replied Dr. Miller.

    “Zis plant ist too developed to be from ze Period, for one.” Sarcasm was lost on Dr. Steighammer. “And I believe zose vere domesticated sheep unt goats, not dinosaurs.” He poked a bony finger in the direction of the tail end of a flock of bounding white shapes disappearing into the darkness, dragging a calliope-sound of terrified bleats with them.

    Dr. Miller rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. He turned again to Dr. Cohen. “Okay, Cohen, talk to me, man. Wha’ happened? Where are we?” 

      Dr. Cohen shook his head in frustration and sighed. “There are too many variables. I am having some of them solved, but I have not enough to make a good guess.” He waved a hand in the air. “I can say that we did not travel into the future. There exists here a minimal hydro-carbon level, no radio or microwave transmissions, and the background radio-activity is far too low.” He smiled, showing teeth bright against his olive complexion. “We did travel back in time…I will be trying to find out when.” He resumed working with the TPS, a marvel of miniaturization that he had developed for this mission. The Time Positioning System was able to track the stars, the air quality, and multitudes of other minor factors and determine their position in time. If it could brew a decent cup of coffee Cohen would consider it perfect.

    Dr. Miller was not all that impressed, but he bit off a sharp remark.

    They all shaded their eyes and looked up as a voice thundered at them from the sky over their head. “Dr. Miller. Are you returning to the ship, sir?”

    Dr. Miller shouted back up to the hovering insertion vehicle that was bathing them in a bright floodlight. “No, not yet. We just got here. We are gonna’ look around a while and maybe pick up a souvenir or two.” There were…rocks Wow….

    “Roger, sir. We are going to return to attitude. Call us when you are ready for pickup.”

      “Sure. Keep that light on us, huh? It’s darker’n hell down here.”

      “Yes, sir. Wilco.” The air was filled with the rising musical note of the craft’s turbines spooling up as the ship rose smoothly into the night, the light circle surrounding the trio of explorers growing larger and more diffuse as the vessel rose. In moments, the spotlight was merely a very bright spear of brightness aimed at the ground. Time insertions involved travel in more than just time—as the world moves, the insertion position changes as well. It was determined that to help prevent popping into existence several hundred meters deep in the bedrock or underwater, it was safer to build the travel device into a craft capable of atmospheric operation so the team could insert into the miles-deep blanket of air surrounding the planet instead. Plus, it meant they could zoom around exploring and not be confined to hiking everywhere.

    “Well then, gentlemen, let’s go look around, huh?” Miller pulled a small device from a pocket in his Abercrombie and Finch bush jacket and swept it in a full circle. “We have some infra-red sources over that rise, there.”

    “Dinosaurs?” Steighammer wasn’t giving up.

    “Nah, more likely dwellings and cook fires. Let’s check it out.” He flourished a long arm towards the top of the slope. “After you.”

    They were trudging up the hill when Dr. Steighammer yelped and pointed at a clump of bushes. “Vas ist das! Zere ist something here!”

    The trio closed on the small thicket and Miller gingerly pried apart the branches to reveal a cowering, filthy boy, maybe seven or eight years old. He was wearing rags and makeshift sandals on his crud-encrusted feet. He had black curly hair, olive complexion, and a serious problem with his eyes. They looked so frightened that they were in danger of popping right out of his head. The explorers stood and stared back at the boy for a moment. Then Doc Steighammer snorted. “Zis ist not even a primitive hominid. Zis youth appears to be homo sapien.” He lost interest and stood looking out over the darkness-wrapped landscape. Probably still hoping to see a T rex.

    Dr. Cohen nudged Dr. Miller and whispered “Talk to him. You teach many freshman classes.”

    Miller shot him a look best described as nasty.  He cleared his face and leaned over to get closer to the dirty youth. “Yo, dog, wazzup?”

  With a screech of pure terror, the boy erupted from the bushes and streaked off over the crest of the hill, wailing and showing an amazing turn of speed on the loose gravel covering the slope. Dr. Miller straightened his lanky frame and glowered at Dr. Cohen. “Not a word, I swear, not a word from you.” He pointed at the TPS unit in Cohen’s hand. “Anything yet? What about the clothing …type…on that kid?” He couldn’t say style, no matter how hard he tried.

    Dr. Cohen hid a smile behind a hand until he was back under control. “It was, is, indicative of the clothing style wore practically everywhere from the South Mediterranean through the Mid East to India, from pre-history to… the beginning of the Twenty-first Century.” Dr. Cohen didn’t like talking about the Holy War that ended Israel’s hope of having a homeland in a flurry of nuclear weapon exchange and added a cloud of radio-active dust to the world’s atmosphere. At least the Arabs were gone as well, baked into a glass-topped wasteland. That would be the end of any timeline for this area he was referring to, of course.

    “So there’s no help there.”

    “Not necessarily true. I can narrow down the search parameters to only include this region and correlate the starfield for this latitude.” He became engrossed in punching in data.

    “Okay, the sheep, and the probable shepherd, both went that way. And that is the direction of the heat sources. Let’s move on.” Miller ushered them on up the hill. The light from the hovering insertion platform overhead provided enough illumination for them to pick their way through the rocks and scattered plants with ease. 

      As they topped the rise they saw a small village clustered on the reverse slope. It didn’t look like a planned community—more like a number of houses had a rather serious collision at a stoplight and the debris had never been cleared up. The buildings were mostly mud bricks and flapping cloth panels. There were no streets, merely places between hovels that didn’t have as much piled rubble. The three didn’t say anything but exchanged looks of disgust. A short way down-slope a dim light was shining from an opening. As they got closer they realized it was coming from a cave that someone had piled rocks in front of to form a rough corral. Branches and scraps of material helped close off parts of the roof to extend the enclosure offered by the shallow grotto. They moved into the doorway, for want of a better word, and peered inside.

    The dirt floor was covered with piles of moldering hay and heaps of animal fecal matter. Cobwebs bedecked the walls and hung in dusty garlands from the roof. The place gave off a stench that was gagging in its intensity. An oil lantern was guttering on the floor, casting a sickly light on a couple huddling in the corner. The man, middle-aged and already looking worn, stood and brandished a wooden staff in their direction. He had a mop of dark curly and greasy hair, a beard to match, dark olive skin, and was resplendent in what looked like several layers of ratty bathrobes. His grimace exposed as many black gaps as yellowing teeth. He looked like the type that used to hijack airplanes and blow up buses at rush hour.  Or drive taxicabs in New York City.

    The girl he was guarding was barely a teenager, slight and devoid of the curves of a mature female. Her long dark hair was lank and stuck to her acne-covered forehead by a sheen of sweat. She was clutching a bundle of rags, which the doctors realized with a start, held a baby. It didn’t require a doctorate, therefore, to deduce she had just given birth, judging from her wan appearance and the glazed look in her dark eyes.

    The trio stood looking in at the cave dwellers in wonder and revulsion. The troglodytes,  for their part, looked back in fear and apprehension. Dr. Steighammer finally broke the standoff by grunting “Achtung lieber, zat baby requires some attention.” He moved closer to the couple and surprisingly didn’t earn a bash on the head from the man’s staff. He talked in a low, calming voice and soon had the pair more at ease. At least the man wasn’t waving the stick about as threateningly. Steighammer bent to examine the baby, slipping his Medikit from his pocket. The device was standard equipment for adventures anywhere. The manufacturers claim that the palm-sized device is better than any doctor – it doesn’t try to have a bed-sided manner. The small unit contained a complete diagnostic function, a reservoir of highly concentrated chemicals, and a painless delivery system, all which work in unison to quickly diagnose an illness, whip up a cure or antidote, and administer it the required miniscule amount, simply by pressing the end of the unit to your skin. It cures everything…except the common cold, which has defied modern science’s best efforts to cure for centuries. Dr. Steighammer, being a bit of a hypochondriac, always kept his handy and fully stocked with enough raw ingredients to last for twenty years. Even if he wasn’t going to last that long. 

    A hissing intake of breath drew Dr. Miller’s attention from baby doctor Steighammer back to Dr. Cohen, who was standing outside in the fresher air working the TPS unit, the light breeze whipping his long white lab coat around his skinny legs. Miller sauntered to Cohen’s side and barked “You got sumthin’?”

    “Yes…I believe I have found the problem with the insertion coordinates.” He looked up at Miller with haunted eyes, brimming with incipient horror.

    “Okay, man, lay it on me.” Dr. Miller wasn’t in the mood to get rattled just because Cohen was working himself into a tizzy.

    Dr. Cohen took a deep breath and blew it out noisily between his teeth – a habit Miller detested in his partner. “Working with the assumption that this is the Middle East, before the War, and tying in the stellar drift on several major constellations, I found our date…and the reason we ended up here.”

    “Com’on, spill it, man!”

    “When we input the target date, 66 million years in the past, it didn’t lock in. The system didn’t accept it, it got erased, or it wasn’t entered correctly, whatever. The system used its default value for the time stamp.”

Miller still didn’t look impressed. “I didn’t know it had a default setting. What was it?”

    “Zero.”

    “Zero.” Miller didn’t look impressed, but he wasn’t a Doctor of Physics and the leader of this jaunt back in time because he was a complete idiot. He was the leader because he paid most of the bills. But the facts clicked into place finally and the light of realization dawned in his dark eyes. “Je-sus Chr-ist!!”

    “Well, I guess he could be…” Cohen looked very uncomfortable with the entire situation.

    Further connections were made in Miller’s head and he turned as pale as his skin color could allow. “Aw she-it, man! If that’s the baby Jesus in there, that means we’re…”

    “The three Kings, the Wise Men, the Magi, yes.” Cohen said sadly and pointed up at the hovering ship only seen as a bright light in the night sky. “The Wise Men followed a star to the babe.  It means we have caused a major paradox in the timeline. “

    “Wait, man, don’t panic…if we are here, as the three wise guys, whatever,” Miller wasn’t much of a Christian—he preferred Kwanzaa, and he mostly ignored that as well. “Then we’re supposed to be here, right?”

    Cohen sighed and scratched his beard. “Well, I’d say the fact that we have the legend in the first place means that we were here and started the whole thing.” He nodded slowly. “I always wondered about the logic of three Kings making such a trip…they should’ve sent someone and not come themselves….”

    “Wait, dude!” Miller sounded relieved. “There must been thousands of babies bein’ born this year. This can’t be that one.”

    Cohen cracked a sickly smile and shook his head no. “I checked the position with the star field. This is the correct location to be Bethlehem. In fact, before the War, this area was a shopping mall.”

    Miller’s face crumpled again. “Man, we need to get the hell outa’ here before we mess up sumthing else.” He turned and hissed at Steighammer  “Get out here, NOW!”

    Dr. Steighammer ambled out of the cave. “I gave ze baby a general booster dose of vitamins unt some enhancement hormones. It should up his IQ unt increase his chances of surviving zis environment.” Cohen quickly filled him in on their deductions. Steighammer didn’t take the news well. Not at all. He just wanted to see dinosaurs, not be a part of the Christmas legend. The other two agreed most heartily. Miller pointed over the rise and ground out “Let’s get outa’ sight fast and call for pickup.”

    “Nein! Zis ve can NOT do!” Steighammer stood firm and glared at Dr. Miller. “Ve have started viz ze Magi story, ve must finish it.” Miller looked confused, so he continued. “Ze Magi gave ze Babe gifts, ja? Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Ve must complete ze story correctly.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and pulled his key ring from his tattered jacket’s pocket. He smiled and jerked the fob off the chain and held it up for the others to see. “Zis ist mein lucky coin, a gold Krugerrand.” He stepped into the cave and handed it to, presumably, Mary.

    The man, Joseph, also presumably, snarled and with a look mixed of pure greed and anger, snatched the coin from Steighammer’s fingers. The good doctor looked startled and backed away.

    “Careful, Doctor…this is the past, remember?” Cohen sidled up to his side. “Women are chattel here and the men handle the money. You may have just offered to buy Mother Mary’s sexual attentions.”

    “Mein Gott!” exclaimed Steighammer.

    “Well, maybe some day…” muttered Cohen.

      “Hey, Cohen! Talk to the dude, huh? Let him know we be cool, okay?”

      Dr. Cohen gave Miller a blistering look. “I speak English, Hebrew, and a little French. They speak Aramaic.”

    “Oh, yeah, sorry, I just thought, you know…” He gestured at Cohen’s features and then the couple in the grotto.

Cohen gritted his teeth and didn’t respond.

    Steighammer harrumphed and announced “I have chust given my gift. Your turn.”

      Miller muttered something and rubbed his head. “Now where am I goin’ to get Frankenstein, man?”

      “Nein! Frankincense! It ist a resinous oil, used for perfume unt incense.”

      Miller’s face brightened and he dug in his pocket to triumphantly produce a small travel-sized bottle of Axe, his favorite after-shave. He strode in to present it to Joseph with the comment, “You really need this, dude, you know?” He returned to stare expectantly at Cohen.

    “What?”

    “It’s your turn, man.”

    “I don’t even know what myrrh is.” Cohen hunched his shoulders. “And I’m Jewish. This is very weird and I don’t like it.”

    “Doktor Cohen, you must present ze Christ child viz a gift. Even if zis ist not the Babe, ve can not take ze chance unt disturb history more zan ve have.”

    Cohen heaved a deep sigh. “Right, right…what’s myrrh, anyway?’

    “It ist a herb used for perfumes. It ist a prime ingredient in embalming. It keeps ze smell sweeter.”

    “And that’s a gift you give a baby? Man, these dudes are whacked.” Miller snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, Cohen, make with the myrrh.”

      Dr. Cohen glared at the other two. “It might surprise you both to know that I don’t often carry about embalming spices.”

    “Fine, man…so, what’s this stuff look like, anyway?” Steighammer shrugged. “Okay, dude, fake it. These guys probably don’t know what it looks like either.” Miller pointed at Cohen’s lab coat pocket. “How ‘bout that stuff?”

    Cohen’s eyes went hard as his hand shot into his pocket. “No way I’m giving a baby my pouch of custom blended pipe tobacco! This blend costs me over fifty bucks an ounce!”

    “Oh, for God’s sake man!” Miller snarled.

    Steighammer murmured “Ja! Exactly!”

    “I’ll replace it when we get home. Fork it over, dude!” Miller pointed at Joseph. Cohen sighed deeply again and looked longingly at the leather pouch in his hand, then handed it to the Arab Terrorist-looking man with a grimace.

    “Great! Story time is over. Bow and let’s get the hell outa’ here!” They backed away quickly and turning, scrabbled at a near run over the ridge and away from the manger and the confused, but suddenly rich couple.



    Mary tucked the swaddling clothes tighter around her baby. The night chill was settling quickly and she didn’t wish for him to become ill. She was weary and hurting, but content. The very strange men were gone, back into the night that seemed to produce them. Joseph was chuckling and going on and on about the sudden pile of riches he had. He was puzzled about the brownish aromatic leaf matter in the pouch, but he was sure it could be sold for a tidy sum. He was bragging about the house he could buy and maybe set up a small business. Mary tuned him out.

She placed the baby in the straw of the manger and snuggled him in carefully so he wouldn’t roll out onto the floor. Her hand brushed something in the hay. She lifted out the small gray thing that the old man had shown to the baby. It was plain and smooth with just a round black spot on one side and a small opening on one end.  Mary wasn’t certain what it was, but the man seemed eager to give it to the baby. Maybe it was toy. Joseph wasn’t going to get this…she would save it and give it to the child when he was older. She smiled at the newborn and closed her eyes to sleep.



    Steighammer’s abandoned Medikit was due to make some serious history.