[ WP ] Time travellers capitalize on their knowledge of past events by travelling back in time to bet on sports events and buy stocks , real estate , and other holdings to create wealth . Your job is to thwart their efforts . You 're a timekeeper .

The great Luna-Europan economist Eukomatis will once say,'No wealth exists in a vacuum.' 
 
 In response, Urami of Babylon said,'Unless it is dispersed, spread thin, soaked by time, as the floodwaters of the Tigris are by the sands.' 
 
 -- - 
 
 It is late afternoon. The shore of the eastern Mediterranean is warm. The air is jasmines and cinnamon. The sun oozes into the sea, scatters upon the mountains to the east. Beyond the mountains, Nineveh is being sacked. Karkemil knows this because he has seen it from many perspectives. Yesterday, he is watching alongside the Assyrians from the walls. The section of the wall that is now crumbling today. Tomorrow, he is in the Median army, directing assaults upon that very section. 
 
 But now, Karkemil needs rest. Reflection, analysis, study. His notes are spread across the beach, anchored by old sandstone pebbles. 
 
 *The Skythian Tukshena displays a remarkable grasp of masonry for a nomad. Claimed to have met Greeks in Cimmeria. * says the note in his hands. 
 
 `` No. Too skilled with bow. No criminal would go through the training.'' 
 
 Another note. *The Tartan Issukema found making overtures to the Persians. Claimed to be seeking clemency and mercy. Suspicious. Persians not yet a power. Why them and not the Medes? * 
 
 `` And still,'' Karkemil spoke, `` What would a criminal achieve? The Persians ascension is decades away. Mercy is short-lived.'' 
 
 A wind blows. The pebbles hold. The notes flutter and croak. 
 
 Karkemil appears before Karkemil. 
 
 `` Tomorrow, I see Ashur-uballit flee. A concubine asks him to stand, for he will be the next king. ``, the new Karkemil says, and vanishes. 
 
 Karkemil scratches his chin and hums. 
 
 `` Is she new? There are many concubines. Can I scan her blood?'' 
 
 Karkemil appears again. `` Yes. New. Two years ago, she comes in from the southern desert. No baggage. No food, no water. Her skin still smooth. Little micro-scarring. Strange I did not notice. ``, and vanishes again. 
 
 Karkemil spits. `` Indeed. Why DID I not notice?''. 
 
 An echo in the wind. The notes flutter. The pebbles hold. 
 
 -- 
 
 It is early morning. Just after dawn, but not yet morning. A fog made of cold and ash. A great walled city that trickles into fire and corpses in the streets. 
 
 An armored detachment protects a man sobbing on the ground beside a severed head. 
 
 `` The king! ``, he wails, `` The Lord of Assyria is dead! Woe to us, woe to us, woe to us!'' 
 
 A woman emerges from a shattered ruin singing. A miracle in amidst a massacre. A glimmer in the shade. Untouched by the battle, immune to the ash and the blood. Unadorned by age or starvation. Her eyes are neither dead nor dying. 
 
 The concubine from the southern desert? Definitely! 
 
 A traveller? Unsure. 
 
 Karkemil thinks. He is hidden behind a collapsed wall. He watches her movement. Her gestures. He listens for her accent. 
 
 The concubine whispers to the sobbing man. She coos. 
 
 The accent is hard to place. 
 
 Karkemil appears behind Karkemil, and says, `` Her blood does n't belong to this time. Definite signs of innoculation. I see her emerging from behind a dune two years ago. I can not go closer. I sense radiation. It is her. ``, and vanishes. 
 
 Proof. Karkemil can now assassinate her. He waits and watches. 
 
 -- - 
 
 It is now night. Grim faced warriors sit facing the fire, but there is none in their eyes. Dark as the shadows in this city of blood. Prayers are heard. Prayers of supplication and mercy. 
 
 In a crimson tent, the concubine lies with the new king of Assyria. 
 
 What plans do they make? 
 
 The king is walking out. He looks to the sky, to the north, and walks off. A chance! 
 
 It is warm in the tent. The concubine reclines upon the ground. A bowl of mercury by her side, her fingers dipped within. A solitary torch. Flickers. Her face lacks breadth. She is not stunned, but neither is she prepared for Karkemil. 
 
 `` Before I kill you, tell me what deviation you planned to make to the world. ``, he says. He hopes he sounds menacing. 
 
 `` None. ``, her sound is a lullaby. 
 
 `` Then why? A violent time to be illegally sight-seeing history. Do you not know the Assyrians are doomed?'' 
 
 `` Love? ``, she laughs. 
 
 Movement outside. Speed is necessitated. A quick gesture from his wrist. A microscopic dart filled with death. A death rattle and sweet gasp. 
 
 The guards walk into the tent, arms raised, and see the concubine dead on the ground. 
 
 -- 
 
 It is now evening. A naked oasis in an endless desert. Yesterday, Karkemil dies of radiation. Today, he lies asleep in the arms of the woman, head upon the soft warmth of her breasts. Tomorrow, he is imprisoning her. And he sees in the distance, his peers coming to imprison him for altering time and rescuing her two years before he assassinates her. 
 
 And six years before, when Karkemil sees the Mediterranean for the first time, he gathers sandstone pebbles to hold the notes he makes to determine the nature of the traveller attempting to alter the destruction of Assyria. 
 
 
 

