NEXUS

Chapter 1

In rapid succession, three arrows fired into the noon sky. The temptress warrior took her steed and darted away. Moments later, raiders in a pack of six bolted over the hillcrest. They wanted blood, and she wanted them to follow. Her pacing was far and between someone that wanted to escape. The nomadic men quickly changed to her direction in time for an arrow to make its mark in one of the men's shoulders. The other raider looked at his comrade, trying to discern where the flying beast came, in time for another to penetrate itself into the raider's horse, hitting bone, causing the horse to act out violently, throwing his master several feet. The last flying attacker hit the ground near another. The leader roused the men with lust on his lips and anger in his heart. He charged after her, and the others followed suit.

The long flowing redhead with braids on the side whipped in the wind. She brought a renewed fierce hatred in their bellies when they saw her. She was now clipping away, increasing her distance, and this caused the leader to scream out and rode his beast harder. His men were having a hard time keeping up. He wanted to do vile things to her. She was known as the redhead from hell.

He was closing the gap and increasing the distance away from his men. The mad raider was getting close, a horse length away now. He could almost reach out and grab her. His eyes wide and his hands ready. He was practically next to her. She turned for the first time acknowledging his presence and smiled. Her smile caught him off guard, and she pulled away in a bell curve from him. He turned and went flying off the cliff with his horse.

She was now moving parallel to the wrinkle of mother Earth. Fluidly twisting her body, pulling her bow, she struck down the others.

                                                                                                 * * *

The 26th-century offered a way to peer into the past and record it live. Alaina, a historian of 15th-century antiquities and the Nexus, was her way to live in a world that was not her own. For now, only dreams brought her there.

Beset in the Hall of Records leading into the library; most would call it a museum where twelve historical enclaves showing real-time historical events from the past. Each enclave spans the distance of a hundred meters across. The massive historical recording comes from the Nexus program. The same Nexus program that Alaina has been apart of for over a year. The Curator approaches Annabelle as she stares at this woman racing away.

"You come here every week, viewing this obscure data stamp, staring at this projection of history. Most recruits come here to observe the fall of Constantinople. Why do you not?" the Curator said.

"I want to be her," replied Alaina.

The curator smiles and places his hands behind his back. "Perhaps you recognize yourself in her. Either way, the journey from here to there is a long one, and most of us don't survive such a journey."

"Where did she get her clothing? I know I'm a thousand years removed, but this appears odd to me."

"Perhaps one day, you will find this enigmatic answer."

"That's part of the reason I'm here."

Alaina's electrostatic wrist band lights up, alerting her of another late meeting.

"I need to go," she said.

Annabelle's fair skin and red hair come from her Scottish father, a mechanical clockmaker, an appreciation of the simplicity and complexity of the delicate workings of time provided by mechanical gears. Her French mother, a marathon runner, is where she gets her physical attributes and gifted mind.

Alaina's love of the past came from her grandmother and how she was able to tell the most amazing stories about everything. Before synthetic food makers in each home and how people were always hungry. Even though the food replicators existed a hundred years before she was born, she had a way of telling the past to an impressionable young girl.

Alaina walked the massive corridors of the facility. There were thousands of people employed at the complex. First-year recruits wore the same clothing and were easy to spot. Alaina had few friends during her time here, but one was her best friend, Olivia.

When the raids came, a movement was created as the Collective Good, also referred to as CG. A campaign focused on preserving history to historians and not machines that peek into the secrets of man. The Collective Good wanted an apparent oversight on what is to be viewed and recorded. A broad spectrum into our past and the people that shaped it. History was quickly becoming something entirely. Some wanted to rewrite our ancestor's stories.

There was at face value an understanding that the gatekeepers would relay the intent of every mission, and the recording would be available to HUB, an international library. Secrets have an inert way of getting out most inappropriately.

Alaina glanced at her band; she was late again and thought running wouldn't matter. She's late every week with Marcus, her mentor, and the Director of the Nexus program. The Director knew Alaina growing up. He became a second father to her. He had gotten used to the fact that she was always late.

Alaina's grandmother was collected by the new CG agency to oversee world history. The birth of the Nexus weaponized the mapping of history in real-time.

Four dispatchers ran down the corridor past Alaina. A few moments later, management referred to as the Suits were heading in the same direction. A code that sparked panic came over their ear-piece. Everyone ran to one location, Nest 4, a paralogue to the Nexus. There were no protocols on this subject matter. Theoretically, this wasn't supposed to happen. Alaina observed the men running, disappearing in a sea of cadets.

When the suits arrived, two of the dispatchers were standing guard, and the other two enter the room, and one entered his passcode and gave a retina scan. The main aristocrat repeated the same process and entered the Nest.

Surrounded by bureaucrats and other specialists, the young peasant disappeared beyond the door, leaving a trace of her medieval self behind.