Warning: This story contains violence, some controverisal positions and relatively mild sex: Rated R

Jayti Singh

Chapter 1: The Experiment

After walking for several minutes, he opened a dark brown painted metal door on the right and faced a receptionist more interested in a romance novel than her visitor. Regardless, he soon faced his old friend passing through the back door of the office.

The shorter man in a stiff, starched lab coat extended his right hand and smiled in delight. "Mark, it's great to see you. I'm so glad you could make it!"

After catching up, they entered the fair sized laboratory together, passing a neatly arranged array of electronic measuring equipment and unidentified electrical modules of advanced design, most of them centered around a pair of large cylindrical, exposed electromagnets set up in the center of the room. Mark smelled ozone and heard a muted 60-hertz hum as he walked by.

An array of several mouse cages was assembled horizontally on a long table in the right half of the room, next to a rat maze.

A pair of roll-around computer stations was set up to the left. A petite Chinese woman in her mid-thirties huddled over one of them, peering over black wire-frame glasses at something on the monitor. As they approached, she rose.

She smiled pleasantly, revealing nice, even teeth. "Good morning, Dr. Evans. I'm Dr. Joyce Wu. I'm working with Professor Glendenning on the project. It's nice to meet you."

Mark exchanged pleasantries. Finally, he looked at the Professor pointedly and spread his arms impatiently; Mark was more than ready to find out why he was here.

Professor Glendenning rolled over an unoccupied chair from a test station and motioned for Mark to sit. Dr. Wu turned her chair so that all three could sit in a circle facing each other.

The professor looked intently at Mark, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Mark, Joyce and I have been working on a fabulous new way to study history. We've determined that, in a very limited way, it's possible to communicate with the past.

Mark was intrigued but puzzled. "What do you mean? A new procedure like carbon dating or a new forensics technique?" Mark smiled sceptically. "Or are you saying you invented time travel?"

Professor Glendenning shook his head impatiently. "No. No. Time travel is, for all practical purposes, impossible, except perhaps by using a black hole or a worm hole, and who has one of those lying around?" He chuckled, shifting in his seat. "We've discovered that when a rare type of crystal is passed through a magnetic field, it creates a wave that travels through time as well as space. It's instantaneous and detectable by our instruments."

"Professor, you're talking about faster than light communication." Mark was stunned. If true, this would be the discovery of the century!

The professor shook his head. "The instantaneous wave we discovered has some practical problems associated with it as far as a faster than light communications system. You see, it's really more of a time wave, for want of a better term. Once created, it's detectable for many centuries. Who would want to send a message that everyone could see essentially forever?"

He stopped and squirmed in his chair. "But, Mark, that isn't even half of it. Joyce made a huge discovery when analyzing the crystal."

Joyce began. "When the crystal is passed through a magnetic field, it creates a special field, something I call the crystal field, that generates the wave. Electrical fields that exist inside the crystal field, such as brain waves, modify the crystal field and the wave by piggybacking their signature over it, sort of like a radio signal onto a radio frequency."

"As you know, Mark, if you have two radio stations at the same frequency, you are going to hear the stronger signal. And the same thing happens when two waves are generated from the same crystal using the same magnetic field. But due to the nature of the time wave, it doesn't matter when the waves are generated. One wave will affect the other and its crystal field regardless of when they were created. If two separate waves are generated at the same 'frequency' with different brain signatures piggybacked onto them, the stronger wave with the stronger brain signature will change the characteristics of the other crystal field and modify or add on to the brain signature inside. If one wave is really strong, it can even effectively overwrite the other brain signature.

"To do this, one needs to have the crystal, because the characteristics of each crystal are unique, and to make sure that the exact parameters and duration of the magnetic field as the crystal passes through it are identical for each pass. Otherwise, instead of imprinting another valid brain signature into the brain of the animal, the brain signature would just be severely scrambled."

She waved towards mouse cages set against the far wall. "We've tested this on mice already. A mouse that has learned how to negotiate a maze can transfer its brain pattern onto another mouse, enabling both mice to run the maze."

She laughed prettily. "The professor and I sure made a lot of mice crazy before we got it right! Although, for obvious reasons, we haven't tried it on human beings, we think we finally have it down to a workable process."

Professor Glendenning leaned forward, clenching his hands together. "Mark, such a wave was generated in 1587 with a human brain pattern piggybacked."

Mark stared at the Professor.

The Professor considered. "Actually, it was on October 22, 1587 at 10:11 AM Eastern Standard Time, 48 seconds and some change to be precise."

"How do you know that? A wave would exist at everytime, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Mark! Very good! But the wave signature is very weak. We found it and dated it by searching for it. The Earth and Sun move, Mark. We took the radio telescope at Arlington, the one four miles wide built into the valley, and converted the sensors to detect the time wave. We moved it's sensing array to backtrack the path that Earth has traveled until the signal was strongest. There's no doubt. The Earth was at its 1587 position when the time wave was generated."

The Professor stood. "Let me show you something." He walked over to a cabinet and retrieved a sword and a small black case. He handed Mark the sword, hilt first. "What do you make of this?"

Mark examined the sword carefully, checking the pommel, hilt, finial and inscription on the blade. "It's a typical German hand-and-a-half sword from about the mid-16th to mid-17th century. A Nobleman's sword, by the hilt."

Professor Glendenning nodded in approval. "That's the time frame the sword was appraised as being from." He took a small, orange, jewel-like object from the case, and carefully showed it to Mark, in his palm. "This is a crystal that came from that hilt. We found it by cross-referencing all known objects of that era with jewels of the same distinctive orange color of the crystal. We have tested it. It was the crystal that generated the wave in 1587.

"Mark, after a lot of time on the supercomputer analyzing the time wave from the past and the characteristics of the crystal, we have found the parameters and duration of the magnetic field that the crystal must have passed through."

He carefully put the crystal back into its case and brought it back to the cabinet. He examined Mark's face closely, looking for his reaction.

"We want to use your brain pattern to overwrite the pattern of the person who was caught in the crystal's field. Using the radio telescope as a transmission device on tight beam, we increase the wave power carrying your pattern a few billion times and transmit to the exact place where the Earth was at the exact time over 400 years ago..."

Professor Glendenning beamed. "A copy of you could be in Germany in 1587. Your copy could see Queen Elizabeth, the Spanish Armada, Shakespeare, tour Renaissance Europe, meet Galileo and, when you grow tired of it all, finally plant a time capsule for us in the future. So what do you say, Mark? How about it?"

Mark rose from his chair and paced for a moment, eventually turning to face the Professor. "Professor, I'd love to say yes, but wouldn't I be imprinting my brain over an innocent person in the past? There's an ethical element to this."

The Professor waved it off. "It does you credit to bring it up, but we already know who the person was. That sword has been in the Hoffman family of Mainz for centuries. In 1587, the sword would have belonged to Lutz Hoffman when he was 32 years old and not long before he became the murderous killer of innocents in a local war." He looked at Mark with conviction. "He was not a nice person."

Mark raised his hands in mock defeat. "Well in that case Professor, what can I say? Of course I'll do it! You're just getting a pattern from me anyway. I only wish I could go in person!" He glanced at Dr. Wu. "Congratulations to both of you. This is an incredible achievement."

Mark pointed to the sword. He remembered telling Professor Glendenning of the training he had put in over the years to be a champion with the saber. "So that's why I'm the lucky guy."

"That's right. We need you for your knowledge of history and German, but we also know you can use a sword." He looked at Mark thoughtfully. "You have been keeping up with your martial hobbies, I trust?"

Mark nodded. "I'm still pretty good with a saber. I'm familiar with medieval fighting techniques and I'm a 3rd degree Black Belt in Taekwando."

"Excellent. All we need to know before we begin is where you intend to put your time capsule when the time comes. You should also refresh your mind on European history of 1587."

The Professor handed a paper to Mark. "This is a list of places where jewels and gold were found in the last 100 years in the area of your copy's probable location. The origins of the finds predate 1587, so there should be no problems collecting them. It's a source of wealth to enable your copy to move around as necessary in the past. Memorize this list. We have the radio telescope transmission facilities reserved for tomorrow at 3:00 PM. Please be here by noon."

The next day, just before he lay down in the bulky, large, white cylinder of the transmitter, Mark had a nagging concern. He watched as Professor Glendenning and Dr. Wu set up the transmission sequence. "Aren't you just a little concerned about what my copy might do in the past? He may change history; he might do something that could change our present enough for us to notice, or worse."

Dr. Wu acknowledged Mark's concerns with a nod. "It's possible you could change the past, Mark, but we think the effects would create another time line, not change ours." She smiled. "Aren't you a historian? You're going back to do research, not start a war."

Reassured slightly, Mark lay back. It took only a few seconds to take his pattern. While he was inside the office drinking coffee, his pattern was sent to 1587 Earth.

* * * * * * * * * *

Nigel drove to Plymouth and removed the stone box sealed in bitumen from the ground, precisely where the 400 year-old directions from the Royal archives said it would be. He carefully transported the box back to the laboratory in London where the assembled team of historians opened it together.

As he read the greetings on the ancient paper of the coversheet, Nigel was confused. Who were Mark Evans, Professor Glendenning, and Dr. Wu? Reading deeper into the slightly odd text, still recognizably English, the truth struck them all at about the same time. What had this guy done?

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 2: Jodhpur, India, 1587

Her mother, Arundhati, disapproved of her learning too much. Her future husband would probably not approve of a girl who knew more than he did, after all, and it would be difficult on her if her husband wanted her to stay indoors.

Nonetheless, her father, Arkan, ever indulgent to his dear daughter's wishes, allowed her to be taught alongside her more indifferent older brothers, Veer and Dhirendra, and she was clearly the best student. The rule was simple; as long as she applied herself, was courteous and appropriately demure, she could continue to learn.

The hired Guru instructed his students in the Hindu classics the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, the Kama Sutra, and the four Vedas. He taught reading and writing, Sanskrit, Persian, and Urdu, as well as mathematics, geometry, and philosophy. As Jayti neared marrying age, her mother had lately been acquainting her with the finer points of the obligations to husband, mother-in-law, and children.

They lived in northwest India in Manwar Province, a few miles south of the provincial capital of Jodhpur, in the heart of the wide area formerly controlled by the Rajputs, a proud and industrious people who built many of the largest fortified cities in the world. In the desert and the plains, they used extensive systems of irrigation to bring valleys and large tracts of desert to life. Jayti's people were rulers, builders, and conquerors in a feudal system millennia old.

She lived in a large two-story structure built on a high point a few hundred yards from the brackish water of the river Luni. It was constructed using the local yellow sandstone, carved with geometric designs in the Rajput style.

The interior had polished light gray marble floors, obtained from the fine quarry a few miles to the northeast and covered with colorful Persian rugs. Both floors were built to be airy in the very hot summers and were constructed with the auspicious Hindu number of 84 pillars. It was large enough for her mother, father, two brothers, herself, younger sister Ahladiti, and their slave Natya, a plain 30-year-old woman bought for a few silver Rupihyas to help around the house.

The well was dug next to the house, far enough from the river to ensure clean drinking water. The servant's quarters, as well as the large stable, were located a couple of hundred yards in back of the house behind a wooden fence. A few families tilled the fields, growing wheat and barley in the rich soil, paying Arkan Singh a percentage of the crops for the privilege. With any luck, Jayti would have been married to a landowner or merchant who would have given her children and a family of her own.

As is typical in life, one seemingly minor incident changed her path forever.

Her family occasionally traveled to the Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur to pay respects to Raja Udai Singhji and his family. The fort was an immense yellow structure with high walls connecting cylindrical towers built on top of a sheer cliff. An impressive moat at the base made it a daunting objective for any potential invader. Overlooking the city, it contained the palace, garrison, mosque, harem, storehouses, and housing for nobles and a vast array of craftsmen, servants, slaves, and eunuchs.

The interior was equal to the outside. Rajput designed and built; stylized paintings of plants and animals framed by colored glass tiling decorated the walls. Large numbers of high-arched windows with ridged interior trim cooled the palace.

As mighty as it was, it still hadn't been enough to stop Moghul Emperor Akbar from conquering the province 22 years before. Raja Jodha Singh was finally beaten after a series of fierce battles in 1565. Akbar had forced him to send his son, Udai, to serve him as courtier and only 4 years before had allowed him back to become the Moghul-controlled Raja of Manwar, also known as Mota Raja, the fat Raja. To ensure the new Raja knew his place, Akbar compelled Udai to give him his sister, Jodha Bai, to be the wife of one of his sons, Selim.

On one such visit to the palace, Jayti met one of the Raja's daughters, Shaheen, a haughty and vain girl, slightly older than herself. Shaheen's imperious attitude reflected her mother's. She was beautiful, with the classic soft features and light golden skin of the ruling class.

Like her mother, having grown up under Moghul occupation, she had few illusions of life. She knew that only the powerful, the ones with protection and approval from the Moghuls, could have any measure of security. Being raised in a sea of court intrigue had taught her that a woman's power lay with her body, charm, and usefulness to men. Her goal was to acquire power and marry well.

Jayti arrived at the palace after having chosen her clothes carefully for the occasion; a light tan and gold blouse and light brown wrap matched her tan and brown full pleated skirt with reddish tints. The 15 year-old was a picture of innocence, simplicity, and beauty.

Many of the men, and not a few of the ladies, remarked on how she seemed to stand out. When she was introduced to the Raja, he was entranced with his friend's oldest daughter. He asked her a few polite questions and was even more impressed by her intelligence and depth of learning.

Shaheen had chosen a more formal outfit with gold trim and matching jacket designed to show the wealth and power of her station. It was a startling costume, wonderful in its design, intricate patterns, and workmanship. Standing side by side with Jayti, it made her look overdressed.

After a multi-course feast, the men and women retired to their respective social circles. Shaheen and Jayti were left by themselves to talk and play cards on a thick Persian rug. Shaheen, already irked by being shown-up in her own home, tried hard to intimidate Jayti with references to her privilege, wealth, and powerful friends. It wasn't working.

Shaheen studied Jayti and decided Jayti wasn't being impudent or haughty. It was simply that she wasn't affected by Shaheen's superior status. Shaheen, from her perspective, had met her match. Jayti seemed happy to be who she was and to have what she had. Worse yet, Shaheen suspected Jayti was prettier.

Finally, Shaheen relaxed, and the two girls ended up laughing and discussing the merits of different marriages, a subject close to their hearts at their age. Arranged and love marriages were talked about, but they both agreed that they liked the ancient custom where the women chose their husband from a line of eligible men.

They both had ideas on who they wanted to see in the line and laughed about how they would consider the merits of one over another. They regretted that the practice had been severely discouraged by the Moghuls.

At the end of the day, Shaheen was learning that not everything important was related to power and wealth. They were on their way to becoming friends. Their paths may well have taken them that way, except for an overheard comment made by her father comparing Shaheen unfavorably to Jayti. It was a stray remark, taken out of context, but the damage was done.

Six months later, Shaheen was engaged to be married to Nanda, the second son of the next Raja of Amber, Man Singh. It was an excellent match. Man Singh was a powerful man in the Akbar government in Lahore. His son, a good-looking man of 20, was almost sure to be powerful in the Akbar administration.

Two months after that, Shaheen, now a new bride, found herself in a conversation about Sultan Akbar's harem with her father-in-law. A deeply hidden resentment momentarily surfaced, and Shaheen mentioned that Akbar's latest acquisition, a white skinned, blue eyed Circassian woman, wasn't nearly as beautiful as a certain girl in Jodhpur. She regretted her remark instantly, but it was too late.

The next month, a retinue of ten fierce Moghul warriors on Arabian horses with identical silver-studded livery rode slowly toward Jayti's house. Following them, four bearers, wearing only red and white turbans and a simple white cotton dhoti around the waist, carried an ornate palanquin with blue silk curtains suitable for concealing a person. Four smooth-skinned eunuchs rode alongside.

Jayti's father could see the dust from the retinue from far away and waited outside when they pulled up.

The warriors were fierce-looking men with long mustaches curled up at the ends. They wore long chain mail vests over padding that partially protected their legs, clad in loose red trousers. Their helmets were iron cones over chain mail that flowed down the sides and back of the head. All wore scimitars on their left hip and, except for the last two riding in the two-column formation, all had powerful compound bows and a sheaf of arrows neatly tucked away behind them on their right. The last two warriors carried matchlock muskets with glowing wicks at the ready.

The lead eunuch dismounted from his black mount. He had wide hips, fat arms and a loose waist, normal for eunuchs cut in adolescence. He was attired in courtly dress, a red and white turban on his large head, a red loose long-sleeved shirt and black, silver studded loose trousers gathered at the ankles, secured with an orange cloth wrapped around the waist.

He approached Jayti's father. The rest of the family watched apprehensively through the windows.

"Are you Arkan Singh?" he asked in a pretty soprano.

"Yes, I am Arkan Singh." he replied cautiously, "How may I serve the Emperor?"

The eunuch bowed slightly. "My name is Hassan Faisal. I'm a eunuch in the Imperial House. Today I represent the Emperor." He unwrapped a roll of paper he had carried under his arm and read the order. "By the order of Emperor Akbar, the woman Jayti Singh, daughter of Arkan of Manwar Province, is to be brought to the Imperial Palace in Lahore to be placed in the Imperial Harem." He lowered the Imperial orders and waited.

A horrible wailing of absolute despair came from Jayti's mother inside the house.

Arkan Singh was thunderstruck. This wasn't happening to his sweet daughter! He slumped to his knees, head in hands. He knew there was nothing he could do. Since Manwar Province and Jodhpur had lost to the Moghuls, it was too often rubbed in the faces of the formerly proud Rajputs just how little they could protect themselves or their women.

He returned to his feet slowly and addressed the eunuch in a voice not far from breaking. "How long do I have to say goodbye?"

The eunuch looked on sympathetically. "You have five minutes. We'll come inside and wait."

Hassan and four of the warriors entered the house to make sure the distraught girl and her family were not wasting time. Her father hugged her first. "Jayti, I am so sorry. I can't prevent this."

"Father, I know you couldn't do anything. Don't worry." she cried. Her life as she knew it was over. All her dreams of marriage and family would most probably be gone forever. The only thing holding her together was the philosophical training taught to her by her Guru.

She ran to her mother. "Mother, don't worry. I'll be all right. I'll be so good, they'll be forced to make me the Empress," she joked, smiling weakly.

Her mother's eyes were streaming tears. She wailed. "Oh daughter, I'll miss you so much. Why are they taking you? It doesn't make sense!"

Jayti took her mother's face in her hands. "Mother. Nothing makes sense. Not life, not death, not this. We can only do what we must. Who knows? Something good may still come of this. Please, mother, be strong for me."

Her mother remembered something suddenly. "I have something I must give you. It's time." She unhooked her necklace. It contained a clear orange stone. "Take this. It will remind you of your family." She hooked it around her daughter's neck.

Jayti knew what this meant to her mother. The necklace had been in the family for many generations. Jayti finally said goodbye to everyone in her family, giving an extra hug to her sister and to Natya, the slave girl, who looked at her with compassionate, teary eyes.

Her father caught up with her on the way out the door. He looked in her eyes and said earnestly, "Daughter, you must listen to me. Whatever you do, don't think of this as the end. Take advantage of everything. Enjoy as much as you can. Laugh. Sing. Make friends. Be strong. Promise me this and I will be at peace."

Jayti looked back at her father and hugged him. "I promise, father," Jayti whispered in his ear.

Hassan took Arkan Singh aside. "Sahib, I promise she will lack for nothing. Many women would fight to be in her position." Jayti's father said nothing. Hassan sighed, then turned and left.

The few extra clothes were quickly packed as she sat in the palanquin with the curtains rolled down, concealing her from the outside world. She was now the Emperor's property and not for display to others. The palanquin was lifted by the four, sturdy slave porters, and the procession started down the dusty road to the south to join the royal road to Lahore.