The next several displacements followed a disturbing pattern. Each time, Bobby found himself in a progressively more developed human society. Each time, he attempted to integrate peacefully, to observe more than influence. And each time, the darker aspects of human nature eventually forced him to intervene, often with consequences he hadn't anticipated.
In a Phoenician coastal city, he introduced navigational improvements that expanded trade—only to watch as the resulting wealth fueled slave raids on neighboring communities. His attempts to discourage the practice led to his identification as a foreign spy, culminating in a violent confrontation where his psionic abilities were publicly revealed.
In an early Greek settlement, he served as an advisor to a relatively benevolent ruler—until that ruler was assassinated by his own son, who then demanded Bobby's loyalty in subjugating neighboring city-states. Bobby's refusal and subsequent display of power led to his deification in local mythology—a development that both appalled and amused him.
In a Persian mountain community, he lived quietly as a healer until drought drove desperate refugees into the region. When the local governor ordered these starving people driven back into the desert to die, Bobby's intervention saved lives but transformed the social order, elevating him to a messianic figure whose departure during his next displacement left a dangerous power vacuum.
With each cycle, Bobby's disillusionment deepened. The quantum temporal energy seemed to respond to his growing cynicism, the displacements becoming more frequent, giving him less time to establish connections before tearing him away again. It was as if the universe itself was reinforcing his isolation.
His twenty-eighth displacement dropped him into what he immediately recognized as Babylonian territory, approximately 600 BCE based on architectural styles and cultural indicators. The quantum readings suggested a potentially extended stay—decades if the pattern held—but Bobby no longer placed much faith in such predictions.
By this point, his approach to integration had fundamentally changed. Gone was the idealistic observer seeking to understand humanity's journey. In his place stood a hardened, cynical entity who maintained human form but increasingly questioned whether he shared anything meaningful with the species beyond basic physiology.
Bobby established himself in Babylon with practiced efficiency. He secured lodgings in a modest district, created a believable background as a merchant from the eastern provinces, and began gathering information about the current political landscape. His cover identity required minimal interaction—exactly as he preferred.
Babylon under King Nabonidus was a magnificent achievement of human civilization—a sprawling metropolis of mud-brick palaces, towering ziggurats, and the famous hanging gardens. Its markets teemed with goods from across the known world, its temples housed scholars and astronomers advancing human knowledge, its administrative complex represented the most sophisticated bureaucracy yet developed.
Bobby observed it all with detached appreciation, acknowledging the accomplishments while remaining aloof from the society that produced them. He had seen too many civilizations rise and fall, had witnessed too many atrocities justified by religious fervor or political ambition, to invest emotionally in this one.
Instead, he indulged himself. With accumulated wealth from strategic trading, Bobby secured increasingly luxurious accommodations and sampled the many pleasures Babylon offered. Fine wines imported from distant regions. Exotic foods prepared by skilled chefs. Elaborate entertainments in the form of music, dance, and theatrical performances.
And women. Many women.
Unlike his earlier displacements, where he had formed meaningful relationships with individuals like Lana and Enheduanna, Bobby now approached physical intimacy as merely another sensory experience to be consumed. The high-end pleasure houses of Babylon catered to wealthy clients with sophisticated tastes, and Bobby became a regular patron.
"You have unusual preferences, my lord," observed Ishara, the madam of his favorite establishment. "Most men request specific physical attributes or acts. You seem to value conversation as much as carnality."
Bobby smiled thinly, swirling wine in a silver cup. "Perhaps I find the mind a more interesting landscape than the body."
Ishara—a shrewd businesswoman in her forties who had risen from courtesan to proprietor—settled beside him on silk cushions. "Yet you never speak of yourself. My girls report that you deflect personal questions with practiced ease."
"Perhaps I'm simply boring," he suggested.
She laughed, the sound genuine despite her calculated surroundings. "No boring man has such shadows in his eyes. You've seen things that would curdle the blood of ordinary men."
Bobby didn't deny it. "We all have our burdens."
"Indeed." Ishara studied him with professional assessment. "Tonight I have someone special for you. Not one of my regular girls—a newcomer with an unusual background. I think you'll find her... stimulating."
Bobby's interest was marginally piqued. While he approached these encounters with emotional detachment, intellectual engagement still provided some respite from his growing ennui.
The woman who entered a short time later wasn't what he expected. Most of Ishara's courtesans affected an air of sophistication and worldliness. This one moved with a natural grace unmarred by artificial mannerisms. Her features suggested mixed heritage—perhaps Egyptian and Assyrian—and her eyes held intelligence undiminished by her circumstances.
"This is Neferet," Ishara introduced. "Formerly a temple scribe in Memphis until political upheavals forced her to seek... alternative employment."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. Female scribes were rare in this era, suggesting an unusual education and background. "A pleasure," he said, gesturing for her to join him on the cushions.
Ishara withdrew discreetly as Neferet settled across from Bobby, maintaining a respectful distance rather than immediately initiating physical contact as most courtesans would.
"You're not what I expected," Bobby observed, pouring wine for her.
"Forgive me if I disappoint," she replied, her Babylonian accented but fluent.
"Not disappointed. Intrigued." He handed her the cup. "Ishara mentioned you were a scribe."
Neferet nodded, accepting the wine. "For twelve years I served in the temple of Ptah, recording astronomical observations and maintaining historical records."
"Until?"
"Until the Persian armies approached and factions within Egypt began eliminating potential collaborators." A shadow crossed her face. "My father was Assyrian. This made me... suspect."
Bobby understood immediately. The complex political landscape of the late Bronze Age/early Iron Age Near East created constantly shifting allegiances and enemies. Mixed heritage often became a liability during times of conflict.
"How did you end up in Babylon?" he asked.
"By a circuitous route involving considerable unpleasantness," she replied with remarkable composure. "But that hardly makes for appealing conversation in current circumstances."
Bobby found himself genuinely interested—a novel sensation after years of practiced detachment. "On the contrary, I find truth far more appealing than manufactured pleasantries."
Neferet studied him for a moment, apparently reassessing her approach. "Very well. After fleeing Memphis, I was captured by bandits, sold to a merchant caravan, transported to Damascus, purchased by a Babylonian diplomat, brought here as a household servant, and eventually sold to Ishara when the diplomat's wife found our proximity... concerning."
The clinical recitation of what must have been a traumatic journey struck Bobby as familiar—it mirrored his own emotional detachment when recalling painful experiences.
"And now you're here," he concluded.
"Indeed. Applying my education in ways the temple priests never anticipated." A hint of bitter humor colored her voice.
Bobby drank deeply from his wine. "Life rarely follows expected paths."
"You speak from experience," she observed.
"More than you could possibly imagine," he replied.
Something in his tone must have revealed more than he intended. Neferet leaned forward slightly, her professional demeanor slipping to reveal genuine curiosity.
"Ishara said you're a merchant from the eastern provinces, but your accent belongs to no region I recognize—and I studied seventeen languages in the temple."
Bobby smiled thinly. "Perhaps you missed one."
"Perhaps." She didn't press further, instead changing the subject with practiced grace. "How shall I entertain you this evening? Ishara mentioned you enjoy intellectual discourse alongside... other pleasures."
The invitation was clear but not crudely stated. Bobby considered her thoughtfully. Physical release was easy to find in Babylon, but meaningful conversation was rarer.
"Tell me about the stars," he said, surprising her. "What did you record in your astronomical observations?"
For the next hour, they discussed celestial movements, Babylonian versus Egyptian methods of charting stellar positions, and the religious significance attributed to astronomical events. Neferet proved knowledgeable and insightful, occasionally revealing gaps in contemporary understanding that Bobby carefully avoided filling.
As the night deepened, their conversation naturally evolved toward more personal exchanges, and eventually toward physical intimacy. Unlike his usual detached approach to such encounters, Bobby found himself paying attention to Neferet's responses, adjusting to her preferences rather than merely seeking his own satisfaction.
When he finally entered her, she gasped softly, arms winding around his neck. "You move like no man I've known," she whispered against his ear.
Bobby established a rhythm, feeling an unfamiliar spark of genuine connection. "Is that a professional assessment?" he asked, voice rougher than intended.
She laughed, the sound transitioning to a moan as he shifted angle. "Believe it or not, scribes aren't trained to evaluate sexual technique—ah!" Her body arched as he drove deeper. "Though perhaps they should be."
They moved together with increasing urgency, her legs wrapping around his waist as his thrusts intensified. When she cried out in climax, Bobby allowed himself release as well, experiencing a moment of genuine pleasure that transcended mere physical sensation.
Afterward, as they lay amid tangled silk sheets, Neferet traced idle patterns on his chest. "You're different," she observed.
"In what way?" Bobby asked, though he knew the answer.
"You're present. Most men—especially wealthy patrons—are merely using a body while thinking of other things. Business dealings. Political rivalries. You focused entirely on our encounter."
Bobby couldn't explain that after millions of years of existence, genuine connection had become precious precisely because of its rarity. Instead, he deflected with practiced ease.
"Perhaps I simply recognize quality when I encounter it."
Neferet smiled, seeing through the evasion but accepting it. "Will you request me again?"
"Yes," Bobby replied without hesitation. "Though my business may take me from the city periodically."
This was another practiced lie—he had no business beyond his cover identity—but it provided necessary flexibility should the quantum temporal energy suddenly accelerate.
Over the following months, Bobby established a routine centered around intellectual and physical pursuits. He maintained his cover as a merchant, making occasional trading journeys to maintain appearances. He frequented Babylon's libraries and scholarly gatherings, absorbing contemporary knowledge while being careful not to reveal his own advanced understanding. And he continued his regular visits to Ishara's establishment, increasingly requesting Neferet exclusively.
Their relationship evolved into something more complex than patron and courtesan. Bobby arranged for her scheduled time to be filled primarily with conversation, philosophical debate, and mutual exploration of Babylon's cultural offerings. The physical aspects of their arrangement remained, but became one component of a multifaceted connection rather than its primary purpose.
"You could simply marry me, you know," Neferet observed one evening as they reclined on the roof of Ishara's establishment, observing stellar movements. "It would be more economical than paying for my time continuously."
Bobby smiled but shook his head. "I'm not a permanent fixture in Babylon."
"So you say, yet you've established no concrete business relationships I can discern, made no significant property investments, and shown no interest in political connections that would secure your position." Her tone was light but her assessment uncomfortably accurate.
"Perhaps I value freedom above security," he suggested.
Neferet laughed softly. "A convenient philosophy for avoiding commitment."
The comment struck closer to home than she could know. Throughout his countless displacements, Bobby had developed elaborate strategies for avoiding deep connections—precisely because he knew they would inevitably be severed by forces beyond his control.
Yet somehow, despite his practiced detachment, Neferet had slipped past his defenses. Not in the profound way Lana or Enheduanna had—he maintained careful emotional boundaries—but enough that he found himself anticipating their encounters, valuing her perspectives, enjoying her company beyond mere physical or intellectual stimulation.
This growing attachment concerned him. The quantum temporal energy readings had been stable for nearly two years now, suggesting a potentially lengthy displacement, but experience had taught him that predictions were unreliable. He could be torn away at any moment, with no opportunity for explanation or farewell.
One evening, as Bobby returned to his quarters after a day spent in the royal archives studying ancient Sumerian texts, he found an unexpected visitor waiting outside his door. A boy of perhaps twelve years, dressed in simple but clean garments, clearly from a respectable family rather than the street.
"Are you the one they call Babil the Merchant?" the boy asked, his voice surprisingly assured for his age.
Bobby nodded cautiously. "I am. What business brings you here, young man?"
The boy straightened formally. "I am Naram-Sin, apprentice to the temple astrologer. I have been sent to seek your counsel."
"My counsel?" Bobby repeated skeptically. "On what matter?"
"On a vision that concerns you directly," the boy replied with disconcerting seriousness. "May we speak privately?"
Intrigued despite his cynicism, Bobby unlocked his door and gestured the boy inside. His quarters were comfortable but not lavish—a deliberate choice to avoid unwanted attention from tax collectors or thieves.
Once inside, Naram-Sin remained standing until Bobby indicated he should sit. The boy's formal manners suggested careful training in protocol.
"Now then," Bobby said, pouring himself wine but offering the boy only water, "explain this vision that supposedly concerns me."
Naram-Sin accepted the water gratefully. "For three nights, the chief astrologer has dreamed of a man with ancient eyes who walks between worlds. On the third night, the dream showed this man's location in the city. I was sent to find you based on his description."
Bobby maintained a neutral expression despite his internal alarm. Throughout his many displacements, he occasionally encountered individuals with unusual perceptiveness—people who somehow sensed aspects of his true nature despite his careful concealment.
"And why would this dream person be of interest to temple astrologers?" he asked carefully.
"Because the stars speak of great changes coming," the boy replied with absolute conviction. "The chief astrologer believes you hold knowledge vital to Babylon's survival."
Bobby sighed, familiar with this pattern. In every era, those with political or religious authority sought advantages through any means available—including recruiting individuals with unusual skills or knowledge.
"I'm a simple merchant," he said dismissively. "I deal in goods, not prophecies."
Naram-Sin shook his head stubbornly. "The dream was clear. You are the one with ancient eyes. The one who has seen the rise and fall of kingdoms."
The phrasing was uncomfortably specific. "Your chief astrologer has an active imagination," Bobby deflected.
"He is never wrong about such matters," the boy insisted. "He foretold the drought three years ago. He warned of the Elamite ambassador's treachery before others suspected."
Bobby remained silent, considering his options. He could firmly deny any special knowledge, send the boy away, and perhaps relocate to another district of the city. He could agree to meet with the astrologer, determine exactly what he had "seen," and then decide how to respond. Or he could simply wait for the inevitable displacement that would eventually remove him from this situation entirely.
Before he could decide, Naram-Sin spoke again. "The astrologer said you would deny your nature. He said to tell you that 'one who has witnessed the birth and death of stars cannot hide forever behind mortal masks.'"
The statement sent a chill through Bobby. The phrasing was too specific, too accurate to be coincidence or general mystical pronouncement. Somehow, this astrologer had perceived something genuine about his nature.
"What is your astrologer's name?" Bobby asked finally.
"Marduk-zakir-shumi," the boy replied. "He serves directly under the king's chief diviner."
Bobby recognized the name from court records he had studied—a respected scholar with significant influence in royal circles. Not someone to dismiss lightly.
"Tell your master I will consider his... invitation," Bobby said carefully. "Return tomorrow for my answer."
Naram-Sin seemed disappointed by the lack of immediate acceptance but nodded respectfully. "As you wish. But the stars will not wait indefinitely for mortal deliberation."
After the boy departed, Bobby paced his quarters restlessly. Throughout his millions of years on prehistoric Earth, he had occasionally been identified as "other"—sometimes as deity, sometimes as demon, depending on the cultural context. Usually, he simply departed the area when such suspicions arose, allowing legends to develop in his absence rather than confirming or denying their accuracy.
But Babylon was different. Its cosmopolitan nature, its sophisticated scholarly traditions, its complex religious hierarchies—all created an environment where unusual individuals might be studied rather than simply deified or demonized. This presented both opportunity and danger.
Bobby needed more information before deciding how to respond. And he knew exactly where to seek it.
That evening, he visited Ishara's establishment at an unusual hour, requesting Neferet privately rather than in the main reception area where he typically waited.
She arrived in his usual chamber looking concerned. "Is something wrong? You never come at this hour."
Bobby closed the door, ensuring their privacy. "I need information about a temple astrologer named Marduk-zakir-shumi."
Neferet's expression shifted to careful neutrality—a reaction that itself provided information. "Why do you ask about him?"
"His apprentice visited me today with a rather unusual invitation," Bobby explained, watching her reaction closely. "The astrologer apparently had dreams about me."
Neferet sank onto a cushioned bench, her composure momentarily slipping. "Then the rumors are true."
"What rumors?"
She hesitated before answering. "For weeks, there have been whispers that Marduk-zakir-shumi has experienced visions concerning a foreign presence in Babylon—someone with unusual knowledge that could affect the kingdom's future. Most dismissed it as an attempt to curry royal favor through mysterious pronouncements."
"But you didn't," Bobby observed.
Neferet met his gaze directly. "I've spent enough time with you to know you're not what you claim to be. Your knowledge extends far beyond that of any merchant. Your perspective on history, religion, astronomy—it's as if you're viewing everything from an impossible distance."
Bobby maintained his neutral expression, though internally he was reassessing their relationship. Neferet had been more perceptive than he'd credited.
"What else do you know about this astrologer?" he asked, neither confirming nor denying her assessment.
"He's considered brilliant but eccentric," she replied, accepting the deflection for now. "He accurately predicted several major events, including the death of the previous king. Nabonidus keeps him close but not in the innermost circle of advisors—he's too unpredictable for complete trust."
"Is he politically ambitious?"
Neferet considered the question. "Not in the usual sense. He seems genuinely dedicated to his astronomical studies and religious interpretations. But knowledge is power in Babylon, especially knowledge of the future."
This aligned with Bobby's initial impression. Not a direct power-seeker, but someone who valued knowledge for both practical and esoteric reasons.
"The apprentice said I should provide counsel regarding coming changes," Bobby mused. "What changes do the temples anticipate?"
Neferet's expression grew troubled. "There are rumors of Persian expansionism under Cyrus. Some fear Babylon may be threatened within the next decade."
Bobby knew from his historical knowledge that these fears were justified. Babylon would indeed fall to Cyrus the Great in 539 BCE, a date likely only a few years away in this current displacement.
"I see," he said neutrally.
Neferet studied him carefully. "You already knew that, didn't you?"
Bobby chose his next words with care. "Let's just say I'm familiar with how empires rise and fall."
"Who are you?" she asked directly. "Really?"
It was a question he had been asked in various forms throughout his many displacements. Usually, he deflected or departed. But something about Neferet's direct gaze made him consider a different approach.
"If I told you I've witnessed more of human history than you could possibly imagine," he said slowly, "that I've seen civilizations rise and fall across thousands of years, would you believe me?"
Neferet didn't answer immediately, considering his words with the analytical mind of a trained scribe. "It would explain much about you," she finally said. "But it would also be impossible for any mortal man."
"Indeed," Bobby agreed quietly.
The implications hung between them, neither acknowledging them directly but both aware of the conversation's gravity.
"Will you meet with Marduk-zakir-shumi?" she finally asked.
"I haven't decided," Bobby admitted. "There's risk in drawing too much attention, regardless of how accurate his visions might be."
Neferet nodded in understanding. "Whatever you decide, I would recommend caution. The king's court is a nest of vipers, each seeking advantage through whatever means available."
"Including mysterious foreigners with unusual knowledge," Bobby concluded wryly.
"Especially those," she confirmed with a small smile.
They didn't speak further of the matter that night, instead finding comfort in physical intimacy that seemed somehow more significant given their oblique discussion of his true nature. As Bobby moved inside her, Neferet clung to him with unusual intensity, her gasps and moans carrying a desperation he hadn't heard before.
"Fuck me like it's our last night," she whispered against his ear, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. "Like the world ends tomorrow."
The request resonated with Bobby's own sense of impending change. He drove into her with renewed force, his enhanced strength carefully controlled but still providing intensity beyond what most humans could deliver.
"Yes, like that," she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. "Gods, your cock feels impossible—like it was made to ruin me for other men."
Bobby lifted her easily, adjusting their position so he could penetrate even deeper. "Is that what you want?" he growled, letting his careful control slip slightly. "To be ruined?"
"Yes!" she cried out as he slammed upward. "Ruin me, mark me, make me yours in ways no one else can—aaaahh!"
Her orgasm triggered his own, the physical release accompanied by a rare moment of genuine emotional connection. In that instant, Bobby allowed himself to care—truly care—about another human being despite knowing their relationship was inevitably temporary.
Later, as Neferet slept beside him, Bobby made his decision regarding the astrologer. He would meet him, determine exactly what he had "seen," and then decide whether to confirm, deny, or simply disappear. The quantum temporal readings remained stable, suggesting he had time to resolve the situation before the next displacement.
The following morning, when Naram-Sin returned for his answer, Bobby agreed to meet with Marduk-zakir-shumi at the temple observatory that evening. The boy's obvious excitement suggested this meeting held significance beyond what had been directly stated.
"The astrologer said to tell you the conjunction of stars tonight is auspicious for revelations," Naram-Sin explained. "He will await you on the highest level of the ziggurat after sunset."
Bobby spent the day preparing—mentally reviewing what he knew of Babylonian astronomy and religion, considering various approaches depending on what the astrologer had actually perceived, and discreetly adjusting his financial arrangements to allow quick departure if necessary.
As the sun set behind Babylon's massive walls, Bobby made his way through crowded streets toward the central ziggurat dedicated to Marduk, the city's patron deity. The massive stepped structure dominated the cityscape, its upper levels accessible only to priests and specially designated officials.
Bobby was met at the base by Naram-Sin, who escorted him through a series of checkpoints where temple guards verified his identity against the astrologer's guest list. The security was both religious and practical—the upper levels of the ziggurat offered strategic views of the entire city and surrounding countryside.
After climbing seven levels of increasingly narrow stairs, they emerged onto an observation platform where astronomical instruments were arranged in precise configurations. A lone figure stood at the platform's edge, silhouetted against the deepening twilight.
"Master, I have brought him," Naram-Sin announced formally.
The figure turned, revealing a man of perhaps sixty years, with a neatly trimmed gray beard and penetrating dark eyes. He wore the distinctive robes of a senior temple astronomer, marked with symbols representing celestial bodies.
"So you are the wanderer between worlds," Marduk-zakir-shumi said without preamble, his gaze assessing Bobby with uncomfortable intensity.
Bobby maintained a neutral expression. "I am Babil the merchant," he replied. "Your apprentice said you wished to consult me on matters of importance to Babylon."
The astrologer smiled thinly. "Names are masks we wear for convenience. I care not what you call yourself in this cycle, Eternal One."
The specific terminology sent a jolt of alarm through Bobby. "Eternal One" was too close to his true nature to be coincidental mystical flattery.
"Your dreams must be quite detailed," Bobby observed carefully.
"Dreams? No." The astrologer gestured dismissively. "Dreams are the mind processing daily concerns. What I experienced were visions—direct messages from beyond the veil of ordinary perception."
Bobby remained skeptical. Throughout human history, he had encountered countless individuals claiming divine insight or supernatural perception. Most were simply interpreting ordinary psychological phenomena through religious frameworks. A few had genuine intuitive abilities that allowed them to perceive patterns others missed.
And very occasionally, he encountered someone like Enheduanna or Puduhepa—individuals with a perceptiveness that transcended normal human limitations, allowing them to sense aspects of his true nature.
"What exactly did you see in these visions?" Bobby asked directly.
Marduk-zakir-shumi dismissed Naram-Sin with a gesture before answering. Once the boy had descended the stairs, he turned back to Bobby.
"I saw a man who has lived beyond the counting of years," he said quietly. "Who has witnessed the birth and death of civilizations. Who carries knowledge that could elevate or destroy kingdoms."
The description was uncomfortably accurate, though still potentially attributable to mystical hyperbole rather than genuine insight.
"And why would such a being concern himself with Babylon?" Bobby countered.
"Because time itself delivers you where you are needed," the astrologer replied. "And Babylon stands at a crossroads that will determine the future course of human knowledge."
This was interesting—not the typical request for military advantage or political power that Bobby had encountered in previous displacements.
"Explain," he prompted.
Marduk-zakir-shumi gestured toward the astronomical instruments. "For generations, we have observed the heavens, tracking the movements of stars and planets, developing mathematical systems to predict celestial events."
Bobby nodded. Babylonian astronomy was indeed sophisticated for this era, laying groundwork for later scientific developments.
"Our archives contain observations dating back centuries," the astrologer continued. "Knowledge that exists nowhere else in the world. Mathematical innovations, astronomical records, medical understanding."
"I'm aware of Babylon's scholarly achievements," Bobby acknowledged.
"Then you understand what would be lost if the city falls." The astrologer's expression grew grave. "My calculations and visions both point to the same conclusion—within five years, a conqueror will stand at our gates."
Bobby knew this prediction was accurate. Cyrus the Great would indeed capture Babylon in 539 BCE, though historical records suggested the transition was relatively peaceful, with much of the city's intellectual heritage preserved rather than destroyed.
"Conquest doesn't necessarily mean destruction," Bobby pointed out. "Empires often preserve useful knowledge."
"Some knowledge, yes," the astrologer agreed. "But not all. Not the esoteric traditions, the mystery teachings, the scientific inquiries deemed dangerous or heretical by new rulers."
This was also accurate. Throughout human history, political transitions frequently resulted in selective preservation of knowledge—retaining practical information while suppressing philosophical or religious concepts that challenged new power structures.
"What exactly do you want from me?" Bobby asked bluntly.
"Guidance," Marduk-zakir-shumi replied. "Help us preserve what matters most. Help us distinguish between knowledge that will survive naturally and that which must be specially protected."
The request was more nuanced than Bobby had anticipated. Not a plea for military intervention or technological advantage, but for wisdom regarding knowledge preservation.
"Why would you trust my judgment in this?" Bobby asked. "Even accepting your visions as accurate, you know nothing of my values or priorities."
The astrologer smiled. "On the contrary. The visions revealed your nature as a witness—one who observes without interfering unless absolutely necessary. Such a being values knowledge above power, understanding above dominance."
Once again, the assessment was uncomfortably accurate. Bobby's millions of years of existence had indeed transformed him primarily into a witness—recording and preserving humanity's journey rather than attempting to direct it.
Until recently, at least. His interventions in recent displacements suggested a shifting approach, a greater willingness to act rather than merely observe.
"I need to consider your request," Bobby said finally. "It's not a simple matter."
"Of course." The astrologer nodded. "The weight of eons demands careful deliberation. But do not delay overlong. The stars wait for no man—not even one who has walked between worlds."
As Bobby departed the ziggurat, his mind churned with implications. This encounter differed from previous situations where his nature had been partially perceived. Marduk-zakir-shumi didn't want weapons or tactics or political advantage. He wanted Bobby's perspective on knowledge preservation—a goal aligned with Bobby's own long-term purpose as humanity's witness.
And yet, intervention of any kind risked altering historical trajectories in unpredictable ways. The fall of Babylon to Cyrus was a pivotal historical moment with far-reaching consequences. Bobby's historical knowledge suggested that much of Babylon's intellectual heritage had indeed survived the transition, contributing to later Persian, Greek, and eventually Islamic scholarly traditions.
Would his intervention improve that outcome or potentially damage it? The question plagued him for days as he considered the astrologer's request.
During this period of deliberation, Bobby maintained his usual routines—including regular visits to Neferet. He didn't mention the astrologer's proposal, but she sensed his preoccupation.
"You seem troubled," she observed one evening as they lay together in post-coital intimacy.
"Merely contemplating a business proposition," he deflected.
Neferet traced patterns on his chest, her touch gentle but persistent. "I've never seen a 'business proposition' consume you so completely. This relates to Marduk-zakir-shumi, doesn't it?"
Bobby sighed, acknowledging her perception. "Yes. He's requested my assistance with a... knowledge preservation project."
"I see." She propped herself up on one elbow, studying his face in the lamplight. "And this troubles you because...?"
"Because actions have consequences beyond their immediate effects," Bobby replied, deliberately vague but honest. "What seems beneficial in the moment may prove harmful in the longer view."
Neferet nodded slowly. "You speak like someone who has witnessed such unintended consequences firsthand." When Bobby didn't respond, she continued, "The temple archives contain many stories of well-intentioned interventions that brought disaster. The gods themselves sometimes regretted their gifts to humanity."
"Exactly," Bobby agreed, grateful for her understanding without having to explain his unique perspective.
"Yet they continued to interact with mortals despite those risks," she pointed out. "To withdraw completely would be to abandon responsibility entirely."
The observation struck uncomfortably close to Bobby's evolving perspective. Throughout millions of years of observation, he had maintained rigid protocols about non-interference—watching atrocities without intervention, allowing suffering he could have prevented, all in service of preserving humanity's "natural" development.
But recent displacements had forced him to question that approach. Was absolute non-interference morally defensible given his capabilities? Or was it merely a convenient abdication of responsibility?
"What would you do?" he asked suddenly, genuinely curious about her perspective.
Neferet considered the question seriously. "I would help preserve knowledge," she said finally. "Not all knowledge—there are some discoveries humanity might be better without. But wisdom that expands understanding rather than merely power? That seems worth protecting."
Her answer aligned with Bobby's own inclination, though she couldn't possibly understand the full context of the decision.
The following evening, Bobby returned to the ziggurat to meet with Marduk-zakir-shumi. The astrologer seemed unsurprised by his return, as if the outcome had been predetermined.
"You've decided to help," he stated rather than asked as they stood again on the observatory platform under a brilliant night sky.
"With conditions," Bobby specified. "I won't provide technologies beyond your current capabilities. I won't interfere directly in political or military matters. And I retain sole discretion regarding what knowledge I deem appropriate to preserve or protect."
The astrologer nodded acceptance. "Those terms are reasonable. The visions showed you as judicious in your interventions."
Over the following weeks, Bobby worked closely with Marduk-zakir-shumi and a small circle of trusted scholars to evaluate Babylon's vast repositories of knowledge. They created categorization systems identifying the most crucial astronomical observations, mathematical principles, medical techniques, and philosophical concepts.
Bobby subtly guided their efforts, drawing on his knowledge of future developments to prioritize information that would otherwise be lost in the coming political transitions. He was careful to present his insights as deductive reasoning rather than foreknowledge, maintaining his cover as an unusually perceptive foreign scholar rather than an immortal witness to human history.
The project expanded to include the creation of duplicate records, with plans to disperse copies to multiple locations—temples in distant cities, hidden caches in remote areas, entrusted to traveling scholars bound for regions unlikely to face Persian conquest.
Throughout this period, Bobby maintained his relationship with Neferet, finding in her a perspective that helped ground his increasingly abstracted thinking. Their conversations about knowledge, responsibility, and legacy provided valuable context for his work with the temple scholars.
"You seem more at peace," she observed one evening as they walked through a public garden, a rare opportunity to interact outside the confines of Ishara's establishment. Bobby had arranged for her time exclusively, allowing them to enjoy Babylon as ordinary citizens might.
"Perhaps I've found purpose beyond mere observation," he replied, more honestly than was his custom.
"Through the preservation project?" When he looked surprised at her knowledge, she smiled. "Babylon thrives on information. Word of your collaboration with Marduk-zakir-shumi has spread through certain circles."
Bobby frowned slightly. "That could complicate matters."
"Only if you fear discovery," she pointed out. "What exactly are you hiding from?"
The question was both innocent and profound. What was he hiding from? Throughout his millions of years on Earth, Bobby had maintained careful concealment of his true nature and capabilities. But why? Fear of persecution seemed inadequate given his power to defend himself or simply relocate. Concern about altering human development made sense in earlier eras but seemed increasingly irrelevant as civilizations became more complex and resilient.
Perhaps what he truly feared was responsibility—the burden of consciously shaping human history rather than merely witnessing it.
Before he could formulate a response, they were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Naram-Sin, the astrologer's apprentice, who rushed toward them with obvious urgency.
"Master Babil!" the boy called, using the honorific that had gradually been applied to Bobby by the temple scholars. "The astrologer requests your immediate presence. A messenger has arrived from the east with news of Persian movements."
Bobby exchanged a glance with Neferet. "It seems our evening is cut short," he said apologetically.
"Go," she encouraged. "We'll continue our conversation another time."
But as Bobby followed Naram-Sin toward the ziggurat, the quantum temporal energy readings suddenly spiked in his awareness. After nearly three years of stability in this displacement, the cycle was accelerating—likely triggered by the emotional resonance of his recent decision to actively participate in knowledge preservation rather than merely observe.
He might have days rather than years remaining in Babylon.
The realization created immediate practical concerns. The knowledge preservation project was only partially completed. His arrangements with Neferet had no provision for his sudden disappearance. And now, apparently, political developments demanded his attention as well.
Bobby made a swift decision. He would focus on completing the most critical aspects of the preservation project, ensure Neferet was provided for financially, and avoid entanglement in the political situation regardless of the astrologer's request.
Upon reaching the ziggurat, he found Marduk-zakir-shumi in conference with several senior temple officials and a dust-covered messenger wearing Persian-style clothing.
"Ah, Master Babil," the astrologer greeted him. "Our friend here brings concerning news from the eastern provinces."
The messenger, clearly exhausted from hard travel, reported that Cyrus had consolidated his hold on Media and was now turning his attention toward Babylon. Advance forces were already establishing positions along major trade routes, suggesting military action within months rather than years.
This timeline conflicted with Bobby's historical knowledge, which placed Babylon's fall in 539 BCE—still approximately two years in the future from his current position. Either his historical information was incorrect, or his presence had somehow accelerated events.
"What counsel do you offer?" Marduk-zakir-shumi asked after the messenger had been dismissed to rest and refresh himself.
Bobby chose his words carefully. "Accelerate the knowledge preservation efforts. Focus on astronomical records and mathematical principles first, as they're least likely to be valued by conquerors seeking practical advantages."
"And military preparations?" one of the other officials pressed.
"Those are better directed by experienced commanders," Bobby deflected. "My expertise lies elsewhere."
The official seemed dissatisfied but didn't press further. After additional discussion of preservation priorities, the meeting concluded with increased urgency added to their timeline.
As Bobby departed the ziggurat, the quantum temporal energy continued to build. He estimated perhaps three to four days before displacement—barely enough time to complete essential preparations.
He worked through the night with temple scribes, identifying the most crucial knowledge for immediate duplication and dispersal. By dawn, he had established priorities that would guide their efforts even after his departure, though of course they didn't understand that aspect of his urgency.
With the preservation project addressed, Bobby turned to personal matters. He arranged for a substantial sum to be transferred to Ishara with specific instructions regarding Neferet's future support. The arrangement would provide her independence should she choose to leave the pleasure house, or comfort and security should she prefer to remain.
Finally, he prepared an explanation for the astrologer. Marduk-zakir-shumi had perceived enough of his true nature that a complete disappearance without comment might disrupt the preservation efforts. A partial truth seemed the most effective approach.
On what he anticipated would be his final evening in Babylon, Bobby visited Neferet as usual. She immediately sensed something different in his demeanor.
"You're leaving," she stated rather than asked as they sat together in their usual chamber.
Bobby didn't deny it. "Yes. Sooner than I expected."
"The Persian threat?" she guessed.
"No. Something more... personal." He took her hands in his. "I've made arrangements with Ishara. You'll have choices available that weren't before."
Neferet's expression showed understanding beyond his words. "You've known all along that you would leave suddenly, haven't you? It's part of why you never established deeper roots here."
Bobby nodded, offering honesty in what would be their final conversation. "My life follows patterns beyond my control. Arrivals and departures that can't be predicted or prevented."
"A curse from the gods? Or a blessing?" she asked, echoing a question he had heard across countless displacements.
"Both," he admitted. "I experience wonders few will ever see, but never belong anywhere completely."
Neferet studied him for a long moment. "When you spoke of witnessing the rise and fall of civilizations, you weren't being metaphorical, were you?"
"No," Bobby confirmed simply.
She accepted this with remarkable composure. "Will you remember me? In your... travels?"
"Yes." The quantum temporal energy surged painfully, suggesting his time was shorter than anticipated. "You've helped me remember something important about connection. About responsibility."
Their lovemaking that night carried the bittersweet intensity of a conscious farewell. Neferet responded to his touch with passionate abandon, as if trying to imprint the experience in both their memories.
"Fuck me like we'll never meet again," she gasped as he entered her. "Like you're trying to leave your mark on my soul."
Bobby responded with controlled power, driving into her with precision that targeted her most sensitive spots. "I'll remember this," he promised, his voice rough with genuine emotion. "I'll remember you."
She came twice before he allowed his own release, her body shuddering beneath his as pleasure overwhelmed her. As they lay together afterward, the quantum temporal energy built toward critical levels, forcing Bobby to leave sooner than he had planned.
"I have to go," he said, rising and dressing quickly. "Right now."
Neferet sat up, alarmed by his suddenness. "Now? In the middle of the night?"
"I have no choice." He moved to the door but paused, turning back to her. "Live well, Neferet. Your resilience and wisdom deserve a better world than this one."
Before she could respond, he departed, moving quickly through Babylon's darkened streets toward an isolated area where his displacement wouldn't be witnessed. The quantum energy was reaching painful levels, reality already beginning to waver around him.
He barely reached the abandoned storehouse he had selected before the displacement hit with full force. As reality tore apart around him, Bobby's last thought of Babylon was not of the knowledge preservation project or the coming Persian conquest, but of Neferet's intelligent eyes and the connection they had briefly shared.
When the quantum reconstruction completed, he found himself standing in a very different Babylon—clearly the same city but transformed by time and new construction. Based on architectural styles and cultural indicators visible even in the pre-dawn light, he had moved forward approximately 50-60 years.
Babylon under Persian rule, then. The conquest he had helped prepare for had long since occurred, the knowledge preservation efforts either succeeded or failed without his knowledge.
Bobby felt the familiar weight of displacement melancholy—the awareness that lives he had touched had continued without him, dreams and projects he had valued had reached conclusions he would never witness. Neferet had likely lived out her days never knowing what became of him. Marduk-zakir-shumi had either successfully preserved crucial knowledge or failed in the attempt.
As dawn broke over this new version of Babylon, Bobby Kestrel—quantum engineer, immortal witness, reluctant participant in human history—began the process of integration once again. But this time, he approached the task with a different perspective.
He was no longer merely a witness. No longer content with passive observation. His experiences in recent displacements had fundamentally altered his relationship with humanity and his understanding of his own purpose.
What that meant for this new displacement remained to be seen. But as he oriented himself in Persian-controlled Babylon, Bobby felt something he hadn't experienced in millennia—a sense of genuine purpose beyond mere survival and observation.