(note: Jimmy Xamseb is an original character previously referred to in Requiem and used in Typhon. This knowledge is not necessary if you don't want to deal with it. He's basically 'some weird guy Ben knows because Ben gets everywhere.')

3.

Kalahari Sunset - Dressed for the Occasion – Axis Mundi – They're Not Old Friends – Taking Stock – The Ol' Text Message Blues

~Early 2008, the Kalahari Central, Namibia

The word 'desert' summons for most the idea of dry dunes, high winds, and a nearly endless silence broken only by the susurrations of sand against sand. This is true, but it is, as Benjamin Linus explained to Hurley before vanishing onto another airplane, not always all the truth. From the fine and private lodge on the edge of the Kalahari reserve, Hurley could see things he had never seen before. As the sun reached the far horizon, a small herd of jumpy, quick-legged eland fled across his field of view, black profiles cutting across the orange sky. He heard voices calling to each other, gamesmen and San Bushmen talking in scattered English, Afrikaans, and the impenetrable Khoi clicks. He felt out of place, uncomfortable and exposed, and his mind muttered to itself about the phone call that had finally gotten through as he and his advisor arrived. He didn't know the nature of it, not yet, but he knew the tense, distant expression on Ben's face as he'd arranged an immediate flight back to the U.S.

Hurley was alone, the thing he hated most, though he could distract himself with the sights and sounds that greeted him where he leaned against the thick railings of the lodge balcony. The lodge was mostly quiet, the only other pair of staying guests having gone for an overnight trip into the reserve itself. Staff moved around inside the building, their shadows dimming the bright windows and then disappearing again. Loud laughter broke the falling night now and again, the bartender within sharing a drink with the occasional visitor.

Eventually, one of these broke away from the bar and a man's silhouette filled the doorway behind Hurley. He heard the wood floor creak and turned his head to take a look. "Mr. Reyes?"

"Yeah," he answered, his voice hesitant. "You the guy?"

The man stepped into the light of the lamps. He was slender, with close-cropped salt and pepper hair. A wry smile deepened the wrinkles of dark cheeks and gnarled hands were clasped before him, a half-full glass caught between. He wore a carefully ironed linen suit, and a small silver ring winked in the light on one of his knuckles. "I am. Yon missing Mr. Linus didn't specify what I should call you." He took another step forward and put out a hand to shake. Hurley took it, then noticed the man's sandaled feet.

"Hurley's fine, Mr. Xamseb." He tilted his head. "You're a shaman?"

"Jimmy's fine, son, not much point to ceremony but the aggrandization of the self. And I am." His lips quirked as his eyes wrinkled up at Hurley. "You expecting a cloth wrap and a stick?"

Hurley flushed, and the shaman waved his hand at the expression. "You don't offend me. I do wear a simpler kit out there, where the people look for it and know what it means." He jutted his chin out towards the reserve and wiggled his glass, clinking the ice inside. "But this is a nice joint, son, four stars and the bartender knows where his money comes from. Pays to dress for the occasion. Either one." His voice kept to a storyteller's rhythm. "So I expected two and got the one. Not that I mind, but the man is one to keep an appointment above and beyond what a man should commit to."

"Yeah, sorry about that. He got some phone call, I dunno what it's about yet, but I'm sure I'll find out. Probably nothing good." Hurley reached up a hand to scratch at his chin.

"Very little good follows after poor Mr. Linus." Another smile, with no rancor in his voice. "It's his way, although I wonder for you, if you'd say you're following him."

"Actually, he's following me. I guess. Sort of." Hurley cleared his throat through another flush.

"The times, they are a-changin'." Jimmy made an amused sound in the back of his throat. "C'mon and follow me down a ways to sit. We'll talk."

. . .

There was a bench beyond the gates of the lodge, old and iron-wrought and seated with dried wood. It kept company with a disused stretch of unpaved road, the sand and stone of it marred with visible tracks. Some human, some dainty hooves, and others Hurley couldn't identify. He peered at them as a way of not staring or looking uncomfortable or confused. "So, uh, how'd you know Ben?"

"He crossed paths with an old friend of mine some years back, came my way sometime later with some questions. Don't know how the answers worked out for him, don't much need to know. Not my story."

Hurley took his gaze off the road and glanced at the wiry older man. "So what's yours?"

Jimmy set his empty glass down on the stone beside the bench, then looked up at Hurley and grinned. "Which one? Backward ass African boy goes to college and makes good, or the other one, what happen when I get called home? I can tell you both are pretty boring, 'cept to those involved, although you might get more out of the latter."

"Uh."

"Don't think my story is precisely what you're looking for, though it was what you were asking about." Jimmy straightened up again, leaned back against the bench and gave Hurley an examining look. "Always ask what you want answered. A storyteller's gonna play with you otherwise."

Hurley rubbed a hand over his face, paused to scratch some itching stubble. "Ben thinks you know stuff that might help me. Cause I don't really know what I'm doing. I don't really get what I'm protecting. And I don't even know if that makes sense to you."

"The heart of the world, son. Axis mundi." The shaman rustled in a pocket and began to pull out the start of a handmade cigarette.

"Okay?" Hurley squinted.

"It's gonna be a paradox for you. Hold on and let me explain." Jimmy lit the treat and gave it a contemplative puff. Smoke began to swirl as he gestured, as if emphasizing. "Your place isn't exactly unique, but it's special. Most special place in the world. For you. For some others. For someone else, it might be somewhere else." He closed his eyes while he took a drag, opened them and fixed Hurley with a probing stare. "The world's gotta lot of hearts, son. Might be someone like you deep in a forgotten shrine near Fiji. Or not. Might at least be stories about it. Fayyum. The Anangu call theirs Uluru."

Hurley jerked, recognizing the name. "That's where, Australia?" He'd heard of it during a long ago talk with Rose.

"Yessir. Anywhere that man believes the earth is most sacred, where the purity of it can touch the sky. A place of light and hope, where man might go to feel closer to what was, and what could be. Something worth protecting, and keeping bright."

"And there's one near here?"

"Man that came before me believed so. Suppose I do, too." Another drag and Jimmy's eyes unfocused, staring off somewhere distant. "I was a college boy. Got out of here on a scholarship, landed at NYU long before you were born. Spent my summers in Harlem with a couple other kids I lessoned with, kids that didn't make fun of the accent I had or the wide-eyed way I looked at the world. When I was little, I was out there-" He gestured at the dim horizon. "Learning to hunt, learning all the old stories, and trusting the shamans to keep us safe. Was one of them, the oldest one, who pushed me west. Made it right with my family. Had no name he gave, just the shaman, but I remember. Can't have been more'n ten years old the first time he came by and put a hand on my forehead. He say to me, I'm gonna have to learn two worlds. Walk 'em both. Cause the world we had was changing, and we were gonna need a protector that could speak the language."

Jimmy finished his cigarette and tossed it down into the empty glass. "Wasn't out of college a week before the call comes. Come home. You're needed. To this day, I don't know how in hell my father was convinced to pick up that phone. Wasn't our way. And I come home and the shaman's waiting for me and we go on a long walk. Find this pretty little oasis and take a drink together. He tells me a story about the one who came before him, the last time the world started changing. The one who was a gardener, the one who taught him to be a gardener, and the day he left the temples of Akkad. And he told me what he would, in a voice that said it didn't matter if I believed him or not, because I was like him now."

Jimmy finished with a shrug. "He died, few days later. I wasn't there, had already gone for my first long walk into the Kalahari to see what I needed, but I knew." He fixed Hurley with a look. "It isn't the knowing in your mind that's important, son. It's the knowing in your heart. The rest you'll figure out. Ain't any wrong answers on that score."

Hurley sat a while, absorbing what he'd heard. "Have you figured it out?"

"Made some mistakes here and there; lost some land to diamond boys and poachers, but they ain't never found what's important. They don't need to. So long as the light is out there, so long as the heart of the world beats, we're doing pretty good."

Another pause. Hurley thought of the darkness that had filled the cave. "What if... your light goes out and doesn't come back? What if any of them do, or mine?"

"Then darkness gets stronger and bad things start to happen. It's a balance. We keep the balance." Jimmy looked amused. "Got any more questions for me?"

"Give me a few to think."

Jimmy pulled out the makings of another cigarette. "We got all the time in the world, son."

. . .

Ben sat quietly in the dim booth of a Los Angeles coffee shop, his eyes flicking from face to face as people passed by. A mug of some thick brew sat mostly disregarded by his hand, a slim little phone next to that, and an expression of bland distaste on his face. It was not meant for his coffee, which he would have admitted tasted very fine, but rather his impending companion. He kept watch for long moments, then finally allowed his gaze to dip as he tasted his drink.

A shadow fell across him the moment he finished swallowing. Naturally, he thought. A voice broke any further mental sardonics. "Benjamin. I was afraid it'd be you. Couldn't your lot have sent some middle manager instead?"

He sat his mug down with slow deliberation, then flicked his blue gaze up to take in the disapproving stare of Eloise Hawking. She was regal in a blue coat and the ever-present glint of a gold ouroboros. "It sounded important." He gestured across from him and she took the seat with prim caution. "Care for something?"

"No."

Ben allowed himself a long stare, which she returned with a dour narrowing of her eyes. "I always felt there should be three of you, Eloise." She didn't respond to the bait, but he pressed on anyways. "Like those horrible Graeae with their lone eye and their riddles."

"And Loki himself would approve of you. I'm not here to duel with you, Benjamin, although that's always a pleasant side treat to our rare visits." She drew out the words with the full effect of her clipped accent. "You may as well be aware that there's trouble, as I signaled. It's going to be quite a trial."

Ben picked up his mug again and cupped it in both hands. His expression was not concerned. "Go on."

"The island and its little front have, despite what you believed, benefited from Charles' continued existence. While he lived, he controlled what attention was paid to the remnants of Dharma. Strangled their research, distracted prying eyes. You and I know he did so by corporate acquisitions. He absorbed Hanso itself, and partnered with Paik." She arched an eyebrow. "You and I both also know it would be not for any love of you or what was being cared for."

"He didn't want competition in his interests." A sip. Now he looked contemplative.

"Correct. Now they stand alone again, and Hanso is still very interested in what happened to its grand experiment. They want to recoup their losses. And they're looking to do it by assaulting Widmore's corpse." She crossed her arms. "Someone in Hanso's hierarchy is consolidating stock for a full takeover. They served papers on poor Penelope a little while ago." Pause for emphasis. "Last week, they got to me."

Ben shook his head. "Doubtful that either of you can be forced out of what's yours."

"No, Benjamin, but they are making it difficult. Young Mrs. Hume is already quite stressed. They're pushing her. And when she has been pushed enough, she will make a deal and sell. It won't be difficult; I don't think she wants much of her father's corporate legacy and they will offer a fair sale, I'm sure. Eventually, they'll do the same to me." She tilted her head to regard Ben. "And I am old, Benjamin, and I am weary of our old wars, and I want my part done with this. When certain matters are complete, I will sell. Let this be your battle entirely. When they can, they'll turn their eyes to Mittelos and its legacy built on Dharma ideas."

He closed his eyes, opened them again. He allowed a brief internal tremor of concern, then pushed it away again for other calculation. Then paused that, for another thought. "I think it would be good of me to say thank you for the warning."

Eloise narrowed her eyes again, allowing a touch of puzzlement on her face. "That's different."

"Mm. It's the second time you've permitted yourself to help us. Me." He glanced down at his coffee, took a drink. "Why?"

She took a long pause. "This time? It's a new era for the island. I don't know who's in charge now, but they may as well not have more enemies than they need."

"The other?" His phone vibrated against the table and he put his hand on top of it to still it.

Eloise pursed her lips. "I allowed myself some brief sympathy. I knew the hour and the cause of my son's death and understood my role in it. And the pain. I knew of your daughter. And understood the pain. Nothing more. The slate between us is clean, Benjamin, and I expect that this will be the last time we talk."

Ben tilted his head politely. "Very well. Good luck, Eloise."

"You'll need it more than I, Benjamin. Good bye."

. . .

After Eloise left him alone, Ben lifted his hand from the slim little cellphone and picked it up to examine. An icon flashed, indicating a text message. The sending number indicated it had come from his lawyer's private phone. No rest for the wicked, he thought while retrieving the message. The text itself contained a code word indicating an emergency and a single name.

Straume.

Ben swore under his breath and began punching redial.