Disclaimer: The characters of Rick and Evy O'Connell and Ardeth Bay belong to Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios. No infringement intended. All other characters belong to the author. Feedback is appreciated, email [email protected]

This story was inspired by the Warrior Mode snippets I had posted on FF and some of the suggestions I've received that I should continue the story. See? This is what you get. LOL And to give credit where credit is due, the person that inspired me to try and write a story dealing with time and its alter universes is Dawn; her imagination and creativity with her other fanfics is most inspiring and if you're looking for someone to blame…blame her. LOL

So enough rambling from me. ;-) Imagine if you will…there is a triangle of time located in the desert, not unlike the Bermuda Triangle, between Abydos, Dendera and the West Bank of Luxor. This is the story of what happens to one young woman who goes through this triangle and finds herself in another world – a world where the Medaji are alive and well.

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"Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away." - Roman Emperor/Philosopher Marcus Aurelius

"Life does not consist mainly, or even largely, of facts and happenings. It consists mainly of the storm of thought that is forever flowing through one's head." - Mark Twain

"Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." Dorothy, The Wizard of Oz

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"I already told you, I don't remember." Cecelia Adams sighed. She removed her glasses and ribbed the bridge of her nose, willing the headache she felt pounding in her temples to go away. Maybe if she kept them closed long enough, the looks of disbelief and skepticism would disappear.

"You do not remember, or do not wish to remember?" Detective Bijan Rasheed-Mudawar softly accused. His dark eyes assessed the young woman seated across the table, observing her physical appearance and behavior. In the short time he had come to know her, he had already reached his professional conclusion: she was a paradox, a seemingly difficult young woman who displayed the familiar Western tenacity and independence yet had an underlining touch of vulnerability that was intriguing and bothersome. Her appearance in the emergency ward of a local clinic two days ago wasn't wholly unexpected, but her fantastic tales of a tribe of mythical warriors in the desert had earned her a temporary stay in the asylum.

"What difference does it make, you've made up your mind not to believe me anyway," Cecelia snapped. God, she was tired and felt…unbalanced. What in God's name had happened to her? Memories of the past several days were hazy and disjointed; everything that had been once good and familiar had radically changed. If she listened to her instincts, they were telling her that time had somehow become distorted and along the way, she believed her sanity as well. Detective Rasheed-Mudawar was persistent but Cecelia could barely explain her visions of tattooed men clad in long black robes, brandishing swords and riding through the desert on mighty steeds to herself, let alone convince someone else. Was she really insane? Crumbling under the intense stare coming from the detective, Cecelia covered her face with her hands and suppressed a moan of defeat.

"Tell me once more what happened to your party. Why did you come to Egypt?" Bijan coaxed. He already knew the answer, having thoroughly read the report filed by his partner the first day Miss Adams had been taken into custody. He kept it nearby in a manila file folder along with the psychiatric evaluation, in case he needed to refer back to it. His eyes focused intently on the woman before him; he silently motioned for the secretary who sat off to his side to start writing down what was said.

"You'll laugh again," Cecelia snorted and looked up at him as the tears gathered in her eyes. "But that's okay, I'm ready to indulge in some hysterical laughter myself."

"I am not here to judge you, I'm here to help," Bijan said. "I cannot do that unless I understand all the facts. I need to know everything that has happened to you over the past several days. Even if it means that you have to repeat your story over and over again."

Cecelia wiped her face and blinked in surprise when Bijan handed her a tissue. She blew her nose, composed herself and peered at the detective, weighing his words and sincerity. "All right," she finally sighed. She put her glasses back on, smoothed the flyaway tendrils of hair that had escaped from the braid that hung down her back and slowly began her tale.

"I came to Egypt because my employer, archeologist Dr. Scott Weaver, believed in miracles. He had been diagnosed with a rare strain of cancer four months ago and had been given a grim prognosis; he had a year left to live."

Bijan reached into the folder and pulled out one sheet of the report, running one finger over the contents. "You stated to Detective Seif al Din that you were under the assumption that the reason behind the trip was to meet Dr. Zahi Hawass, yes?"

"Yes. As I had explained before, about a month ago he received a letter from Dr. Hawass inviting Scott to come join one of his crews at the Bahariaya Oasis. Help was needed to catalog the recent discoveries in the Valley of the Golden Mummies and the Western field was being re-excavated. You do believe me about Dr. Hawass, don't you?" Cecelia peevishly asked.

"I am aware of Dr. Hawass' work," Bijan stated evenly and tucked the page back into the report. "Please continue."

"All of us checked into our respective hotels, and then I contacted the Ministry of Culture. They assigned us our guides, and the next day we met them in Cairo outside the museum. I had believed they were going to take us out to the site to meet with Dr. Hawass. Instead, without our knowledge, Scott had met with the guides prior to our leaving and altered the itinerary. I firmly believe now that this change is what led Scott and the team to their deaths." Cecelia whispered. Unconsciously she started to shred the tissue, unaware of her nervous actions until she looked down at the mess in her hands.

"How many people were in Dr. Weaver's team?" Bijan asked. He had seen what she had done to the tissue and astutely realized she was probably suffering from post-traumatic stress over the death of her friends.

"I already told you," Cecelia sighed. "Seven."

"What change did Dr. Weaver instigate?"

Cecelia crumpled up the shredded remains of the tissue and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. She stared back at Bijan and mentally assessed his appearance, surprised to conclude that he was quite attractive. Determined but attractive. "I assume you know all the myths and legends regarding the pyramids and sacred sites of Egypt?"

"I am familiar with them as well as some other popular theories," Bijan gave Cecelia a brief smile. "There are the traditional Egyptologists, including Dr. Hawass, which believe the pyramids are tombs. However since they are void of decoration, and no sarcophagi or mummies have ever been found, there are others who question this theory. Some theorize that the pyramids were energy conductors; others like to contend they were used as guidance for extra-terrestrial spaceships since they can be seen from space. What did Dr. Weaver believe about them?"

"His hope was that by traveling to the Temple of Hathor, located in Dendera, and performing a simple cleansing ritual inside of it, he would be cured of his cancer. It is believed that by entering the temple, one could be healed of any physical, mental, psychological and emotional ailments." Cecelia cringed at the silence that followed her statement and she stared at Bijan, waiting for the usual cynical statements.

"How long have you worked for Dr. Weaver?" Bijan knew his question caught Cecelia off guard but he decided to cling to the rapidly blossoming belief in the back of his mind. He called it following a hunch. Despite her lack of credibility and obvious confusion over the events of the past few days, the timid looking assistant to the archeology professor had no clue what had really happened to her

"Two years," Cecelia replied.

"And during that timeframe, didn't your relationship with Dr. Weaver evolve into a friendship?"

"If you're implying I should have known about Scott's motives for booking an expedition to Dendera, well I've got news for you, I didn't. Scott kept his personal life just that…personal. I didn't realize anything was wrong until we were into the second day of our journey," Cecelia snapped. She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, glaring at the detective across the table.

"Let me recap all of this, Miss Adams," Bijan said quietly. "You and your employer traveled to Egypt under false pretenses, and lied to the Ministry of Culture regarding the true nature of your trip. And now you tell me Dr. Weaver was on some sort of spiritual sabbatical to Dendera in the hopes of curing his cancer. Yet I have seven men who have seemingly disappeared without a trace and you, who cannot seem to remember how she arrived back in Cairo, safe and unharmed."

"Pretty much," Cecelia replied. She leaned forward, unfazed by the detective's tactics. "Do you want to hear the rest of my story or not?"

Bijan leaned back and waved one hand in the air. "By all means, please continue. I am finding this most fascinating."

"I can do without the sarcasm. I don't know how I got into that clinic. All I know is that my boss and his friends are dead, I didn't do anything yet I'm the one being treated like a criminal. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?" Cecelia muttered.

Bijan closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a tension headache building up in the back of his head. "Go on, Miss Adams."

Cecelia sighed in exasperation then started talking again. "We traveled for two days, reaching Abydos by Monday. No one had really questioned or expressed any concerns to Scott that we were traveling the wrong way until that night. A few of the guys approached him after we had made camp, and this prompted a meeting where Scott finally told everyone the truth. At first, the guys were really angry but after a while, and from Scott talking to each and every one of the team personally, they all agreed to continue with the expedition to Dendera." Cecelia stopped and gave a soft laugh. "They all rallied around Scott and the quest to save his life without question, and certainly without hesitation. They were a great bunch of guys. Anyway, on Tuesday, we continued traveling south, passing by Amra and Hu but by mid-afternoon, we were caught in a sudden sandstorm. I don't remember much about it except we waited it out as best we could, and then traveled until nightfall. When I think about this now, we were so naïve, so sure of ourselves and in our mission to save Scott that we became careless. Blissfully ignorant to the fact that we were being watched and hunted, like prey."

"And this is when you were attacked by…what did you call them? Bandits?" Bijan asked.

"Yes, and that's not the name I made up for them," Cecelia clarified. "To me, I couldn't tell the difference between a Bedouin and a Tuareg if they came up and bit me on the ass. I was Dr. Weaver's assistant, my area of expertise limited to data processing, dictation, and generally being his Girl Friday."

"Did you love Dr. Weaver?"

"Where did that question come from?" Cecelia rolled her eyes. "No."

"You answered that very quickly, Miss Adams," Bijan said wryly. "Care to answer it again?"

A sudden image flooded Cecelia's mind and caught her by surprise: images of a man, handsome and exotic looking with dark, crescent shaped tattoos that graced both of his cheeks. The firm outline of his jaw framed by a trimmed goatee, his lean muscular body, dressed in flowing robes. "No, I didn't love him," Cecelia whispered hoarsely even as her heart joyfully sang with the truth: I think I love another and his name is…

"Tell me what happened when the bandits attacked," Bijan's voice was gentle and coaxing. It had the desired effect and brought Cecelia out of her reverie.

"I believe they attacked us so they could steal our equipment: CB's, radios, laptops, anything they could get their grubby little hands on. They cut loose our pack mules and left us whatever they couldn't pilfer from our tents. I don't remember exactly when it happened, maybe around midnight or one in the morning. All I know is that I woke up to the sound of men dying…"

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