"The laws of history are as absolute as the laws of physics, and if the probabilities of error are greater, it is only because history does not deal with as many humans as physics does atoms, so that individual variations count for more." - Isaac Asimov, Foundation and Empire
The air was cool and breezy in the Museum of Natural History as industrial air conditioners worked overtime to transform this into a welcome refuge on such a hot, summer day. The peculiar, echoing, hush that is common to all museum was present, broken only by the occasional child (too young to have yet fully grasped the immutable laws of social etiquette that rule our society) and by the clear ringing of one woman’s voice as she led a band of doughy foreigners on their merry way.
“And here you see the remarkable ‘Antikythera Mechanism,’ on loan to us from the National Archeological Museum of Athens. This amazing device is thought to be over two thousand years old and some people call it the world’s first computer.” The tour guide gestured towards a corroded lump of greenish-brown metal like a particularly affluent and prudish car show model. A few dozen awkward tourists—burdened by rucksacks, cameras and the hatred directed towards them by real New Yorkers—crowded a little closer to get a look and then quickly lost interest. People near the front of the group wore that smug look that said ‘I saw it and lost interest before any of the rest of you, clearly I am superior.’ A few children poked and prodded at the parents’ legs, asking when they’d get to see the dinosaurs or the famous, suspended blue whale.
The tour guide, her skills honed to perfection by nearly two
hours of orientation, sensed the restlessness of her charges and decided to wrap this up quickly. “The Mechanism was recovered from a shipwreck in 1901 in Greece, near Antikythera. Although it has been left nonfunctional by time, possessing a mere 30 of the original 72 estimated gears, scientists have deduced that it was once a device of immense usefulness and complexity. The Mechanism is thought to have been able to predict eclipses, lunar phases, the position of the sun and the moon, and even the position of the planets, simply by setting a few dials and turning a crank. Now, if you’ll step this- …”
The tour guide paused. A hand had shot up in the crowd, belonging to a young boy, about nine or ten. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It appears we have a question. Heads swiveled about, focusing on the boy who now looked rather sorry that he’d done anything. He cleared his throat nervously before speaking.
“Err … Yeah. How does that Anti- … That Antiky- …” His cheeks reddened. “That
thing, know that all that stuff will happen?” The tour guide smiled warmly at him.
“Well, you see, all the things that the
Antikythera Mechanism predicts follow a set of very clear patterns. By observing these patterns, the person who created the Mechanism (some people believe it was Archimedes) was able to design a device that would replicate them over time and show the results. We can do the same thing and more with our modern computers. The amazing thing comes from how early in history the Mechanism was made. The world would see nothing like it for another fifteen hundred years, and even then, nothing would match it in compactness. The world would probably be very different if it hadn’t been lost for so long. Now, if you’ll all follow me, we’ll head to the Saurischian Dinosaurs exhibit where we’ll find our good friend, Tyrannosaurus Rex.”
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The sun hung high over Delphi, drawn behind Helios’ chariot if you were to ask the locals. Below, on the twisting, rocky paths that climbed the stacked terraces, a group of richly appointed Greeks made their way slowly along. Skirting the Treasuries and the Sibyl Rock, they came finally to the centre attraction, The Temple of Alcmeonidae. It was not for another hundred years that its destruction would lead to the more modern Temple of Apollo being built. Not for a hundred years that the secret hidden within would be moved for the second time in its history. The men passed under six, proud, Doric columns and entered into the shady interior.
It was quiet in here, with speech limited to the whispers of priests making their supplications to the Gods. The interlopers, who would be called pilgrims by an observer but were, in fact, no such thing, continued their march inwards, casting an appraising eye on their surroundings. A swift pattering of feet announced the arrival of a robed priest intercepting them. He smiled and bowed deeply before them.
“My lord Miltiades,” he said. “We were not expecting you. It is rare indeed for Athens to send such a legendary commander to pay his respects to the Gods.”
Miltiades the Younger, one of the ten Strategos of Athens, sneered back at the priest. “I think we both know that I am not here to simply make a sacrifice and kneel in prayer. I come to seek the council of the Oracle.”
The priest’s smile fell somewhat. “Ah, yes of course. I had heard of the battles looming on the horizon. Darius’ armies have been most effective. Well, my lord, I think you will find that seeking the advice of the oracle is not entirely removed from, as you put it, ‘making a sacrifice and kneeling in prayer.’ Her knowledge comes from the Gods, after all.”
Miltiades waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. Don’t spout your lies to me, priest. I seek not the Pythia. I want the
real Oracle. I know the secrets you hoard so jealously. Take me to it.”
The priest’s smile was gone entirely now, and he looked around quickly to see if anything had been overheard. A few curious eyes stared back at him so he quickly beckoned the Strategos and his followers aside. They entered a small alcove and the priest drew a thick curtain between them and the rest of the temple.
“This is
most irregular. The ‘real Oracle’ as you call it, does not do business outside the Amphiktyonic Council, and they have not yet come to us about the problem you wish to discuss.”
Miltiades waved him silent once more, much to the priest’s consternation. “The Polemarchos is a fool. Callimachus believes he can crush Darius unaided and he has convinced the Boule of the same. Athens does not call out for aid and so the Council does not give it. When our great city falls before the Persians, its people will not even know that, but for the hubris of a few men, it could have been saved. I have learned the truth of this place for my own and I intend to make use of it.”
The priest drew himself up, the white cloth of his robe swelling like a ship’s sails. “Despite what you may think,
honoured Strategos, Delphi does not go to one knee before you. The powers at work here are
vast and you cannot simply order the secrets of Heaven to reveal themselves to you. We shall not-”
Miltiades waved his hand once more and the priest fairly sputtered with incontinent rage. Before he could resume his tirade, however, one of the men following Miltiades, who had remained silent, stepped forward and uncovered the package he carried. It was a chest of modest size and, as the lid was parted, the unique glint given forth by large amounts of gold shone from within. The priest’s mouth snapped shut and Miltiades laughed raucously.
“You see?” He said. “For all your self-righteous pomp you priests are like every other man. Gods be damned, there is only one thing that can truly move your hearts. Now show me to the Oracle.”
The priest tore his eyes away from the gold and glowered at the smug general standing before him. Despite the resentment in his gaze, though, he still said the words, as everyone knew he would. “Very well,” he muttered, and beckoned the Athenians to follow.
They moved swiftly, passing deeper into the temple. A hidden staircase took them underground and the walls grew rough with age. The priest lit a torch and held it aloft before them, painting the stone in rosy flashes and twisted shadow. Before the Temple of Alcmeonidae had been built under the patronage of the Athenian family who shared its name, an older structure had stood on this spot, and it was into these ancient foundations that they know went.
As more and more of the catacombs fell behind them, they began to see new signs of habitation. Torches ensconced on the walls showed sings of recent use and the floor seemed cleaner, more worn. The priest spoke, but quietly, and the men following him had to crane their necks forward to hear what was said.
“I commend your abilities to have discovered our most closely guarded secret, Miltiades. But you do not know everything, it would seem. When you so callously derided our
false Oracle you also brushed aside the Pythia. It is true that, for the most part, she is merely the face for our delusion, but she is also part of the truth. Pythia’s powers stem from the Mechanism, but the Mechanism only sings for her. They are one and the same. Living woman and cold machine, together they form the instrument of the Gods. Together they are the Oracle.”
The group came around a corner and stopped dead. The chamber before them was nearly as large as the temple above. Rich tapestries hung from columns that lined the walls and braziers of incense put forth cloying clouds of sweet scent. At the centre of the room, a circle of priests was seated, facing inwards, on the floor. They had their arms stretched out to the sides and were chanting a weird, wailing ululation. They swayed back and forth, all of them, in perfect unison with their strange song. But it was what was at the centre of the circle that truly drew the eye. A simple stone plinth rose maybe four feet from the ground; resting on top was the Mechanism. It was made of brightly polished bronze, a circular base from which rose a complex structure of hundreds of gears, varying in size. Numbers and lettering were inscribed on some parts of the metal and a dozen tiny lenses rose up on spindles from the top layer of gears.
Miltiades took a hungry step forward towards his destiny but the priest laid a hand on him. “We must wait for them to finish,” He said, gesturing at the seated circle. “It is essential.” And so the group waited in silence as the chanting wore on. Nearly fifteen minutes passed and Miltiades grew restless but finally the chant grew to a climactic finish and the priests rose to leave. Miltiades fairly leapt across the room to get close to the device.
From a closer view he could truly see its complexity. So many gears locked in perfect sequence, and they seemed to be flanking something unseen, surrounding a hidden centre. What divine magics dwelt there, Miltiades could only guess. He was so engrossed in his observation that he didn’t even notice the arrival of the woman who suddenly stood across from him. She had long, dark hair and was dressed in a simple, diaphanous robe.
“It is truly a wonder of the world,” She said, her voice soft and musical.
Miltiades stared at her. “Are you the Pythia?” He asked.
She nodded slowly. “What answers do you seek, Strategos? The Mechanism holds all secrets.”
Miltiades cleared his throat nervously. Something about this woman unnerved him. She seemed as though she dwelt not fully in this world. As though brushes of other times and places intruded on her thoughts. “We have learned that Darius plans to turn his armies on Athens next. A vast force sails for Marathon, where they will be in easy striking distance of the capital. I fear that our forces cannot stand up to them, we are too few. I must know how to win the battle there. Show me my victory!”
The Pythia smiled slightly and shook her head. “The device cannot show you exactly what you must do for a victory. It merely shows what could be, and what will be if you do not take steps to change it. I will show you how the battle will play out as things stand
now, but from the first time you act on this knowledge the future will be changed. You must plan your actions to occur at the very height of the battle, at a point that will ensure your victory. That is the only way that the Mechanism shall be useful to you. You will see when we begin.”
The Pythia reached into her robes and drew out an ornate length of metal, bent at a right angle on both ends. She inserted it into a slot in the Mechanism’s side and Miltiades realized it was a crank of some sort. The Pythia’s hands then moved swiftly and surely over the many dials and gears, making adjustments here and there. It seemed as though she was guided more by instinct than by knowledge. Sometimes she would turn a dial and then grimace and turn it back immediately, as though she was not sure of the correct configuration until she saw it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity she stopped and observed her work. Seemingly satisfied, she began to turn the crank.
Gears deep in the Mechanism’s bowels began to move and, through their motion, the whole machine was brought to life. Miltiades began to see things, strange lights that glimmered dimly and just for an instant, leaving uncertainty as to whether they had ever been there at all. He felt a prickling on the back of his neck and looked up. The Pythia was staring right at him, her eyes unfocused. She opened her mouth and a voice poured out that was not her own.
“Behold the future, son of the clay. Your destiny is now your own.”
Light exploded out from the Mechanism’s centre and Miltiades shielded his eyes, crying out in fear. When he dared to look again he saw that the light had been tamed and put to use. The machine’s lenses had fallen into place and the light now streamed up to form a shimmering globe in the air. Furthermore, the Mechanism had taken on a life of its own. The Pythia no longer turned the crank but the gears continued to move.
As Miltiades watched, shapes and colours appeared in the depth of the shining globe. They ran murkily like bright paints in the rain and then suddenly flowed into detailed relief. It was a battlefield, two armies arranged on either side of a broad plain near the sea. He recognized it as Marathon and the two armies as the Persians and the Athenians. Looking closely he saw that every face of every soldier was visible. Individual blades of grass swayed in the sea breeze. It was a scene unsurpassed in skill by even the most detailed sculptor.
Almost immediately the battle was joined, sped up so that marching men fairly sprinted across the field of war. Miltiades could tell from the start that it would be a stalemate. Neither side attacked with full ferocity, they merely feinted and few lives were lost. The battle continued for a while and then sped up even further. Miltiades watched as days passed before his eyes. Three, four, five, six, they flashed by, never yielding a definitive victory for either side. Where in this mess was his opportunity, his moment of triumph?
Suddenly, the images slowed and the scene soared inwards towards a few men. Miltiades recognized the Polemarchos, Callimachus, and what looked to be a messenger. The messenger was exhausted, as though he had run the full distance from Athens, and as he spoke Callimachus’ face fell. Miltiades was confused. “Wait, I cannot hear them. What is he saying? What is the news?”
As if in answer the images changed again and Miltiades was looking at Athens, but not the Athens he knew. Persian ships blockaded the harbor and their troops walked in the streets. The city had fallen! Marathon had been a feint, a mere distraction from the real attack! The picture swooped in and Miltiades saw a Persian general, who he recognized as Artaphernes, standing before the executed bodies of the Assembly. There was a last glimpse of his face as he surveyed the newest Persian conquest and then the lights vanished, as quickly as they had come.
The room was silent, as the Athenians were still in shock from what they had seen. The Pythia spoke, her voice normal again. “Those are all the answers I have for you, Miltiades. Remember what you have seen, but any action must be your own.”
Miltiades nodded wordlessly. As much as the future had seemed hopeless, as much as Athens’ fall seemed inevitable, he thought that he felt the beginnings of a plan. If the attack at Marathon was never meant to be the main assault then the Persian generals there would be focused on buying time, not on victory. In the vision, the Greek army had been as cautious as they, not willing to waste men against the larger Persian force. But if he were to use the knowledge here to change that … If he could convince the Polemarchos that a direct assault was necessary, they could surprise the Persians with their forwardness. The Hoplites would march, no,
run into a frontal engagement and smash the Persian lines. Archers and cavalry would fall quickly before such an assault, and the Greeks could force their enemies into the swamps and the sea. If they did this before the sixth day then they could return to Athens and stop Artaphernes before he ever landed. They could do it!
Miltiades slammed his hands against the stone plinth and laughed for joy. “Thank you Oracle,” he cried. You have saved Athens and all of Greece this day. We will beat back the Persian dogs until their blood flows across the plains. Come men, we sail for home!” The Strategos swept past his followers and they were caught up in his wake. He raced through the catacombs beneath the temple, a great smile still emblazoned on his face. Destiny be damned, he had seen the future lain before him and found it wanting. In a few days Miltiades would change the face of history and challenge the very Gods. Athens would prevail.
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Athens burned.
A few hundred years had passed. The sun remained the same, but its personification had changed from Helios to Sol Invictus. It hung low and red in the early morning sky. The Roman general Sulla had held the city in siege for weeks, driving the populace to the brink of starvation. The surrounding temples had been looted, the sacred groves had been cut down to fuel the war effort, and now nine hundred feet of the city wall lay in ruin. The attack had finally come the night before and Roman soldiers had poured into the streets. Warrior and citizen alike, made weak and fearful by hunger, had been cut down in cold blood. Arrow and sword had pierced metal and cloth, flesh and bone, and the cobbles were mired in blood. The massacre had gone on all night and only when the Romans themselves had pleaded with Sulla to have mercy had it finally been called to an end.
The General now sat in his tent in roaring good cheer, toasting the glories of the Republic with his lieutenants. He stood and raised his goblet for silence, a silence that was quickly given. “Gentlemen, soldiers, good Romans all,” He called out. “Today we celebrate a great victory but I think that none of you realize just what a victory it is. Athens, you see, was not the only prize that we took today. There is something else, an artifact, a treasure of unparalleled value that lay dormant in the city’s vaults. I learned of its existence some time ago and it was this object that drew me here in the first place. Rest assured, if the Athenians had been able to make use of the device of which I speak, we would not have been victorious here today. Bring it in!”
At his command, two burly soldiers entered, carrying between them a heavily decorated chest. They laid the chest at his feet and Sulla reached down to open it and retrieve what hidden treasure lay within. The other men in the tent leaned forward in great interest to see the strange device that he placed on the table.
“This machine,” Sulla proclaimed. “Was forged in Corinth and brought to Delphi some six hundred years ago. When an earthquake destroyed the Temple of Alcmeonidae it was brought here, to Athens, where it lay unused for centuries without the hands of the Pythia to guide it. This machine, my friends, is an Oracle, a
true Oracle. When used properly it will part the misty veil of time and show us a vision of the future, a vision that we can change as we see fit.”
“But Sulla,” Called out one of his men. “If only the Pythia could use this Oracle then how can you expect to make use of it?”
Sulla smiled; he reveled in his position as holder of these ancient secrets. “The Pythia was only one of many who are born with the gift to use this miracle from the Gods. After all, there was more than one Pythia in the time that this device spent at Delphi. I believe they were chosen specifically for their ability to make use of the Oracle. I intend to send the Mechanism back by ship to my estates. When the campaign is finished here I will return and make finding someone to use it my top priority.
“Imagine the power that we will hold. I will not only stretch Rome’s borders to cover all the world, I will take its command for my own and all of you will stand beside be as kings in your own right! Time and destiny shall be our servants, my men! No force on Earth could stand before us!”
The Romans came to their feet, glasses held high. “For Rome, and for Sulla!”
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The ship plied the waters of the Mediterranean in calm silence, a full moon, Artemis or perhaps Diana, shone overhead. Onboard, all was still. Most of the men were in their beds and only a few stray lanterns still burned.
Lucius Sabinus, a soldier in Sulla’s grand army, lay awake. His mind was a torrid cauldron of doubt as he thought about what he had overheard in the General’s tent after he had delivered the mysterious chest. A machine, an instrument of man, which could peer into the minds of the Gods. Surely such a device was blasphemy of the highest order. Mortal men were not meant to know what fates awaited them, and to consider
changing those fates … Something had to be done.
Lucius silently rose from his bunk and crept down the rows of sleeping men. In the hands of a man like Sulla the thought of such a device was even worse. The General had led a massacre at Athens simply to acquire it. Think of the horrors he would commit in the pursuit of the power it promised. Lucius exited the sleeping quarters onto the upper deck and crossed the shadowy expanse unseen. He passed through an unlocked door and stole into the very bowels of the ship. He knew where the device was being kept and he would make sure that it could never be used for evil.
There was a guard outside the door, naturally, but no one truly expected an attack to come from inside the ship. All men here were loyal to the Republic and, as far as Sulla was concerned, that meant they were loyal to him. Lucius strode confidently down the hall in plain view. He knew the guard, a man called Seputus, and he could approach unchallenged.
“How goes it Lucius?” Seputus said. “Can’t you sleep when there isn’t the prospect of bloodshed on the horizon? I’m sure the General will have us back on the front lines before we know it.
Lucius clapped Seputus on the shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “I was merely curious about what great treasure warrants a full ship of the finest Roman soldiers to protect it. Do you have any idea exactly what it is you’re guarding?”
Seputus frowned, but in a mock, good-humoured way. “Now Lucius, you know I can’t say anything, even if I knew. Whatever it is it must be valuable indeed and therefore worth protecting, and that’s all that lowly peasants like you and me need to know. You should go back to your warm bed and leave me to worry about the long, sleepless night ahead of me.”
“Well now, how can I leave when I know that you’re suffering so? Let’s try to make your dull posting a little more bearable.” Lucius drew a small flask out from his back pocket and offered it to the other man. Seputus laughed.
“Oh, what would I do without kind friends like yourself, Lucius? I could never turn down such a generous offer.” Seputus reached for the flask but Lucius fumbled it and it dropped to the floor. “Kind friends but clumsy ones, I should say,” said Seputus, bending to retrieve the flask. “How do you manage not to fall on your own swo-”
Seputus’ words were cut short as Lucius’ knife entered his neck. Blood spurted out, soaking the clothes of both men. “I’m sorry, my friend, but I serve a higher purpose. I will join you in the afterlife soon.” Lucius let the body fall to the floor and calmly took the keys to the door. Nothing came free, and if a few had to die to save many more, then so be it.
The lock fell away and Lucius entered the room, dragging Seputus’ body in behind him and closing the door. He turned to see the same chest he had brought into the general’s tent, sitting alone in the middle of the floor. Cautiously, almost reverently, he opened it and drew the device out from within. He would smash it and then set the ship ablaze, ensuring that it would never, ever, be found and repaired. He retrieved Seputus’ sword and was about to destroy the hated thing when something about it caught his eye.
The machine seemed almost familiar to him, although he had never seen anything like it before. The strange writing that marked it held a meaning all of its own, telling him what to do. But something seemed
wrong, as though it was not complete. Lucius slowly put the sword down and reached for the many gears and dials that festooned the Mechanism. He began to twist them into new positions, drawing ever closer to what he somehow knew as the correct alignment. When he finished it was certainly correct but it was still somehow incomplete. Looking back in the chest, Lucius found a metal crank that fit neatly into a hole in the machine’s side. He began to turn it, faster and faster, the gears moving in time with his frenzied machinations.
His arm became sore but he could not stop, he was not finished. The gears spun faster and faster and then light erupted outwards, bound into servitude by the carefully arranged lenses. Images appeared, strange and unfathomable, and Lucius was unable to look away. Men and women across time, inventing and competing and killing to reach the head of the pack. Towers of metal and glass rose up from the ground and foreign vehicles trekked across the long viaducts of the land and the boundless reaches of the skies. This was the future, Lucius realized, great sweeping swathes of it stretching over thousands of years. It was glorious and terrible at once and, as his initial rapture faded, it only hardened his resolve.
Was the machine trying to subvert him? To show him the vast power it held so he would spare it? Lucius Sabinus would not be the thrall of some demonic lump of bronze! He retrieved the sword from where he had dropped it and stood over the Mechanism. “I rejoin the Gods in the service of their will.” He intoned and slammed the blade into the machine’s heart.
There was a brilliant flash and Lucius’ body became as dust, rendered to nothingness by the Mechanism’s power. There was a moment were it seemed nothing would happen. The lights swayed uncertainly but they remained held place. Then the lenses shattered and a vast hole was blasted into the ship as the crank was expelled from its slot by the release of energies. The hole gaped, broken spars of wood stuck out like teeth ringing a thirsty maw, which drank deeply of the seawater that poured in.
The ship sank quickly, lost with all hands, and found its rest on the seabed where it would remain undisturbed for two millennia. The device was shattered, save for a single section and a bare handful its many gears. As it fell into the depths a few motes of light that yet lingered gathered into a single image: a city, a museum, the corroded lump of bronze on display, and the ignorant tourists who never suspected its true purpose.
