Travel through time with the Alternity Group as Special Agents Justin Nicholas Thyme and his protege Infinity Staires change the past to build a better future...
CHRONOPOLIS
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Chronopolis
Joseph John Racano Table of Contents: 1. Arrival 2. The Chrona 3. The Stone Fortress 4. Planning an Anomaly 5. Siege at Silistra 6. Bridge to Forever 7. Special Delivery 8. Slight Return 9. Debriefing Thyme 10. Good Morning Maria 11. The Danger Lobby 12. The Scarlet Ruse 13. The Art of Alternity 14. Changing History 15. Second Future 16. Wolves at the Doorway 17. Writing on the Wall 18. Countdown 19. Cheers 20. Joining the Club 21. New Blood 22. The Lady’s Lair 23. A New Beginning 24. Bringing the Heat 25. Boot Camp 26. A Warm Fire 27. First Target 28. The Investigation 29. The Renaissance Faire 30. The White Horse 31. A New Assignment 32. Graduation 33. Twenty Years from Trouble 34. The Secret Entrance 35. Tangled in Time 36. Pirates Parlay 37. Mexican Standoff 38. Maria’s Apartment 39. Crash Landing 40. Infinity’s Gate 41. Setting the Beacon 42. The Chicken or the Egg 43. Permian Shelter 44. Entering Alternity 45. Night Visitors 46. Tornadoes of Fire 47. Attack of the Centipedes 48. Worshipping Infinity 49. Sweet Dreams 50. Rude Awakening 51. Zaban’ya 52. Office Hours 53. Two in a Tree Top 54. Landing at La Paz 55. Code Seven 56. Take a Picture 57. The Sails of Cortes 58. The Cherubim 59. Sleep Talking 60. The Coming Storm 61. Permission to Detonate 62. Violet Visions 63. The Mighty Din 64. The Presidential Chopper 65. Highway to Yesterday 66. Signal Flares 67. Imminent Destruction 68. Shock Waves 69. The Rescue 70. Launch Sequence 71. The Escape 72. Chronopolis- epilogue, the end Cast of Characters: Starring: Justin Nicholas Thyme and Infinity Staires Featuring: (The Time Agents)- Nikki Nightbird Robert ‘Turk’ Terco Jefferson ‘Photon’ Fulton and: Senator Morgan Stilwell Dr. Benjamin Binder Maria (Byzantine Princess Maria Kantakouzene) The Professor Joan, the Professor’s wife Colonel and Cynthia Jaspar Lieutenant Junior Grade Robert Baxter Detective John Raskins and wife The President of Chronopolis General Studemier extras: Persephone the Famous Singer Mr. Kurchfield the Psychiatrist Pilot Walker Horse Attendant from W.A.R.Co …and special thanks to the laboratory Chrona Ground Crew for Lobo 
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Chapter One
Arrival
The air was sweeter eight centuries ago and each breath was an assault on the senses. The traveler had landed on his belly on a leafy path through thick woods. He staggered to his feet, took inventory of his limbs and retreated into the underbrush.
His once bright survival suit was tarnished and smelled of sulfur. Some gear had been lost to freeze, a corrosive effect time travel has on matter. Chrononomy was a new science, and the hazards were many. The traveler was Justin Nicholas Thyme, Commodore in the United Multi‐National Task Force, well educated, skilled in the arts, and a dependable warrior.
His name said it all; friends would often greet him after a mission saying, ‘Just in the Nick of Thyme’! According to an external sensor worn like a wristwatch, he had soft‐landed in Bulgaria in the year 1278 A.D., somewhere near the present day site of Silistra. His mission was to locate a specially selected child and transport him back to Chronopolis. Upon arrival, that child would be trained for yet another mission, its nature unknown to the Commodore.
Satisfied the undergrowth had obscured him from the footpath, he took a moment to check the readings on his instrumentation. The weather forecast was brisk with a light breeze, confirmed by a rustling tree canopy above. The local temperature was 62 degrees Fahrenheit with a 35% chance of rain. It amazed him that his readout could predict weather more accurately in a different time than the weather forecasters back in Chronopolis.
The Oscillator readout told him he had 50 hours to complete his mission; conditions enabling time travel could so far be created only temporarily. Such conditions were accomplished through Gamma Ray bombardment of a small area of the space‐time fabric. This caused a particle disruption, where the Cosmos became malleable over a small field inside an imposing machine called a Chrona.
The Chrona was an enormous radioactive wind machine, where micro cyclones were generated, then charged with huge electromagnets. Reversing the polarity of these magnets controlled wind direction, which in turn determined the direction you would travel through time, while inside the Chrona or making contact with the field of disruption.
Missions using the Chrona had an automatic sunset clause. When your time was up, you were yanked, quite violently, back to your time of origin. At that point, a traveler had to be inside of something with enough consistency to overcome the ‘freeze’ sure to occur when disruption to the original molecule field ended.
That usually meant getting yourself completely immersed in water, but perhaps a hollow log or even the belly of a whale might do in the pinch. But without some protective surrounding, you would return to Chronopolis a burnt slice of bacon on the floor of the Chrona, and it happened all the time. These missions were still just test flights and the technology had a long way to go.
Local time was 9:30 a.m. which left most of the day ahead of him. He unbuckled a device from his jacket that opened like an old pocket watch, pressed a small button, and brought up a tracking screen.
A persistent blip shone brightly. The reading told him his target was 25 miles to the North, in Drastar. He immediately calculated the miles, the elapsed time it would take to get there, and the primitive conditions of that journey. One last glance at the oscillator told him he had 49 hours to make the trip, find the child, and encapsulate for the return.
He packed up and scooted down the trail, listening for the approach of anyone else. The way he was dressed would lead to being burned at the stake. He broke into the tireless trot of a Task Force Commodore, and narrowly outpaced the breeze.
Arrival
The air was sweeter eight centuries ago and each breath was an assault on the senses. The traveler had landed on his belly on a leafy path through thick woods. He staggered to his feet, took inventory of his limbs and retreated into the underbrush.
His once bright survival suit was tarnished and smelled of sulfur. Some gear had been lost to freeze, a corrosive effect time travel has on matter. Chrononomy was a new science, and the hazards were many. The traveler was Justin Nicholas Thyme, Commodore in the United Multi‐National Task Force, well educated, skilled in the arts, and a dependable warrior.
His name said it all; friends would often greet him after a mission saying, ‘Just in the Nick of Thyme’! According to an external sensor worn like a wristwatch, he had soft‐landed in Bulgaria in the year 1278 A.D., somewhere near the present day site of Silistra. His mission was to locate a specially selected child and transport him back to Chronopolis. Upon arrival, that child would be trained for yet another mission, its nature unknown to the Commodore.
Satisfied the undergrowth had obscured him from the footpath, he took a moment to check the readings on his instrumentation. The weather forecast was brisk with a light breeze, confirmed by a rustling tree canopy above. The local temperature was 62 degrees Fahrenheit with a 35% chance of rain. It amazed him that his readout could predict weather more accurately in a different time than the weather forecasters back in Chronopolis.
The Oscillator readout told him he had 50 hours to complete his mission; conditions enabling time travel could so far be created only temporarily. Such conditions were accomplished through Gamma Ray bombardment of a small area of the space‐time fabric. This caused a particle disruption, where the Cosmos became malleable over a small field inside an imposing machine called a Chrona.
The Chrona was an enormous radioactive wind machine, where micro cyclones were generated, then charged with huge electromagnets. Reversing the polarity of these magnets controlled wind direction, which in turn determined the direction you would travel through time, while inside the Chrona or making contact with the field of disruption.
Missions using the Chrona had an automatic sunset clause. When your time was up, you were yanked, quite violently, back to your time of origin. At that point, a traveler had to be inside of something with enough consistency to overcome the ‘freeze’ sure to occur when disruption to the original molecule field ended.
That usually meant getting yourself completely immersed in water, but perhaps a hollow log or even the belly of a whale might do in the pinch. But without some protective surrounding, you would return to Chronopolis a burnt slice of bacon on the floor of the Chrona, and it happened all the time. These missions were still just test flights and the technology had a long way to go.
Local time was 9:30 a.m. which left most of the day ahead of him. He unbuckled a device from his jacket that opened like an old pocket watch, pressed a small button, and brought up a tracking screen.
A persistent blip shone brightly. The reading told him his target was 25 miles to the North, in Drastar. He immediately calculated the miles, the elapsed time it would take to get there, and the primitive conditions of that journey. One last glance at the oscillator told him he had 49 hours to make the trip, find the child, and encapsulate for the return.
He packed up and scooted down the trail, listening for the approach of anyone else. The way he was dressed would lead to being burned at the stake. He broke into the tireless trot of a Task Force Commodore, and narrowly outpaced the breeze.
Chapter Two
The Chrona
Few sights in history had the knockout power of what a small group of scientists beheld that day deep beneath Chronopolis. Open the Encyclopedia, and next to the word ‘imposing’ you’ll see a picture of the Chrona. A veil of secrecy makes it difficult to say when it was constructed, or by whom, but evidence suggests a form of cross-continuum cooperation; it was conceived in one reality and built in another.
Investigators of antiquity suspect that it may have started as a device comparable to the Cyclotron. But as it neared completion, peripheral discoveries resulted in worm-hole navigation and the ability to control the sun, and then neighboring stars. With this limitless energy available, the project progressed into a Time Tunnel. A portal.
With this portal came the power to travel back in time‐ great power indeed! But unlike many in history who gained power only to abuse it, this group saw it as a chance to change the world. They recognized the limitless potential of the Chrona, and made a plan. They drew up a charter, swore allegiance to its ideals, and created The Alternity Group.
Joseph John Racano Justin Nichols Thyme The Time Machine
The Author The Hero The 'Chrona'
Chapter Three
The Stone Fortress
When his lungs felt like they were turned inside out, the Commodore rested, walking in circles as after a track meet. He was impressed with the clear air and its ability to soothe his burning lungs. He had been at a slow, steady trot for hours. The trail had been empty except for a few solitary foot-travelers, and a wagon drawn by incredibly large oxen.
His instrumentation showed his quarry now to be only a few miles ahead. The Commodore had made good time. When he came to the woods edge, he stooped onto one knee and mumbled a prayer. This was a very religious era, and such actions served to calm suspicious eyes.
Up ahead was a giant fortress of stone. There, his instruments told him, he would find the child he was looking for. He drew a deep breath and stepped out onto the cobbles, where he was swallowed by shadows and the lateness of hour. Serfs and servants trudged by, eyes to the ground and carrying heavy vessels on their heads.
Their drab gray robes smelled of frankincense, which told the Commodore they had come from inside the tall stone building.
He felt for his polaser, and found comfort in its touch. In this antiquity, he was surely the most well armed man alive.
The Stone Fortress
When his lungs felt like they were turned inside out, the Commodore rested, walking in circles as after a track meet. He was impressed with the clear air and its ability to soothe his burning lungs. He had been at a slow, steady trot for hours. The trail had been empty except for a few solitary foot-travelers, and a wagon drawn by incredibly large oxen.
His instrumentation showed his quarry now to be only a few miles ahead. The Commodore had made good time. When he came to the woods edge, he stooped onto one knee and mumbled a prayer. This was a very religious era, and such actions served to calm suspicious eyes.
Up ahead was a giant fortress of stone. There, his instruments told him, he would find the child he was looking for. He drew a deep breath and stepped out onto the cobbles, where he was swallowed by shadows and the lateness of hour. Serfs and servants trudged by, eyes to the ground and carrying heavy vessels on their heads.
Their drab gray robes smelled of frankincense, which told the Commodore they had come from inside the tall stone building.
He felt for his polaser, and found comfort in its touch. In this antiquity, he was surely the most well armed man alive.
Chapter Four
Planning an Anomaly
Throughout the ages, few were aware of their existence, and fewer still understood their nature. They were called time spirits, space people, or angels, thought to have one foot in this world, the other in oblivion.
But they were really just men and women, on a mission that spanned many realities and often spawned new ones. A group of inter-dimensional do-gooders, wielding elite science on a mission to tidy up the seamy side of history.
The eight members of Alternity Group stood in a large room whose light made the room bright, and vision difficult, like a fluorescent bulb on the blink. A large quartermasters chart lay a foot off the floor, grease pen markings denoting the foot travels of one Commodore Justin Nicholas Thyme.
“Well my friends," said a white‐bearded scholarly type to the rest, “our chess pieces exist in one age, and the chess board in quite another!”
“I do concur,” answered a man wearing a white smock and a 5 o’clock shadow. “It would be difficult to overstate our progress‐ absolutely fantastic!”
“Let’s not get full of ourselves,” added a burly gent with a hand in his pocket and the other on a tobacco pipe. “If we are to actually do anything with it, we can’t thrash about in the dark- has our guest arrived?”
“Standing right outside the door, Senator Stillwell. He’s been briefed, but he’s still sure to have a cow.”
“Colonel, escort him in at once. Might as well jump right in, I say."
The thick steel hatch opened, and set ears popping, two by two. The professor handed out chewing gum as would be done for mountain climbers, or passengers disembarking from a plane to Denver.
In walked a brilliant historian named Dr. Benjamin Binder. Having studied the late 13th century all of his adult life, Dr. Binder was considered by the group to be of extremely high value to the project if they could persuade him to sign on. For the moment, he was still in the dark, but hopefully would soon take up residence in the believers camp.
The professor stared down at the grease marks on the large floor map, and signaled for the lights to be lowered.The main lights dimmed and three flood lights took over in amber, red, and a third one blue.
“This” said the professor, “is where the Chrona deposited Commodore Thyme 16 hours ago.”
The amber light marked where the traveler had landed with a thud on his belly.
“This,” he continued, “is where he is now.” The red light shone where Justin had just entered the cobbled street. “Dr. Binder, can you give us any sense of perspective- after all, you do know this period and place, do you not?”
"This map is almost 1,000 years out of date. Surely you realize much of this is gone, buried under ten feet of clay. Is this an archeological dig of some sort? I'm afraid I can't help you there" said Dr. Binder.
The group members fell quiet as the professor placed a comforting hand on the doctor's shoulder.
"Oh, it's all there, alright" the professor told him. "Doctor, a recent scientific advance has enabled us to breach space time, and what you are looking at is our agent, on the ground, and in the year 1278 A.D."
Dr. Binder rejected this outright, and shouted “Lunatics!”
The now disoriented doctor looked around at the giant laboratory, replete with machines, buttons and dials that rivaled NASA, and shouted, “Fucking lunatics and madmen, what the hell are you trying to say? Do you expect me to believe..."
The doctor was insulted at the thought of time travel and not ready for such an academic U turn. The men around the room cast understanding glances at one another and some moved to support the historian, the greatest scholar on the Mongol era the world had to offer.
They had known it wasn’t going to be easy and the doctor now sat in a chair, head in his hands. He slammed a water glass to the ground, and it shattered right along with everything else he had ever thought or known about the world.
“To hell with water," he sobbed, “do we have anything stronger?”
Placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, Colonel Jaspar handed him another glass, contents considerably stronger.
Planning an Anomaly
Throughout the ages, few were aware of their existence, and fewer still understood their nature. They were called time spirits, space people, or angels, thought to have one foot in this world, the other in oblivion.
But they were really just men and women, on a mission that spanned many realities and often spawned new ones. A group of inter-dimensional do-gooders, wielding elite science on a mission to tidy up the seamy side of history.
The eight members of Alternity Group stood in a large room whose light made the room bright, and vision difficult, like a fluorescent bulb on the blink. A large quartermasters chart lay a foot off the floor, grease pen markings denoting the foot travels of one Commodore Justin Nicholas Thyme.
“Well my friends," said a white‐bearded scholarly type to the rest, “our chess pieces exist in one age, and the chess board in quite another!”
“I do concur,” answered a man wearing a white smock and a 5 o’clock shadow. “It would be difficult to overstate our progress‐ absolutely fantastic!”
“Let’s not get full of ourselves,” added a burly gent with a hand in his pocket and the other on a tobacco pipe. “If we are to actually do anything with it, we can’t thrash about in the dark- has our guest arrived?”
“Standing right outside the door, Senator Stillwell. He’s been briefed, but he’s still sure to have a cow.”
“Colonel, escort him in at once. Might as well jump right in, I say."
The thick steel hatch opened, and set ears popping, two by two. The professor handed out chewing gum as would be done for mountain climbers, or passengers disembarking from a plane to Denver.
In walked a brilliant historian named Dr. Benjamin Binder. Having studied the late 13th century all of his adult life, Dr. Binder was considered by the group to be of extremely high value to the project if they could persuade him to sign on. For the moment, he was still in the dark, but hopefully would soon take up residence in the believers camp.
The professor stared down at the grease marks on the large floor map, and signaled for the lights to be lowered.The main lights dimmed and three flood lights took over in amber, red, and a third one blue.
“This” said the professor, “is where the Chrona deposited Commodore Thyme 16 hours ago.”
The amber light marked where the traveler had landed with a thud on his belly.
“This,” he continued, “is where he is now.” The red light shone where Justin had just entered the cobbled street. “Dr. Binder, can you give us any sense of perspective- after all, you do know this period and place, do you not?”
"This map is almost 1,000 years out of date. Surely you realize much of this is gone, buried under ten feet of clay. Is this an archeological dig of some sort? I'm afraid I can't help you there" said Dr. Binder.
The group members fell quiet as the professor placed a comforting hand on the doctor's shoulder.
"Oh, it's all there, alright" the professor told him. "Doctor, a recent scientific advance has enabled us to breach space time, and what you are looking at is our agent, on the ground, and in the year 1278 A.D."
Dr. Binder rejected this outright, and shouted “Lunatics!”
The now disoriented doctor looked around at the giant laboratory, replete with machines, buttons and dials that rivaled NASA, and shouted, “Fucking lunatics and madmen, what the hell are you trying to say? Do you expect me to believe..."
The doctor was insulted at the thought of time travel and not ready for such an academic U turn. The men around the room cast understanding glances at one another and some moved to support the historian, the greatest scholar on the Mongol era the world had to offer.
They had known it wasn’t going to be easy and the doctor now sat in a chair, head in his hands. He slammed a water glass to the ground, and it shattered right along with everything else he had ever thought or known about the world.
“To hell with water," he sobbed, “do we have anything stronger?”
Placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, Colonel Jaspar handed him another glass, contents considerably stronger.
Chapter Five
Siege at Silistra
Several hours passed and Doctor Binder’s initial shock faded. There was important work to do and the members of Alternity Group knew it. Time was a factor in more ways than one, and the good doctor had no choice but to hit the ground running.
He had spent two hours studying the quartermasters chart at his feet. The red light had been still for at least that long. Doctor Binder knew exactly where, and when, Commodore Thyme was.
Every few moments, he would recognize some historic landmark and let out an excited gasp. Other times he would cluck his tongue like a disapproving nanny. Eventually, Senator Stillwell tired of the crash‐lesson in Chrononomy and rolled his eyes at Colonel Jaspar and the Professor.
“Well, Doctor, can you share any details you have ascertained thus far?” asked the Professor. "For starters, what is that stone building that looks like a church?“
Doctor Binder replied, “Your agent stands before the great Fortress at Drastar, the ruins of which still stand. I’ve seen them, in Silistra. In what year did you say he was?”
“1278,” said the Colonel.
“Well then,” said Doctor Binder, “we may have stumbled upon the last refuge of the Bulgarian Emperor Ivaylo, a pig farmer who rose to power on the swell of a peasant uprising. He twice defeated the Bulgarian royals, forcing the surrounding kingdoms to recognize him as Emperor of Bulgaria."
He continued, "However, he was never accepted by blue bloods, who called him ‘Bardokva’, which meant ‘cabbage’. It was their indignation that drove Ivaylo into exile at the Fortress of Drastar, deep in the dangerous heart of this Mongol territory.”
“What about his offspring?” asked Senator Stillwell. “Commoner or blue blood, who cares- what matters to Alternity Group are his genes.”
“And why?” asked the Doctor.
“For another mission, doctor, need‐to‐know only. Suffice it to say that after Ivaylo walked out of a pig barnyard and gathered an army, he awaited Bulgarian royals who came to collect forced tribute from peasants and slaughtered them to a man- then he did it all a second time! He even became Emperor himself."
"He often repelled Mongol raids, something that was not easily done. Those feats, my good Doctor, are in the genes, like those of salmon whose ancestors had to swim through wet gravel, genes of survival, of triumph!” said the Senator.
“The child,” asked the professor, “what about the child?”
Doctor Benjamin Binder chewed a fingernail, digging through his memory for the details.
“See those horses markings and dress? That's 12th‐century Mongol. Gentleman, you are witness to the siege at Drastar, the modern day site of Silistra. I would bet that Ivaylo is already holed up in there” said Doctor Binder.
“And what about his offspring?” the professor asked again.
“After defeating the previous Emperor, Ivaylo married his wife, Byzantine Princess Maria Kantakouzene. They are known to have had one child. The name of that child has never been known. She must be inside with him.”
Justin Thyme rested outside the fortress on one knee, listening to the scholarly history lesson via chronophone as though his life depended on it‐ and it did. But more than that, Chronopolis depended on it.
Simultaneously and 800 years later, a shout startled the Alternity Group. It was Doctor Binder.
“Now I remember! The Mongols had already twice been defeated by Ivaylo, and took no chances this time, sending a major army against him.”
That army was arriving by the minute, and in droves.
“Ivaylo may have been hated,” he continued, “but the royals still held affection for Lady Maria, and arranged for her to secretly be smuggled out of the fortress, just as the siege began. Senator, order your Commodore to go around…”
But there was no need. The quartermasters chart already showed the red light moving around to the back of the fortress.
Siege at Silistra
Several hours passed and Doctor Binder’s initial shock faded. There was important work to do and the members of Alternity Group knew it. Time was a factor in more ways than one, and the good doctor had no choice but to hit the ground running.
He had spent two hours studying the quartermasters chart at his feet. The red light had been still for at least that long. Doctor Binder knew exactly where, and when, Commodore Thyme was.
Every few moments, he would recognize some historic landmark and let out an excited gasp. Other times he would cluck his tongue like a disapproving nanny. Eventually, Senator Stillwell tired of the crash‐lesson in Chrononomy and rolled his eyes at Colonel Jaspar and the Professor.
“Well, Doctor, can you share any details you have ascertained thus far?” asked the Professor. "For starters, what is that stone building that looks like a church?“
Doctor Binder replied, “Your agent stands before the great Fortress at Drastar, the ruins of which still stand. I’ve seen them, in Silistra. In what year did you say he was?”
“1278,” said the Colonel.
“Well then,” said Doctor Binder, “we may have stumbled upon the last refuge of the Bulgarian Emperor Ivaylo, a pig farmer who rose to power on the swell of a peasant uprising. He twice defeated the Bulgarian royals, forcing the surrounding kingdoms to recognize him as Emperor of Bulgaria."
He continued, "However, he was never accepted by blue bloods, who called him ‘Bardokva’, which meant ‘cabbage’. It was their indignation that drove Ivaylo into exile at the Fortress of Drastar, deep in the dangerous heart of this Mongol territory.”
“What about his offspring?” asked Senator Stillwell. “Commoner or blue blood, who cares- what matters to Alternity Group are his genes.”
“And why?” asked the Doctor.
“For another mission, doctor, need‐to‐know only. Suffice it to say that after Ivaylo walked out of a pig barnyard and gathered an army, he awaited Bulgarian royals who came to collect forced tribute from peasants and slaughtered them to a man- then he did it all a second time! He even became Emperor himself."
"He often repelled Mongol raids, something that was not easily done. Those feats, my good Doctor, are in the genes, like those of salmon whose ancestors had to swim through wet gravel, genes of survival, of triumph!” said the Senator.
“The child,” asked the professor, “what about the child?”
Doctor Benjamin Binder chewed a fingernail, digging through his memory for the details.
“See those horses markings and dress? That's 12th‐century Mongol. Gentleman, you are witness to the siege at Drastar, the modern day site of Silistra. I would bet that Ivaylo is already holed up in there” said Doctor Binder.
“And what about his offspring?” the professor asked again.
“After defeating the previous Emperor, Ivaylo married his wife, Byzantine Princess Maria Kantakouzene. They are known to have had one child. The name of that child has never been known. She must be inside with him.”
Justin Thyme rested outside the fortress on one knee, listening to the scholarly history lesson via chronophone as though his life depended on it‐ and it did. But more than that, Chronopolis depended on it.
Simultaneously and 800 years later, a shout startled the Alternity Group. It was Doctor Binder.
“Now I remember! The Mongols had already twice been defeated by Ivaylo, and took no chances this time, sending a major army against him.”
That army was arriving by the minute, and in droves.
“Ivaylo may have been hated,” he continued, “but the royals still held affection for Lady Maria, and arranged for her to secretly be smuggled out of the fortress, just as the siege began. Senator, order your Commodore to go around…”
But there was no need. The quartermasters chart already showed the red light moving around to the back of the fortress.
Chapter Six
Bridge to Forever
He was tall by Mongol standards, but stood only shoulder high to his horse. Both wore heavy fur and it was likely they had never been any further apart in their lives than they were at the moment. Mongol boys learned to ride before they learned to dress themselves, and often adorned their equine counterparts to match their own dress, braid for braid, strap for strap.
This time unfortunately, a swift slash to the throat brought the relationship to an untimely end. A small group of cloaked figures crouched in the bushes just behind, one calming the steed, another dragging the man’s lifeless body into the thicket. Only their eyes were visible through the wraps of their cloaks and they communicated by hand signals.
Very stealthy, thought Agent Thyme, watching submerged in a moat that surrounded the fortress. Yet stealthier still, he remained motionless beneath a foot bridge, allowing not even a ripple upon the water that might betray him.
Their feet padding the wooden boards above him, they crossed single file, like rats boarding a ship. Only a glint of the blades carried in their teeth could give them away. When they reached the stone wall, the leader held his hands to his mouth, and the mournful sound of a night owl wafted up and over the ramparts.
A broad wooden door creaked open, and a satchel of gold appeared from beneath a dark cloak. A moment later, hooded figure was pushed outside the confines of the fortress.
The leader snatched hood from head, revealing the fiery red hair of a woman. But no child thought Thyme, from his watery perch mere feet away‐ no child!
Suddenly, a bell rang out, shattering the nights calm, and the solid chunk of a crossbow was heard pinning men three deep to the heavy wooden door. Flaming arrows rained from the fortress walls, landing where Mongol catapults were being rolled into place.
In the confusion, the silent ones did their best to shield the red haired woman with their own bodies, but hell had broken loose and there was no quarter.
Beneath the bridge, Thyme checked his wrist‐worn oscillator, which read ten seconds. Under the heavy rain of arrows rocks and bubbling oil, he could wait no longer. He stretched his hand around the edge of the bridge and grasped the woman's petite ankle, yanking her into the moat. Only death stood atop the bridge now, and the wooden door slammed tightly shut.
Mongol spears poked the water, searching in vain for royal Bulgarian flesh. Several feet below, the Lady Maria struggled in bubbly submerged silence, trying to break loose from the powerful stranger who held his body close to her own. Through murky water, she saw something on his wrist shining like a diamond, and a moment later, as bright as the sun.
Superheated gas boiled to the surface, burning the eyes of spear‐poking Mongols, who began running, shouting and pointing into the water.
Back in Chronopolis, a wall speaker translated their shouts.
“Devils, devils and sorcery!”
When the bubbling stopped and the water quieted, combatants on both sides stared in wide-eyed horror. All retreated. Later, the moat was drained entirely, but no bodies were ever found.
Bridge to Forever
He was tall by Mongol standards, but stood only shoulder high to his horse. Both wore heavy fur and it was likely they had never been any further apart in their lives than they were at the moment. Mongol boys learned to ride before they learned to dress themselves, and often adorned their equine counterparts to match their own dress, braid for braid, strap for strap.
This time unfortunately, a swift slash to the throat brought the relationship to an untimely end. A small group of cloaked figures crouched in the bushes just behind, one calming the steed, another dragging the man’s lifeless body into the thicket. Only their eyes were visible through the wraps of their cloaks and they communicated by hand signals.
Very stealthy, thought Agent Thyme, watching submerged in a moat that surrounded the fortress. Yet stealthier still, he remained motionless beneath a foot bridge, allowing not even a ripple upon the water that might betray him.
Their feet padding the wooden boards above him, they crossed single file, like rats boarding a ship. Only a glint of the blades carried in their teeth could give them away. When they reached the stone wall, the leader held his hands to his mouth, and the mournful sound of a night owl wafted up and over the ramparts.
A broad wooden door creaked open, and a satchel of gold appeared from beneath a dark cloak. A moment later, hooded figure was pushed outside the confines of the fortress.
The leader snatched hood from head, revealing the fiery red hair of a woman. But no child thought Thyme, from his watery perch mere feet away‐ no child!
Suddenly, a bell rang out, shattering the nights calm, and the solid chunk of a crossbow was heard pinning men three deep to the heavy wooden door. Flaming arrows rained from the fortress walls, landing where Mongol catapults were being rolled into place.
In the confusion, the silent ones did their best to shield the red haired woman with their own bodies, but hell had broken loose and there was no quarter.
Beneath the bridge, Thyme checked his wrist‐worn oscillator, which read ten seconds. Under the heavy rain of arrows rocks and bubbling oil, he could wait no longer. He stretched his hand around the edge of the bridge and grasped the woman's petite ankle, yanking her into the moat. Only death stood atop the bridge now, and the wooden door slammed tightly shut.
Mongol spears poked the water, searching in vain for royal Bulgarian flesh. Several feet below, the Lady Maria struggled in bubbly submerged silence, trying to break loose from the powerful stranger who held his body close to her own. Through murky water, she saw something on his wrist shining like a diamond, and a moment later, as bright as the sun.
Superheated gas boiled to the surface, burning the eyes of spear‐poking Mongols, who began running, shouting and pointing into the water.
Back in Chronopolis, a wall speaker translated their shouts.
“Devils, devils and sorcery!”
When the bubbling stopped and the water quieted, combatants on both sides stared in wide-eyed horror. All retreated. Later, the moat was drained entirely, but no bodies were ever found.
Chapter Seven
Special Delivery
With all oscillators synchronized and warning of the imminent return of the time travelers, Alternity Group decided to allow Dr. Benjamin Binder to stay and witness the miracle of time travel.
He joined the eight scientists who were already strapped into their seats in a semi-circle. All wore protective suits and dark safety glasses, similar to those used to watch an eclipse. Several yards away, a wall of Permaglass stretched from floor to ceiling.
One of many peripheral discoveries, this was an alloy of sand and carbon steel- incredibly strong and completely transparent. Two such walls stood between the observers and the field to be disrupted.
A mere fifty feet away, stood the entrance to the Chrona.
Everyone wore an oscillator on their wrist, synchronized with the Commodore's, and each one read 4 minutes. The Alternity Group sat watching and waiting, adrenaline coursing through their bodies.
In 2067, an alarm sounded like an angry hornet.
In 1278, a scepter found the neck of a Mongol.
In 2067, beads of cold sweat formed on nine foreheads.
In 1278, silent footsteps padded across a wooden bridge.
In 2067, all lights went dark in the facility.
In 1278, the hoot of an owl sailed o’er the fortress ramparts.
In Chronopolis, the air crackled with static electricity, signifying an imminent change in reality. The Chrona consumed all the power in the subterranean facility, killing the lights and sound. A half dozen stars dimmed in space and their energy beamed directly into a portal on the planet’s surface.
In 1278, a side door opened, and gold was exchanged for an auburn‐haired princess‐ then all hell broke loose.
In 2067, a six‐star Gamma Ray entered the planet's crust and rode a massive silver conduit into the heart of the facility, where the Chrona feasted on the energy like a giant metal reptile.
The ground trembled, and so did Doctor Benjamin Binder, as he observed the miracle of an energized Chrona for the first time.
“Fantastic!” he yelled above the din as the beast emitted other‐worldly whines, lights and smells.
“All the power in this sector of the cosmos, focused on a single spot!” answered the professor, seated beside him.
Then, with the hiss of a serpent, it exhaled a cumulus cloud of white steam, and the gargantuan Chrona fell silent. After that display, however, it would always remain as menacing in dormancy as it was in action to any who were there to witness it.
Special Delivery
With all oscillators synchronized and warning of the imminent return of the time travelers, Alternity Group decided to allow Dr. Benjamin Binder to stay and witness the miracle of time travel.
He joined the eight scientists who were already strapped into their seats in a semi-circle. All wore protective suits and dark safety glasses, similar to those used to watch an eclipse. Several yards away, a wall of Permaglass stretched from floor to ceiling.
One of many peripheral discoveries, this was an alloy of sand and carbon steel- incredibly strong and completely transparent. Two such walls stood between the observers and the field to be disrupted.
A mere fifty feet away, stood the entrance to the Chrona.
Everyone wore an oscillator on their wrist, synchronized with the Commodore's, and each one read 4 minutes. The Alternity Group sat watching and waiting, adrenaline coursing through their bodies.
In 2067, an alarm sounded like an angry hornet.
In 1278, a scepter found the neck of a Mongol.
In 2067, beads of cold sweat formed on nine foreheads.
In 1278, silent footsteps padded across a wooden bridge.
In 2067, all lights went dark in the facility.
In 1278, the hoot of an owl sailed o’er the fortress ramparts.
In Chronopolis, the air crackled with static electricity, signifying an imminent change in reality. The Chrona consumed all the power in the subterranean facility, killing the lights and sound. A half dozen stars dimmed in space and their energy beamed directly into a portal on the planet’s surface.
In 1278, a side door opened, and gold was exchanged for an auburn‐haired princess‐ then all hell broke loose.
In 2067, a six‐star Gamma Ray entered the planet's crust and rode a massive silver conduit into the heart of the facility, where the Chrona feasted on the energy like a giant metal reptile.
The ground trembled, and so did Doctor Benjamin Binder, as he observed the miracle of an energized Chrona for the first time.
“Fantastic!” he yelled above the din as the beast emitted other‐worldly whines, lights and smells.
“All the power in this sector of the cosmos, focused on a single spot!” answered the professor, seated beside him.
Then, with the hiss of a serpent, it exhaled a cumulus cloud of white steam, and the gargantuan Chrona fell silent. After that display, however, it would always remain as menacing in dormancy as it was in action to any who were there to witness it.
Chapter Eight
Slight Return
The large room smelled like a thousand drowned campfires as the steam began to clear. The Chrona was still giving off occasional electrical charges, like the last pops of a popcorn maker.
Colonel Jaspar was the first to remove his protective glasses and he turned them around to inspect for heat damage. They reflected cheeks now red enough to be those of a Plains Indian. A military man, the Colonel always felt duty‐bound to shepherd the rest of the group, and sprang from his seat to help the others.
The rip of Velcro could be heard as restraints were removed from the arms of each observer. When the last puffs of white gas cleared, the group stood with mouths agape at the surreal scene spread before them.
On the metallic floor of the Chrona’s receiving area lay the bodies of a man and a woman, naked, bruised and burned. The surrounding area was strewn with charred remnants of their clothing.
An Alternity Alert team entered the room via elevator and strapped the unconscious man and woman onto gurneys, quickly wheeling them to another area of the facility. Several attendants stayed behind to hose down and sanitize the maw of the machine, which smelled like a smoldering peat bog.
“I want samples of moat water and any plant matter they brought back with them. Swab them and have them sent to the lab for analysis- make cultures if you can. There may be some advantages in their 800‐year old makeup” ordered the professor.
“Less lead, certainly, and other pollutants and impurities” the doctor chimed in.
Back in his own office, Senator Stilwell plopped himself into a recliner and stared into the still flickering ceiling lights. The crew stood nearby, strewn about the room in various measures of repose. The professor, who sat scribbling notes, was the first to speak.
“At this point, Justin will have to recover a bit before he can be debriefed. The woman is another story entirely. Child or no child, she is very important to us- scientifically, if for no other reason.”
“I agree,” said the Senator. “If you can imagine what it’s like to dig a Bronze Age man out of the ice alive, then you can grasp the significance of her arrival here at Alternity.”
Satisfied smiles passed around the office like hot cups of freshly brewed coffee. Some of the men searched their memories for a suitable place to store the achievement. Others cast their minds forward, mapping out the next steps.
“Our lady is certain to remain in shock for some time. Who knows- such an abrupt change of worlds may not even be survivable” the Senator continued.
“Balderdash,” interjected the doctor, “your own Commodore has already dis-proven that theory.”
“But this is a woman from antiquity, with goodness knows what quirks in physiology and psychology” answered the professor.
“Not to mention any pre-existing physical conditions” added Doctor Binder.
“Ah, spoken like a true M.D.” laughed the Senator. “In any case, we’ll have to wait for the examination results from upstairs.”
At that moment, a hum emanated from a chronophone on the old oak desk. Senator Stilwell waved a hand over the top of the device and a hologram snapped into view above it, hovering like a faerie.
“Senator Stilwell, the Commodore is awake” spoke the apparition.
“What’s the lady’s condition?” asked the Senator.
“Sleeping soundly,” came the reply. “Also, we’ve found our child; tests show Lady Maria is pregnant.”
“We’ll be right up.” answered the Senator. “Professor, come with me. The rest of you get to work‐ we’ll be needing a linguistics expert and‐“
“That would be me," said Doctor Binder.
“Very well then, prepare the program we formulated to keep our new guest from losing her marbles. Poor soul is sure to be frightened at all of this. We’ve got to be cautious and gentle.” Turning to a nurse, he said, “Keep a supply of sedatives available at all times, she’s going to need them. Let’s go professor."
Senator Stilwell and the professor stood quietly in the elevator, the concern on their faces evident until hidden by the slowly closing elevator doors.
Slight Return
The large room smelled like a thousand drowned campfires as the steam began to clear. The Chrona was still giving off occasional electrical charges, like the last pops of a popcorn maker.
Colonel Jaspar was the first to remove his protective glasses and he turned them around to inspect for heat damage. They reflected cheeks now red enough to be those of a Plains Indian. A military man, the Colonel always felt duty‐bound to shepherd the rest of the group, and sprang from his seat to help the others.
The rip of Velcro could be heard as restraints were removed from the arms of each observer. When the last puffs of white gas cleared, the group stood with mouths agape at the surreal scene spread before them.
On the metallic floor of the Chrona’s receiving area lay the bodies of a man and a woman, naked, bruised and burned. The surrounding area was strewn with charred remnants of their clothing.
An Alternity Alert team entered the room via elevator and strapped the unconscious man and woman onto gurneys, quickly wheeling them to another area of the facility. Several attendants stayed behind to hose down and sanitize the maw of the machine, which smelled like a smoldering peat bog.
“I want samples of moat water and any plant matter they brought back with them. Swab them and have them sent to the lab for analysis- make cultures if you can. There may be some advantages in their 800‐year old makeup” ordered the professor.
“Less lead, certainly, and other pollutants and impurities” the doctor chimed in.
Back in his own office, Senator Stilwell plopped himself into a recliner and stared into the still flickering ceiling lights. The crew stood nearby, strewn about the room in various measures of repose. The professor, who sat scribbling notes, was the first to speak.
“At this point, Justin will have to recover a bit before he can be debriefed. The woman is another story entirely. Child or no child, she is very important to us- scientifically, if for no other reason.”
“I agree,” said the Senator. “If you can imagine what it’s like to dig a Bronze Age man out of the ice alive, then you can grasp the significance of her arrival here at Alternity.”
Satisfied smiles passed around the office like hot cups of freshly brewed coffee. Some of the men searched their memories for a suitable place to store the achievement. Others cast their minds forward, mapping out the next steps.
“Our lady is certain to remain in shock for some time. Who knows- such an abrupt change of worlds may not even be survivable” the Senator continued.
“Balderdash,” interjected the doctor, “your own Commodore has already dis-proven that theory.”
“But this is a woman from antiquity, with goodness knows what quirks in physiology and psychology” answered the professor.
“Not to mention any pre-existing physical conditions” added Doctor Binder.
“Ah, spoken like a true M.D.” laughed the Senator. “In any case, we’ll have to wait for the examination results from upstairs.”
At that moment, a hum emanated from a chronophone on the old oak desk. Senator Stilwell waved a hand over the top of the device and a hologram snapped into view above it, hovering like a faerie.
“Senator Stilwell, the Commodore is awake” spoke the apparition.
“What’s the lady’s condition?” asked the Senator.
“Sleeping soundly,” came the reply. “Also, we’ve found our child; tests show Lady Maria is pregnant.”
“We’ll be right up.” answered the Senator. “Professor, come with me. The rest of you get to work‐ we’ll be needing a linguistics expert and‐“
“That would be me," said Doctor Binder.
“Very well then, prepare the program we formulated to keep our new guest from losing her marbles. Poor soul is sure to be frightened at all of this. We’ve got to be cautious and gentle.” Turning to a nurse, he said, “Keep a supply of sedatives available at all times, she’s going to need them. Let’s go professor."
Senator Stilwell and the professor stood quietly in the elevator, the concern on their faces evident until hidden by the slowly closing elevator doors.
Chapter Nine
Debriefing Thyme
As Senator Stilwell and the Professor walked the last yards of Alternity’s infirmary wing, they could hear the robust laughter of Commodore Justin Thyme booming through the halls. During a pause they entered the room. They found the newly returned agent sitting upright on a bed wearing a hospital gown flung violently open at the chest.
His civilian clothes sat next to him in a neat pile, the nurses having gone to extra care in their washing, pressing and folding. Several of his items were never returned at all but he pretended not to notice. Two red‐faced nurses giggled guiltily in the doorway as he flashed them a knowing smile.
“He’s all yours,” said a member of the Alternity Alert Team, who was putting away a stethoscope. “He’s a dam ox, is what he is.”
“Thank you doctor, we’ll take it from here” said the Senator.
The doctor shook the hand of Justin Nicholas Thyme and left the room, dragging two reluctant nurses along with him. Senator Stilwell threw the Commodore’s ‘civvies’ roughly into his chest.
“Put these on” he scolded.
“Yes sir,” said Justin, “well would you look at that‐ my other sock. I’ve been looking for it for 800 years!” Curly blonde locks bounced atop the agents head as he bowled himself over with hearty laughter at his own words.
The Senator and Professor looked at each other, both shaking their own heads with wry smiles.
“Look alive, Justin, we’ve got work to do,” said Senator Stilwell.
“Welcome back, Justin” added the professor.
“What’s first?” asked the Commodore.
“Let’s play Q and A” answered the professor.
“Glad to. I’d like to see the Chrona- can we talk there? How did it work?”
“How the hell do you think it worked, Justin‐ you’re here, aren’t you?” said Senator Stilwell.
“Was it loud? Was it messy? Did it happen all at once or..“
“Commodore Thyme, we will be doing the asking and you will be doing the telling” the Senator said impatiently.
“There will be plenty of opportunity to satisfy your curiosity. We’re excited as kids ourselves.”
“Speaking of kids, did the girl…”
“Agent Commodore?” barked the Senator, cutting off the conversation. They arrived at a thick metal hatch, where a woman's voice challenged them for identification. Each stood close to the wall, looking straight into a scanning hole. A line of light rolled over their retinas.
“Thank you” cooed the voice, warm to the ear, but somehow cold and robotic. The hatch popped open with a clang that reverberated throughout the halls, like visitors hour at Sing‐Sing.
“Thank you,” answered Thyme.
A round of applause greeted them at the main laboratory area, where adoring members of Alternity Group flashed victory signs at the Commodore, who was smiling broadly. The Senator stood hands on hips, looking down at the deck with a smile of his own.
They were all proud of Thyme, who had been fearless through some tough goings, and the Senator let it roll. Justin raised up a hand to his heart and patted himself there.
When the group resumed their duties, the three men repeated the eye scanning procedure twice more as they passed through permaglass shields.
“Thank you” came the soft, androidal voice as each portal opened with a reverberating clang. Finally, they stood before the gargantuan Chrona.
“Wow!” exclaimed Thyme. “I’ve never seen anything like this in all my days.”
“Sure you have” said the professor, “you just don’t remember it."
“You were caught in a firestorm on your way out, and a cloudburst on your way in” said the Senator. “Here’s a video of your re-entry into Chronopolis this morning. Up there on the big monitor."
The Senator pointed toward the top of a tall cinderblock construct. As he watched the action, Agent Thyme was clearly shaken. Laying there naked and wet in the receiving area of the Chrona, he had the look of so much road kill. He was very concerned for the girl as well, whom thus far he had not even met.
There came a not unpleasant hum from the chronophone, and Senator Stilwell waved his hand over it once again.
Up popped the holograph. It said, “Senator Stilwell, the woman has awakened.”
Debriefing Thyme
As Senator Stilwell and the Professor walked the last yards of Alternity’s infirmary wing, they could hear the robust laughter of Commodore Justin Thyme booming through the halls. During a pause they entered the room. They found the newly returned agent sitting upright on a bed wearing a hospital gown flung violently open at the chest.
His civilian clothes sat next to him in a neat pile, the nurses having gone to extra care in their washing, pressing and folding. Several of his items were never returned at all but he pretended not to notice. Two red‐faced nurses giggled guiltily in the doorway as he flashed them a knowing smile.
“He’s all yours,” said a member of the Alternity Alert Team, who was putting away a stethoscope. “He’s a dam ox, is what he is.”
“Thank you doctor, we’ll take it from here” said the Senator.
The doctor shook the hand of Justin Nicholas Thyme and left the room, dragging two reluctant nurses along with him. Senator Stilwell threw the Commodore’s ‘civvies’ roughly into his chest.
“Put these on” he scolded.
“Yes sir,” said Justin, “well would you look at that‐ my other sock. I’ve been looking for it for 800 years!” Curly blonde locks bounced atop the agents head as he bowled himself over with hearty laughter at his own words.
The Senator and Professor looked at each other, both shaking their own heads with wry smiles.
“Look alive, Justin, we’ve got work to do,” said Senator Stilwell.
“Welcome back, Justin” added the professor.
“What’s first?” asked the Commodore.
“Let’s play Q and A” answered the professor.
“Glad to. I’d like to see the Chrona- can we talk there? How did it work?”
“How the hell do you think it worked, Justin‐ you’re here, aren’t you?” said Senator Stilwell.
“Was it loud? Was it messy? Did it happen all at once or..“
“Commodore Thyme, we will be doing the asking and you will be doing the telling” the Senator said impatiently.
“There will be plenty of opportunity to satisfy your curiosity. We’re excited as kids ourselves.”
“Speaking of kids, did the girl…”
“Agent Commodore?” barked the Senator, cutting off the conversation. They arrived at a thick metal hatch, where a woman's voice challenged them for identification. Each stood close to the wall, looking straight into a scanning hole. A line of light rolled over their retinas.
“Thank you” cooed the voice, warm to the ear, but somehow cold and robotic. The hatch popped open with a clang that reverberated throughout the halls, like visitors hour at Sing‐Sing.
“Thank you,” answered Thyme.
A round of applause greeted them at the main laboratory area, where adoring members of Alternity Group flashed victory signs at the Commodore, who was smiling broadly. The Senator stood hands on hips, looking down at the deck with a smile of his own.
They were all proud of Thyme, who had been fearless through some tough goings, and the Senator let it roll. Justin raised up a hand to his heart and patted himself there.
When the group resumed their duties, the three men repeated the eye scanning procedure twice more as they passed through permaglass shields.
“Thank you” came the soft, androidal voice as each portal opened with a reverberating clang. Finally, they stood before the gargantuan Chrona.
“Wow!” exclaimed Thyme. “I’ve never seen anything like this in all my days.”
“Sure you have” said the professor, “you just don’t remember it."
“You were caught in a firestorm on your way out, and a cloudburst on your way in” said the Senator. “Here’s a video of your re-entry into Chronopolis this morning. Up there on the big monitor."
The Senator pointed toward the top of a tall cinderblock construct. As he watched the action, Agent Thyme was clearly shaken. Laying there naked and wet in the receiving area of the Chrona, he had the look of so much road kill. He was very concerned for the girl as well, whom thus far he had not even met.
There came a not unpleasant hum from the chronophone, and Senator Stilwell waved his hand over it once again.
Up popped the holograph. It said, “Senator Stilwell, the woman has awakened.”
Chapter Ten
Good Morning Maria
It was difficult to tell who was having a worse time of it‐ the nurse, shaking with exhaustion, or the awakening Lady Maria, lying on the table in wide‐eyed terror.
Over the intercom came an emergency announcement accompanied by the sound of glass vials hitting the floor, unintelligible shouting and loud smacking sounds.
“Alert team to infirmary on the double, we need help please!” came the nurse’s plea.
Unable to administer a sedative until the Alternity Group arrived, the small nursing crew seemed to have a tiger by the tail. The woman in their care was petite, but amazingly strong.
Over the intercom came again, “Senator, Professor, somebody please, get the hell up here‐ the subject is awake and uncontrollable!”
The Professor and Senator Stilwell shot each other a quick look and ran for the elevator, which they found to be in use.
”Over there!” shouted the Professor, pointing toward an emergency staircase, and this was an emergency. The slap of footsteps on metal echoed throughout the stairwell as the men climbed like school children in a fire drill.
The nurse had given up on following protocol, and was attempting to administer a powerful sedative to this raging woman. Apparently, the sight of the needle being wielded by a strangely dressed, strange smelling woman in a very strange room was too much for a groggy patient from the 13th century, and she fought for all she was worth.
Two orderlies pounced on either side of the hospital bed doing their best to constrict her hand movements as the nurse brought the needle to bear. They all saw the terror in her eyes and sympathized with her, but they had a job to do.
As the needle touched her arm, the woman looked down at her feet, then raised her head up in a blood‐curdling scream that was half wolf howl from deep in her diaphragm. Her eyes burned a fiery green, like none in the modern world, something they had never seen before.
Using that moment of shock, the ferocious woman broke free, staved off the needle, won control of it, and stabbed the nurse repeatedly in the throat. At that moment the Professor and Senator Stilwell entered the room and finally pinned the patient down. They held her there as a new sedative was prepared. The nurse, bleeding profusely, was rushed to the next room, now in an emergency situation herself.
With the sedative administered, the Lady Maria began to drift off, murmuring in a strange language from her rosebud lips.
“Whew”, said the Professor, “Whew!”
Senator Stilwell waved a hand over the chronophone, and up popped a hologram. An artificial but softly feminine voice uttered the greeting, “Hello Senator."
“Send Doctor Binder up immediately, please. I want the recent conversation translated, every nuance‐ I want to know what this girl is saying, every word, from now on. And no more taking chances” he said, looking toward the nursing crew. It was now obvious to all of them they were dealing with something they didn’t understand, and it had just cost them.
From next door, the steady beep of a heart rate monitor suddenly morphed into a buzzing monotone. The crew ran into the next room, but to no avail‐ the poor nurse had just died.
Good Morning Maria
It was difficult to tell who was having a worse time of it‐ the nurse, shaking with exhaustion, or the awakening Lady Maria, lying on the table in wide‐eyed terror.
Over the intercom came an emergency announcement accompanied by the sound of glass vials hitting the floor, unintelligible shouting and loud smacking sounds.
“Alert team to infirmary on the double, we need help please!” came the nurse’s plea.
Unable to administer a sedative until the Alternity Group arrived, the small nursing crew seemed to have a tiger by the tail. The woman in their care was petite, but amazingly strong.
Over the intercom came again, “Senator, Professor, somebody please, get the hell up here‐ the subject is awake and uncontrollable!”
The Professor and Senator Stilwell shot each other a quick look and ran for the elevator, which they found to be in use.
”Over there!” shouted the Professor, pointing toward an emergency staircase, and this was an emergency. The slap of footsteps on metal echoed throughout the stairwell as the men climbed like school children in a fire drill.
The nurse had given up on following protocol, and was attempting to administer a powerful sedative to this raging woman. Apparently, the sight of the needle being wielded by a strangely dressed, strange smelling woman in a very strange room was too much for a groggy patient from the 13th century, and she fought for all she was worth.
Two orderlies pounced on either side of the hospital bed doing their best to constrict her hand movements as the nurse brought the needle to bear. They all saw the terror in her eyes and sympathized with her, but they had a job to do.
As the needle touched her arm, the woman looked down at her feet, then raised her head up in a blood‐curdling scream that was half wolf howl from deep in her diaphragm. Her eyes burned a fiery green, like none in the modern world, something they had never seen before.
Using that moment of shock, the ferocious woman broke free, staved off the needle, won control of it, and stabbed the nurse repeatedly in the throat. At that moment the Professor and Senator Stilwell entered the room and finally pinned the patient down. They held her there as a new sedative was prepared. The nurse, bleeding profusely, was rushed to the next room, now in an emergency situation herself.
With the sedative administered, the Lady Maria began to drift off, murmuring in a strange language from her rosebud lips.
“Whew”, said the Professor, “Whew!”
Senator Stilwell waved a hand over the chronophone, and up popped a hologram. An artificial but softly feminine voice uttered the greeting, “Hello Senator."
“Send Doctor Binder up immediately, please. I want the recent conversation translated, every nuance‐ I want to know what this girl is saying, every word, from now on. And no more taking chances” he said, looking toward the nursing crew. It was now obvious to all of them they were dealing with something they didn’t understand, and it had just cost them.
From next door, the steady beep of a heart rate monitor suddenly morphed into a buzzing monotone. The crew ran into the next room, but to no avail‐ the poor nurse had just died.
Chapter Eleven
The Danger Lobby
The hum of a chronophone alerted Senator Stilwell that outside authorities had arrived at Alternity Group Headquarters, wanting to ask ‘a few questions’. He waved a hand over the device, conjuring a hologram like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a top hat.
“Hello, Senator” said the apparition.
“Yes, what is it?” he asked.
“Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter to see you in the lobby, Senator."
“Put him on hold, I’ll be up in five minutes,” answered the Senator.
The chronophone hummed again while the Senator read the official incident report. He waved his hand over it without looking. It said “Detective Raskins of the Chronopolis Police Department is in the lobby to see you, Senator."
“Tell him to wait with the lieutenant and I’ll be right there."
Senator Stilwell waved his hand in the opposite direction and contacted the laboratory, where a hologram said, “Professor, please meet me in my office. We’re going up to the lobby to answer some questions for the local police and military. I’m going to lie, and you swear to it."
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Senator” he answered.
“Good” the Senator said back, “you’re lying already."
Back in the infirmary wing, the nurses stood in a circle around Commodore Thyme, sobbing. Justin stood in the middle, arms wrapped around all of them like a mother hen. He didn’t know the deceased very well, but all who worked on the Chrona project were family. He wished he could ease their pain, but it would do no good to lie to them.
The situation sucked, and they all knew it. A vital young woman in the prime of her life gone, and it all seemed such a waste. And though he didn’t like to think of it, there were other dangers, other considerations to an unfortunate ‘industrial’ accident such as this.
That's when the chronophone resumed its incessant hum. The professor arrived at the Senators office and knew right away things were awful. Sullen eyes gave it away. They left together and headed upstairs via the same emergency staircase used during the last crisis. It was the best way to get a look at what they were walking into.
The lobby was a red carpet affair featuring chandeliers, floor length red velvet drapes, and a candle lit dining area. Quite the classy setting for a John Dillinger‐type showdown, thought Lieutenant Baxter, fingering his suspenders nervously.
He hated to pass judgment without all the facts. But he had a dead woman, and a rich, secret boys club with high‐level connections; as far as he was concerned, the operation was guilty, and he was determined to shut it down.
Detective Raskins agreed, and he said so.
“I’m satisfied as I need to be, lieutenant- I’m gonna call them in."
“I already have, John” said Lieutenant Baxter.
From the nearby stairwell platform, Senator Stilwell cracked the door just so slightly ajar and peeked through.
“What’s going on?” whispered the Professor.
The Senator shushed him, whispering back, “Take a look.”
Two heads peered cunningly into the lobby from behind the reception area, ten yards from where the lieutenant and detective sat, busy using their head sets. The doors on either side of the large hall now swung wide, revealing two major forces entering the building, one from the left and one from the right.
The police wore blue and yellow, the military a dark camouflage- all were armed to the teeth.
“Shit” whispered the Senator.
The Professor grimaced.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“Well” said the Senator, “I know what we aren’t going to do; we aren’t going to let them shut us down‐ there’s just too much at stake."
They retreated into the stairwell and headed to the next set of doors. A chronophone protruded from the wall. With a wave of his hand, the Senator set the infirmary chronophone humming.
Looking back at the Professor he said, “When you’ve got Commodore Justin Nicholas Thyme- dammit, you use him!”
The Danger Lobby
The hum of a chronophone alerted Senator Stilwell that outside authorities had arrived at Alternity Group Headquarters, wanting to ask ‘a few questions’. He waved a hand over the device, conjuring a hologram like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a top hat.
“Hello, Senator” said the apparition.
“Yes, what is it?” he asked.
“Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter to see you in the lobby, Senator."
“Put him on hold, I’ll be up in five minutes,” answered the Senator.
The chronophone hummed again while the Senator read the official incident report. He waved his hand over it without looking. It said “Detective Raskins of the Chronopolis Police Department is in the lobby to see you, Senator."
“Tell him to wait with the lieutenant and I’ll be right there."
Senator Stilwell waved his hand in the opposite direction and contacted the laboratory, where a hologram said, “Professor, please meet me in my office. We’re going up to the lobby to answer some questions for the local police and military. I’m going to lie, and you swear to it."
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Senator” he answered.
“Good” the Senator said back, “you’re lying already."
Back in the infirmary wing, the nurses stood in a circle around Commodore Thyme, sobbing. Justin stood in the middle, arms wrapped around all of them like a mother hen. He didn’t know the deceased very well, but all who worked on the Chrona project were family. He wished he could ease their pain, but it would do no good to lie to them.
The situation sucked, and they all knew it. A vital young woman in the prime of her life gone, and it all seemed such a waste. And though he didn’t like to think of it, there were other dangers, other considerations to an unfortunate ‘industrial’ accident such as this.
That's when the chronophone resumed its incessant hum. The professor arrived at the Senators office and knew right away things were awful. Sullen eyes gave it away. They left together and headed upstairs via the same emergency staircase used during the last crisis. It was the best way to get a look at what they were walking into.
The lobby was a red carpet affair featuring chandeliers, floor length red velvet drapes, and a candle lit dining area. Quite the classy setting for a John Dillinger‐type showdown, thought Lieutenant Baxter, fingering his suspenders nervously.
He hated to pass judgment without all the facts. But he had a dead woman, and a rich, secret boys club with high‐level connections; as far as he was concerned, the operation was guilty, and he was determined to shut it down.
Detective Raskins agreed, and he said so.
“I’m satisfied as I need to be, lieutenant- I’m gonna call them in."
“I already have, John” said Lieutenant Baxter.
From the nearby stairwell platform, Senator Stilwell cracked the door just so slightly ajar and peeked through.
“What’s going on?” whispered the Professor.
The Senator shushed him, whispering back, “Take a look.”
Two heads peered cunningly into the lobby from behind the reception area, ten yards from where the lieutenant and detective sat, busy using their head sets. The doors on either side of the large hall now swung wide, revealing two major forces entering the building, one from the left and one from the right.
The police wore blue and yellow, the military a dark camouflage- all were armed to the teeth.
“Shit” whispered the Senator.
The Professor grimaced.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“Well” said the Senator, “I know what we aren’t going to do; we aren’t going to let them shut us down‐ there’s just too much at stake."
They retreated into the stairwell and headed to the next set of doors. A chronophone protruded from the wall. With a wave of his hand, the Senator set the infirmary chronophone humming.
Looking back at the Professor he said, “When you’ve got Commodore Justin Nicholas Thyme- dammit, you use him!”
Chapter Twelve
The Scarlet Ruse
Justin waved a ham‐sized fist over the chronophone, and up popped the hologram like a jack‐in‐the‐box. He struggled to listen over the sobbing nurses and what he heard made his eyes open wide. The crew members in the hospital room saw his face but he shook his head at them and mouthed, “It’s nothing."
Down in the laboratory, all lights dimmed and yellow alert lanterns whirled atop every structure. These were silent alarms giving Alternity Group the coded message, ‘All Systems Go’.
The professor also sent a chronophone message to the lab, where scientists stood at an enormous white‐metal wall that served as the facility brain center and control panel. Switches were flipped, buttons pushed, and knobs were turned. Skilled hands waved over multi‐colored lights atop an old recording studio mixing board, retrieved on a previous mission to re‐invent analog, in case digital formats ever failed.
“Ren Tabulator?” called an operator in a white smock with pens clipped to every pocket.
“Check”, came the reply from an orderly.
“Co‐band power influxulator?”
“Check.”
“Delta chip engagement facilitator?”
“Uh, wait‐“
“Delta chip enga‐“
“Check, check!”
“Peri‐hydroxide transparency simulator?”
“Check."
“OK gentleman” said Colonel Jaspar, “we are go in 5‐4‐3‐2‐“
The whine of a giant generator rose in a crescendo from imperceptible to a loud fever pitch. The facility lights came back on as the Chrona began emitting the sound of sizzling bacon and yellow lanterns whirled faster and faster.
At that moment, the Professor and Senator Stilwell entered the main lobby upstairs, walking like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The Professor had removed his white smock and left it behind on the stairs.
The Senator led them toward a dinner table strewn with dirty plates and half‐empty wine glasses. He reached into his pocket and threw bills down on the table. The Professor simultaneously looked over at a man bussing tables and shouted, “Thank you.”
Never breaking stride, they locked eyes with the detective and lieutenant, and walked straight toward them. The detective stood up to his full height, thumbs tucked into his suspenders, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter rose to stand next to him.
The Professor noticed a small yellow light on the ceiling beginning to spin quietly.
He and the Senator gave each other a puzzled look, shrugged their shoulders, and said, “What’s with these guys?”
Neither the detective nor the lieutenant had ever seen any of the Alternity Group, and these two gentlemen didn’t fit the bill, so they stepped aside and let them by. The two continued their ruse until they passed all the uniformed police and soldiers, breaking into a trot only when they had left the building.
“Where to, Senator?” asked the smiling professor.
“The Mile‐High Hotel, across town. We’ll rent the penthouse suite and control the mission from there."
The Scarlet Ruse
Justin waved a ham‐sized fist over the chronophone, and up popped the hologram like a jack‐in‐the‐box. He struggled to listen over the sobbing nurses and what he heard made his eyes open wide. The crew members in the hospital room saw his face but he shook his head at them and mouthed, “It’s nothing."
Down in the laboratory, all lights dimmed and yellow alert lanterns whirled atop every structure. These were silent alarms giving Alternity Group the coded message, ‘All Systems Go’.
The professor also sent a chronophone message to the lab, where scientists stood at an enormous white‐metal wall that served as the facility brain center and control panel. Switches were flipped, buttons pushed, and knobs were turned. Skilled hands waved over multi‐colored lights atop an old recording studio mixing board, retrieved on a previous mission to re‐invent analog, in case digital formats ever failed.
“Ren Tabulator?” called an operator in a white smock with pens clipped to every pocket.
“Check”, came the reply from an orderly.
“Co‐band power influxulator?”
“Check.”
“Delta chip engagement facilitator?”
“Uh, wait‐“
“Delta chip enga‐“
“Check, check!”
“Peri‐hydroxide transparency simulator?”
“Check."
“OK gentleman” said Colonel Jaspar, “we are go in 5‐4‐3‐2‐“
The whine of a giant generator rose in a crescendo from imperceptible to a loud fever pitch. The facility lights came back on as the Chrona began emitting the sound of sizzling bacon and yellow lanterns whirled faster and faster.
At that moment, the Professor and Senator Stilwell entered the main lobby upstairs, walking like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The Professor had removed his white smock and left it behind on the stairs.
The Senator led them toward a dinner table strewn with dirty plates and half‐empty wine glasses. He reached into his pocket and threw bills down on the table. The Professor simultaneously looked over at a man bussing tables and shouted, “Thank you.”
Never breaking stride, they locked eyes with the detective and lieutenant, and walked straight toward them. The detective stood up to his full height, thumbs tucked into his suspenders, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter rose to stand next to him.
The Professor noticed a small yellow light on the ceiling beginning to spin quietly.
He and the Senator gave each other a puzzled look, shrugged their shoulders, and said, “What’s with these guys?”
Neither the detective nor the lieutenant had ever seen any of the Alternity Group, and these two gentlemen didn’t fit the bill, so they stepped aside and let them by. The two continued their ruse until they passed all the uniformed police and soldiers, breaking into a trot only when they had left the building.
“Where to, Senator?” asked the smiling professor.
“The Mile‐High Hotel, across town. We’ll rent the penthouse suite and control the mission from there."
Chapter Thirteen
The Art of Alternity
By the time the Commodore submitted to a second retina scan, the police, now done with pleasantries, were using a battering ram on the laboratory hatch. Justin entered the portal and took his place in the Chrona.
Scientists had strapped themselves into position for the Chrona to be energized, and sat fumbling with their protective glasses. Colonel Jaspar waved a hand over the nearest chronophone, but the holograph came up empty.
“Try again later,” said the simulated female voice.
Just the other side of the metal alloy hatch, Detective Raskins was shaking his head at the futility of a battering ram. He turned to Lieutenant Baxter and said, “She’s all yours" and let the military take over.
The Professor and Senator walked briskly down a side street leading to the Mile High, the most expensive hotel in Chronopolis. They passed a group of artists who were working on a clandestine wall mural, and overheard a snippet of conversation.
“There- you don’t feel that?” said one, pausing from his work.
“Feel what, your imagination?” his friend retorted.
“I’m tellin’ ya, something's going on." Then, "Oh my god, look at her hair!” He pointed to a girl nearby whose pretty brown hair was standing on end.
“That’s a good sign, Senator” said the Professor.
They arrived at the Mile High minutes later.
“Ouch!” yelled the doorman, shocked by static electricity on the metal door handle. The Senator nodded his appreciation and flipped him a valuable coin.
The doorman smiled, shaking the pain from his hand. “That makes it better” he said, appreciatively.
They waited at the ornately decorated reception desk and were soon led to the Penthouse Suite. Once in the room, they set up a portable chronophone and it began to hum. The Senator waved a hand over it, and up popped a hologram.
“Senator, this is Jaspar- they’re breaking down the hatchway! Thyme is a go, Chrona is a go, standing by for your order sir.”
“Set the Chrona at negative fourteen hours, Colonel. What does Thyme need?” asked the Senator.
“Wait one” said the Colonel.
He turned to lock eyes with Justin Thyme, who sat sweating profusely in the portal area of the Chrona. Colonel Jaspar slapped his wrist, and the Commodore held first one, then two fingers aloft in response.
“He needs two hours, sir” said the Colonel, speaking into the center of the holograph.
“Very well, set the Oscillator for two hours, Godspeed, Colonel.”
“Godspeed Senator, and Godspeed Commodore Thyme‐ Colonel Jaspar, out!”
In the hotel suite, the professor patted his friend on the back, and gestured for him to take a seat. Senator Stilwell just shook his head.
“Can’t" he said, and spent the next two hours pacing the room back and forth.
The Art of Alternity
By the time the Commodore submitted to a second retina scan, the police, now done with pleasantries, were using a battering ram on the laboratory hatch. Justin entered the portal and took his place in the Chrona.
Scientists had strapped themselves into position for the Chrona to be energized, and sat fumbling with their protective glasses. Colonel Jaspar waved a hand over the nearest chronophone, but the holograph came up empty.
“Try again later,” said the simulated female voice.
Just the other side of the metal alloy hatch, Detective Raskins was shaking his head at the futility of a battering ram. He turned to Lieutenant Baxter and said, “She’s all yours" and let the military take over.
The Professor and Senator walked briskly down a side street leading to the Mile High, the most expensive hotel in Chronopolis. They passed a group of artists who were working on a clandestine wall mural, and overheard a snippet of conversation.
“There- you don’t feel that?” said one, pausing from his work.
“Feel what, your imagination?” his friend retorted.
“I’m tellin’ ya, something's going on." Then, "Oh my god, look at her hair!” He pointed to a girl nearby whose pretty brown hair was standing on end.
“That’s a good sign, Senator” said the Professor.
They arrived at the Mile High minutes later.
“Ouch!” yelled the doorman, shocked by static electricity on the metal door handle. The Senator nodded his appreciation and flipped him a valuable coin.
The doorman smiled, shaking the pain from his hand. “That makes it better” he said, appreciatively.
They waited at the ornately decorated reception desk and were soon led to the Penthouse Suite. Once in the room, they set up a portable chronophone and it began to hum. The Senator waved a hand over it, and up popped a hologram.
“Senator, this is Jaspar- they’re breaking down the hatchway! Thyme is a go, Chrona is a go, standing by for your order sir.”
“Set the Chrona at negative fourteen hours, Colonel. What does Thyme need?” asked the Senator.
“Wait one” said the Colonel.
He turned to lock eyes with Justin Thyme, who sat sweating profusely in the portal area of the Chrona. Colonel Jaspar slapped his wrist, and the Commodore held first one, then two fingers aloft in response.
“He needs two hours, sir” said the Colonel, speaking into the center of the holograph.
“Very well, set the Oscillator for two hours, Godspeed, Colonel.”
“Godspeed Senator, and Godspeed Commodore Thyme‐ Colonel Jaspar, out!”
In the hotel suite, the professor patted his friend on the back, and gestured for him to take a seat. Senator Stilwell just shook his head.
“Can’t" he said, and spent the next two hours pacing the room back and forth.
Chapter Fourteen
Changing History
The Chrona began its characteristic draining of all energy from everything around it. The machines in the lab had their indicator lights go dim, and the house lights went dark.
Outside the hatchway, the police and military were suddenly thrust into darkness. Detective Raskins ordered a lantern, but its powerful halogen light quickly went dim.
“What the hell is wrong with the lantern now?” he yelled in a raspy voice.
“Here, try this one, it’s the latest military technology” said Lieutenant Baxter. He handed the Detective a flashlight that looked like an alien death‐ray, but it too, went dim.
“Dammit!," shouted the Lieutenant. He smacked at the fancy gadget, but to no avail.
“What the hell?” said Detective Raskins, as the entire building began to shake.
“Earthquake?” said Baxter.
“Don’t bet on it," the detective replied.
Inside the laboratory, the solar wind of the Chrona began spinning like a misty cyclone.
“Engage the electromagnets!” barked Colonel Jaspar.
From his seat, Doctor Benjamin Binder watched the unfolding events with eyes now tightly shut, now wide with terror.
Out in space, a star dimmed imperceptibly as a yawning cave gulped down the energy equivalent of ten years of summer sun, which rode a silver cable of immeasurable strength into the heart of the facility, feeding the prehistoric beast called the Chrona.
Commodore Thyme lay belly down on the floor of the Chrona portal and spread his arms and legs wide. His training had taught him the best position to be in, ready for anything.
“Bring it on!” he thought, adrenaline pumping by the gallon. The world around him began to revolve, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until he found himself floating stationary in the center of a giant atom, he himself the nucleus.
Then as soon as it began it was over, and everything slowed until the moon took its customary position, stationary in the sky. The agent felt himself lurching forward, as if falling through empty space. He maintained the spread eagle prone position, and landed flat on his belly, arms akimbo.
He shook off the wooziness, and used his gloved hands to pat his smoldering survival suit. Staggering like a drunk, he fought against his buckling knees and mastered control once again.
“That’s wicked” he said aloud.
He had landed in the depths of a hover craft mooring facility next door and sat on the cement floor with his back against a wall. Checking his Oscillator, he had one hour and 45 minutes to accomplish the mission.
He felt through his pockets for his tools and came up with two sticks of ordinary writing chalk, one white, one bright yellow.
“Check!” he thought. He also came up with a thick roll of duct tape.
“Check” he thought again.
“Alright," he said aloud, "I always said I was gonna change history!”
Changing History
The Chrona began its characteristic draining of all energy from everything around it. The machines in the lab had their indicator lights go dim, and the house lights went dark.
Outside the hatchway, the police and military were suddenly thrust into darkness. Detective Raskins ordered a lantern, but its powerful halogen light quickly went dim.
“What the hell is wrong with the lantern now?” he yelled in a raspy voice.
“Here, try this one, it’s the latest military technology” said Lieutenant Baxter. He handed the Detective a flashlight that looked like an alien death‐ray, but it too, went dim.
“Dammit!," shouted the Lieutenant. He smacked at the fancy gadget, but to no avail.
“What the hell?” said Detective Raskins, as the entire building began to shake.
“Earthquake?” said Baxter.
“Don’t bet on it," the detective replied.
Inside the laboratory, the solar wind of the Chrona began spinning like a misty cyclone.
“Engage the electromagnets!” barked Colonel Jaspar.
From his seat, Doctor Benjamin Binder watched the unfolding events with eyes now tightly shut, now wide with terror.
Out in space, a star dimmed imperceptibly as a yawning cave gulped down the energy equivalent of ten years of summer sun, which rode a silver cable of immeasurable strength into the heart of the facility, feeding the prehistoric beast called the Chrona.
Commodore Thyme lay belly down on the floor of the Chrona portal and spread his arms and legs wide. His training had taught him the best position to be in, ready for anything.
“Bring it on!” he thought, adrenaline pumping by the gallon. The world around him began to revolve, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until he found himself floating stationary in the center of a giant atom, he himself the nucleus.
Then as soon as it began it was over, and everything slowed until the moon took its customary position, stationary in the sky. The agent felt himself lurching forward, as if falling through empty space. He maintained the spread eagle prone position, and landed flat on his belly, arms akimbo.
He shook off the wooziness, and used his gloved hands to pat his smoldering survival suit. Staggering like a drunk, he fought against his buckling knees and mastered control once again.
“That’s wicked” he said aloud.
He had landed in the depths of a hover craft mooring facility next door and sat on the cement floor with his back against a wall. Checking his Oscillator, he had one hour and 45 minutes to accomplish the mission.
He felt through his pockets for his tools and came up with two sticks of ordinary writing chalk, one white, one bright yellow.
“Check!” he thought. He also came up with a thick roll of duct tape.
“Check” he thought again.
“Alright," he said aloud, "I always said I was gonna change history!”
Chapter Fifteen
Second Future
The Commodore decided to take the direct route into the facility
next door. Utilizing a master‐control card, he entered a hovercraft, activated the drive and maneuvered it vertically through a portal in the dome roof above. Once clear of the mooring facility, Justin landed in a field and deactivated the craft.
He looked down at his wrist oscillator. It told him he had an hour and a half to save the Alternity Group. With no time to waste, he walked straight for the facility’s main entrance, the same entrance the Senator and Professor would use to make their quick exit some 13 hours from now‐ if Justin failed.
He was still one hundred yards from the entrance when the guards recognized him. He held up a friendly hand and they looked at each other in happy disbelief.
“Justin Thyme!” exclaimed one. The other just stood silently, grinning ear to ear. “And to what do we owe this pleasure, Commodore?” asked the guard, raising a hand to wave it over his chronophone.
“No, please don’t do that” implored Justin, placing a much larger hand over the guard’s.
“Sorry, it’s just procedure” answered the guard, trying it again.
Thyme was more forceful now, holding the guards hand immobile. “Please, if you’ll just hear me out a moment‐ this is above top secret. As far as you’re concerned, I am not even here.”
“Sir?” asked the puzzled guard.
“Check the log‐ go ahead, check it. I’ll bet the record shows I’m still inside, away on a mission, right? Well, in a way, I still am," explained the time traveler, “and I have to get into that building. Chronopolis depends on it. Now can I depend on you to maintain complete silence?”
“For how long?” asked a guard.
“Forever” answered Thyme. “You must never tell a living soul this happened‐ because it didn’t!”
He looked down at his wrist, saw the minutes ticking by and became more adamant.
“Listen carefully,” said the Commodore, “let me through, call and tell no one, and you can write your own ticket. How would you like to retire tomorrow with a full pension?”
One guard was still suspicious and again raised a hand to his chronophone. Justin’s eyes to blaze like coals. With a heaving sigh, he drew his polaser and placed it between the guard’s eyes.
“Try to understand, we’re out of options here. This can end two ways, and one way is a lot better than the other, but I’m going through, understand? I have to!”
They stepped aside and let him through. Neither had seen a polaser before and only now believed in their existence. Justin looked back and held a finger to his lips, urging them to remain
quiet one last time. They returned to their stances and guarded the doors at parade rest.
Once inside the building, it was a up a flight of stairs and a walk down the hallway. When Thyme reached the infirmary wing, he stopped outside the room where he had awoken, or, would soon awaken, ‐he shook his head in mock confusion‐ and took a careful peek inside.
There on the gurney, lay an unconscious Justin Thyme! Again, he shook his head and this time, the confusion was genuine.
He tip toed into the room listening to the rhythmic breathing of his doppelganger. Leaning carefully over his own body so as not to touch it, he pressed a button for the nurse‐on‐call, and felt a strange electrical charge, an attraction of some paradoxical sort. The two bodies wanted to meld, the hair on both standing on end!
His extremities tingled, and he marveled at this nether‐situation the Chrona had created. Finally, he tapped the call button, left the room, and took refuge in a nearby service closet. Justin the rescuer heard the footsteps of the soon‐to‐be deceased nurse as she scurried by and entered the room where Justin the patient lay.
A moment later, the intercom blared, “Senator Stilwell, the Commodore is awake!”
Second Future
The Commodore decided to take the direct route into the facility
next door. Utilizing a master‐control card, he entered a hovercraft, activated the drive and maneuvered it vertically through a portal in the dome roof above. Once clear of the mooring facility, Justin landed in a field and deactivated the craft.
He looked down at his wrist oscillator. It told him he had an hour and a half to save the Alternity Group. With no time to waste, he walked straight for the facility’s main entrance, the same entrance the Senator and Professor would use to make their quick exit some 13 hours from now‐ if Justin failed.
He was still one hundred yards from the entrance when the guards recognized him. He held up a friendly hand and they looked at each other in happy disbelief.
“Justin Thyme!” exclaimed one. The other just stood silently, grinning ear to ear. “And to what do we owe this pleasure, Commodore?” asked the guard, raising a hand to wave it over his chronophone.
“No, please don’t do that” implored Justin, placing a much larger hand over the guard’s.
“Sorry, it’s just procedure” answered the guard, trying it again.
Thyme was more forceful now, holding the guards hand immobile. “Please, if you’ll just hear me out a moment‐ this is above top secret. As far as you’re concerned, I am not even here.”
“Sir?” asked the puzzled guard.
“Check the log‐ go ahead, check it. I’ll bet the record shows I’m still inside, away on a mission, right? Well, in a way, I still am," explained the time traveler, “and I have to get into that building. Chronopolis depends on it. Now can I depend on you to maintain complete silence?”
“For how long?” asked a guard.
“Forever” answered Thyme. “You must never tell a living soul this happened‐ because it didn’t!”
He looked down at his wrist, saw the minutes ticking by and became more adamant.
“Listen carefully,” said the Commodore, “let me through, call and tell no one, and you can write your own ticket. How would you like to retire tomorrow with a full pension?”
One guard was still suspicious and again raised a hand to his chronophone. Justin’s eyes to blaze like coals. With a heaving sigh, he drew his polaser and placed it between the guard’s eyes.
“Try to understand, we’re out of options here. This can end two ways, and one way is a lot better than the other, but I’m going through, understand? I have to!”
They stepped aside and let him through. Neither had seen a polaser before and only now believed in their existence. Justin looked back and held a finger to his lips, urging them to remain
quiet one last time. They returned to their stances and guarded the doors at parade rest.
Once inside the building, it was a up a flight of stairs and a walk down the hallway. When Thyme reached the infirmary wing, he stopped outside the room where he had awoken, or, would soon awaken, ‐he shook his head in mock confusion‐ and took a careful peek inside.
There on the gurney, lay an unconscious Justin Thyme! Again, he shook his head and this time, the confusion was genuine.
He tip toed into the room listening to the rhythmic breathing of his doppelganger. Leaning carefully over his own body so as not to touch it, he pressed a button for the nurse‐on‐call, and felt a strange electrical charge, an attraction of some paradoxical sort. The two bodies wanted to meld, the hair on both standing on end!
His extremities tingled, and he marveled at this nether‐situation the Chrona had created. Finally, he tapped the call button, left the room, and took refuge in a nearby service closet. Justin the rescuer heard the footsteps of the soon‐to‐be deceased nurse as she scurried by and entered the room where Justin the patient lay.
A moment later, the intercom blared, “Senator Stilwell, the Commodore is awake!”
Chapter Sixteen
Wolves at the Doorway
Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter inspected the charges his special
operations team had set around the laboratory hatchway.
“Are you sure you used enough explosive in the charges?” he asked his men.
“Yes sir," came the reply.
“Good- now we wait for permission to blow it” he said, rolling his eyes. Several feet away, members of Alternity Group stood around a quartermasters chart, following the movements of Commodore Thyme, via a moving red light.
“He landed in the mooring facility next door," said Colonel Jaspar. "He somehow scaled the wall, and walked into this building right through the front doors.”
“So, your agent is now inside this very building?” asked Dr. Binder.
“He’s inside this building, but not now. Commodore Thyme is in this building twelve hours ago,” answered the Colonel.
“Here’s an overlay of our facility on the second floor, Colonel. The infirmary wing is right -here,” said a member of the crew.
“Alright” said the Colonel, “then the red light corresponds to..”
“Service closet 22‐02‐01, located between Lady Maria’s room and the one the Commodore himself was in when he regained consciousness,” the crew member finished for him.
“He’s keeping out of sight, no doubt. The Commodore knows what he’s doing” said the Colonel, secretly crossing his fingers. He waved his other hand over the chronophone, conjuring up a hologram that made a ghostly light in the darkened laboratory.
All lights were out except those on the quartermasters chart.
“Yes Colonel Jasper?” asked the computer generated apparition with a feminine voice.
“Get me Senator Stilwell,” he ordered.
High above Chronopolis, Senator Stilwell and the professor stood out on a 17th-floor balcony, nursing dry, two‐olive martinis. The hum of the chronophone brought them back inside where no one could see the hologram.
“Go ahead Jaspar” said the Senator.
“He’s on the inside, in close proximity to the subject. No telling what, but he’s always got an ace up his sleeve” said Colonel Jasper.
“That’s what we pay him for” said the Senator. "What about the wolves?”
“They’re camped outside the hatch, howling for meat” answered the Colonel. “Our sensors indicate cordite charges that could blow anytime. I really don’t know what they’re waiting for."
“Permission," said the Senator. “Thank God for bureaucracy- Stilwell out."
“Out” said Jasper.
“Colonel, he’s moving” whispered the crew member, pointing to the red light on the transparent floor chart.
“Where to?” asked the Colonel.
“He's headed toward Lady Maria’s room sir."
A dozen scientists stood in the darkness, worried faces illuminated by colored lights, worries illuminated by the wolves outside the hatchway door.
All stared intently at the high stakes game of cat and mouse playing out before them on the world’s most expensive game board.
Once again, the future depended on Justin Nicholas Thyme.
Wolves at the Doorway
Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter inspected the charges his special
operations team had set around the laboratory hatchway.
“Are you sure you used enough explosive in the charges?” he asked his men.
“Yes sir," came the reply.
“Good- now we wait for permission to blow it” he said, rolling his eyes. Several feet away, members of Alternity Group stood around a quartermasters chart, following the movements of Commodore Thyme, via a moving red light.
“He landed in the mooring facility next door," said Colonel Jaspar. "He somehow scaled the wall, and walked into this building right through the front doors.”
“So, your agent is now inside this very building?” asked Dr. Binder.
“He’s inside this building, but not now. Commodore Thyme is in this building twelve hours ago,” answered the Colonel.
“Here’s an overlay of our facility on the second floor, Colonel. The infirmary wing is right -here,” said a member of the crew.
“Alright” said the Colonel, “then the red light corresponds to..”
“Service closet 22‐02‐01, located between Lady Maria’s room and the one the Commodore himself was in when he regained consciousness,” the crew member finished for him.
“He’s keeping out of sight, no doubt. The Commodore knows what he’s doing” said the Colonel, secretly crossing his fingers. He waved his other hand over the chronophone, conjuring up a hologram that made a ghostly light in the darkened laboratory.
All lights were out except those on the quartermasters chart.
“Yes Colonel Jasper?” asked the computer generated apparition with a feminine voice.
“Get me Senator Stilwell,” he ordered.
High above Chronopolis, Senator Stilwell and the professor stood out on a 17th-floor balcony, nursing dry, two‐olive martinis. The hum of the chronophone brought them back inside where no one could see the hologram.
“Go ahead Jaspar” said the Senator.
“He’s on the inside, in close proximity to the subject. No telling what, but he’s always got an ace up his sleeve” said Colonel Jasper.
“That’s what we pay him for” said the Senator. "What about the wolves?”
“They’re camped outside the hatch, howling for meat” answered the Colonel. “Our sensors indicate cordite charges that could blow anytime. I really don’t know what they’re waiting for."
“Permission," said the Senator. “Thank God for bureaucracy- Stilwell out."
“Out” said Jasper.
“Colonel, he’s moving” whispered the crew member, pointing to the red light on the transparent floor chart.
“Where to?” asked the Colonel.
“He's headed toward Lady Maria’s room sir."
A dozen scientists stood in the darkness, worried faces illuminated by colored lights, worries illuminated by the wolves outside the hatchway door.
All stared intently at the high stakes game of cat and mouse playing out before them on the world’s most expensive game board.
Once again, the future depended on Justin Nicholas Thyme.
Chapter Seventeen
Writing on the Wall
When the intercom announced his own previous awakening, Justin slipped quietly out of the service closet and into the next room, where Lady Maria still lay sleeping quietly. He smiled and took a moment to admire the sleeping woman who was, after all, Princess of Bulgaria.
In the space of 800 years, the human condition had undergone quite a metamorphosis. This little lady had fought with the ferocity of a tiger, and would soon awake, likely to do so again. Justin decided he had better not waste any more time.
Holding two sticks of chalk, he sized up the room from the vantage point of the nurse. On a chalkboard each shift used for notes, he wrote in bright, wide letters, ‘Keep Patient Restrained’.
Upon returning to the service closet, he leaned back against the deep sink to catch his breath. Outside, he heard his own laughter coming from the room. Merry as it was, it set his spine tingling.
The oscillator showed four minutes before his return to time of origin. From another pocket, he pulled out a roll of duct tape and busied himself taping up the space between the floor and the closet door.
He applied several layers, taping the space between the door and wall, across the top, and back down the other side. After making sure the door was locked, he checked the oscillator once again.
With the readout at three minutes, he reached behind his back and opened the sink faucets full blast. Another announcement over the intercom informed the facility that Lady Maria had awoken. The nurse searched the sedative tray with her back toward the chalkboard and continued to do so as precious seconds ticked by.
The strange language and antiseptic surroundings filled Maria with terror, and she began to struggle. Only then did the nurse look up at the chalk board‐ but it was too late. Even the full nursing crew couldn’t restrain the woman in time.
From service closet 22‐02‐01, Justin heard the commotion and knew instinctively his plan hadn’t worked. He shook his head, smiled, and looked down to watch the rising water swallow all the hypodermics he collected before leaving that room- Maria wouldn’t be stabbing anyone.
Back in the chaos of the hospital room, the nurse screamed for someone, anyone, to run out to the service closet and retrieve sedatives. Justin’s heart began to race; the rise of the now waist high water was excruciatingly slow. Holding the door closed with one hand, he watched the oscillator countdown on the other. Outside the door, a voice was yelling that service closet 22‐02‐01 was locked.
“Break it down!” came a reply.
Writing on the Wall
When the intercom announced his own previous awakening, Justin slipped quietly out of the service closet and into the next room, where Lady Maria still lay sleeping quietly. He smiled and took a moment to admire the sleeping woman who was, after all, Princess of Bulgaria.
In the space of 800 years, the human condition had undergone quite a metamorphosis. This little lady had fought with the ferocity of a tiger, and would soon awake, likely to do so again. Justin decided he had better not waste any more time.
Holding two sticks of chalk, he sized up the room from the vantage point of the nurse. On a chalkboard each shift used for notes, he wrote in bright, wide letters, ‘Keep Patient Restrained’.
Upon returning to the service closet, he leaned back against the deep sink to catch his breath. Outside, he heard his own laughter coming from the room. Merry as it was, it set his spine tingling.
The oscillator showed four minutes before his return to time of origin. From another pocket, he pulled out a roll of duct tape and busied himself taping up the space between the floor and the closet door.
He applied several layers, taping the space between the door and wall, across the top, and back down the other side. After making sure the door was locked, he checked the oscillator once again.
With the readout at three minutes, he reached behind his back and opened the sink faucets full blast. Another announcement over the intercom informed the facility that Lady Maria had awoken. The nurse searched the sedative tray with her back toward the chalkboard and continued to do so as precious seconds ticked by.
The strange language and antiseptic surroundings filled Maria with terror, and she began to struggle. Only then did the nurse look up at the chalk board‐ but it was too late. Even the full nursing crew couldn’t restrain the woman in time.
From service closet 22‐02‐01, Justin heard the commotion and knew instinctively his plan hadn’t worked. He shook his head, smiled, and looked down to watch the rising water swallow all the hypodermics he collected before leaving that room- Maria wouldn’t be stabbing anyone.
Back in the chaos of the hospital room, the nurse screamed for someone, anyone, to run out to the service closet and retrieve sedatives. Justin’s heart began to race; the rise of the now waist high water was excruciatingly slow. Holding the door closed with one hand, he watched the oscillator countdown on the other. Outside the door, a voice was yelling that service closet 22‐02‐01 was locked.
“Break it down!” came a reply.
Chapter Eighteen
Countdown
The footsteps of a messenger echoed through the corridor, and a crush of heavily armed soldiers parted for him like the Red Sea.
“Communication from the General for Lieutenant Baxter” said the messenger, with a snappy salute.
“Very well, that is all” replied the lieutenant, returning his salute with a gloved hand.
“Alright, let’s clear the area- Detective Raskins, get your men out of here."
“Will do lieutenant” said the policeman. He turned to his swat team and said “You heard him ladies, it’s gonna get ugly‐ let’s back it up!”
The two officers used a megdevice, warning those inside to stand clear of the impending blast, then backed away themselves. Inside the lab, Alternity Group members stood with eyes transfixed on the floor chart, watching a white‐knuckle drama that had occurred about twelve hours earlier.
“Jeeze,” said Colonel Jaspers, “it’s like a sports replay. Only let’s hope it ends differently this time."
Outside the hatchway, Lieutenant Baxter wasted no time in giving the order.
“Let the countdown begin at t‐minus ten…nine.."
Twelve hours earlier, Justin Nicholas Thyme strained to hold the closet door closed as several orderlies hacked at it from outside with what sounded like a saws all.
“There’s someone in there!” one of them cried.
The water inside service closet 22‐02‐01 was now chest high. Looking down at his wrist oscillator, Justin began a countdown of his own.
“Eight….seven…six…”
High above Chronopolis in the Penthouse Suite of the Mile High, Senator Stilwell and the Professor were white‐knuckling it themselves as the lab crew broadcast both countdowns for them over an open holograph.
"Five…four…"
Back in Service Closet 22‐02‐01, machetes breaking through the door accompanied the oscillator countdown.
"Three…two…"
Back in the facility, Detective Raskins used both arms to cover his head.
“One….zero!”
Justin contorted his neck trying to completely submerge his head, but the water reached only to his square chin. As a last resort, he tilted his head to the side like a thinking blonde, a machete strike barely missing his nose.
When Service Closet 22‐02‐01 began to revolve around him, his red light on the laboratory’s floor chart began to flicker, and each Alternity member was strapped tightly into a chair.
“Glasses on!” Colonel Jaspars screamed over the Chrona’s din.
Commodore Justin Nicholas Thyme found himself floating in silence, serene as a jellyfish adrift in the depths of a peaceful sea.
He could make out faces in the whirling maelstrom around him, lights, sparks; perhaps memories of different times that will be or have been.
Suddenly, the spinning slowed, and he felt himself pitched forward onto his belly like a seal.
Then all was blackness.
Chapter Nineteen
Cheers
The air in the laboratory was charged with static electricity, indicating to Colonel Jaspars the presence of a changed reality- but changed how?
The Alternity Group sat strapped in their seats, concern on their faces illuminated by flashing, colored lights. The whirring Chrona slowed to a stop and de‐energized with a dying whine. All fell silent in the large room as the giant machine spat Justin’s limp body to the floor with a wet, steamy hiss.
There he lay naked a good while, as the team unstrapped from their chairs, eyes on the booby‐trapped hatchway door. A hologram floated lifelessly above the chronophone Senator Stilwell and the professor had been using to listen in from their hotel room.
“Senator?” inquired Colonel Jaspars, “Senator Stilwell?”
But there was no response. The Alternity Alert team called the Colonel’s attention to a monitor camera on the cinder block wall, with a view of the hatchway from outside the lab. All was still and quiet.
“Is it some kind of a trick?” asked the Colonel.
“I don’t think so, sir” answered a team member, fiddling with a dozen knobs, dials and toggle switches.
Suddenly, the professor’s voice came over the intercom, requesting Colonel Jasper to report to Senator Stilwell’s office.
With an abundance of care, the hatchway door was opened and the Colonel stepped through.
“We did it!” he announced, and a cheer resounded throughout the room.
Naked and unconscious, the Commodore was strapped to a gurney and wheeled, once again, to a recovery room in the facility’s infirmary wing. He never slept better. In the room next door, a duty nurse, very much alive, took the blood pressure of a securely restrained and mildly sedated Lady Maria. Her blood pressure was normal. Stepping out into the hallway, she shushed the repairman making a racket fixing the badly damaged door of service closet 22‐02‐01.
“Watch your step please” he advised her, “there’s water all over the floor."
Coming through a long dark tunnel toward a pin‐point of amber light, Justin Thyme stirred from slumber and found himself comfortably in bed. He drew his hands out from beneath a blanket and waved one of them over his wrist chronophone.
“Yes Commodore?” asked a feminine voice from a hologram so bright it made his eyes squint.
“Mile High Hotel” said Justin. “Senator Stilwell, in the Penthouse Suite, please."
“I’m sorry Commodore Thyme, but there is no one registered here by that name."
“Has he left already?” he asked Justin.
“No Commodore, we have never had anyone registered here by that name. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
Justin thanked her, smiled, and drifted back to sleep.
Chapter Twenty
Joining the Club
Colonel Jaspar knocked his customary four times on the office door. He stood a long while, wringing his hands, wondering how to explain events to the Senator of which he had no knowledge at all.
“Come in Colonel,” said the receptionist. She pressed a button and said “Colonel Jaspar here to see you Senator."
“Send him right in” came the answer.
She smiled as he walked by and he smiled back as he entered the rear office. He looked for any indication that Senator Stilwell or the professor had any inkling of what had just happened, and apparently, they did not.
As was his way, the Senator got right to work.
“Colonel, the professor and I have come up with an approach that might work in gaining the trust of Lady Maria.”
“Beg your pardon," interrupted Jaspar, "I have something to report.”
Stilwell saw the urgency in the eyes of Colonel Jaspar, who was a good soldier and a loyal friend.
“By all means Colonel,” said the Senator, and his eyes took on the same look. Colonel Jaspar went on to tell the incredible story of the nurse’s misfortune, the closet, and the hotel stay. The pair listened, wide‐eyed and rapt. They had always known such a thing might happen. The intercom blared again, the receptionist saying “Commodore Thyme on his way back; couldn’t stop him Senator, sorry," but she knew he wouldn’t mind. The door swung open and in walked Justin Thyme.
“Sit down, Commodore Thyme” said the Senator. “I understand you’ve got a story to tell."
The four members of Alternity Group talked for several hours. When all the business was through, it was the Senators turn.
“Gentleman, the professor has a method to win Maria’s cooperation‐ Professor?”
“Thank you Senator, and thank you, Commodore. As usual, your actions have saved us all.” Justin waved him off, smiling. “Now, with the Senator’s permission, I’d like to invite Dr. Benjamin Binder into the fold if I may."
“Granted” answered the Senator.
The intercom blared throughout the facility, “Benjamin Binder, calling Doctor Benjamin Binder to the Senator’s office, please, thank you."
When they were all assembled, the professor walked them through his plan. For the rest of her stay, Maria would interact only with staff and crew dressed in the medieval garb of her day. She would speak only with Dr. Binder, the world’s foremost Byzantine historian, and she would dwell only in marked areas that simulated her native surroundings. This, the professor believed, would alleviate the difficulties arising as a result of time travel.
“Welcome aboard, Doctor” said the Senator. They shook hands, and welcomed him to a very elite team‐ the
Alternity Group!
Joining the Club
Colonel Jaspar knocked his customary four times on the office door. He stood a long while, wringing his hands, wondering how to explain events to the Senator of which he had no knowledge at all.
“Come in Colonel,” said the receptionist. She pressed a button and said “Colonel Jaspar here to see you Senator."
“Send him right in” came the answer.
She smiled as he walked by and he smiled back as he entered the rear office. He looked for any indication that Senator Stilwell or the professor had any inkling of what had just happened, and apparently, they did not.
As was his way, the Senator got right to work.
“Colonel, the professor and I have come up with an approach that might work in gaining the trust of Lady Maria.”
“Beg your pardon," interrupted Jaspar, "I have something to report.”
Stilwell saw the urgency in the eyes of Colonel Jaspar, who was a good soldier and a loyal friend.
“By all means Colonel,” said the Senator, and his eyes took on the same look. Colonel Jaspar went on to tell the incredible story of the nurse’s misfortune, the closet, and the hotel stay. The pair listened, wide‐eyed and rapt. They had always known such a thing might happen. The intercom blared again, the receptionist saying “Commodore Thyme on his way back; couldn’t stop him Senator, sorry," but she knew he wouldn’t mind. The door swung open and in walked Justin Thyme.
“Sit down, Commodore Thyme” said the Senator. “I understand you’ve got a story to tell."
The four members of Alternity Group talked for several hours. When all the business was through, it was the Senators turn.
“Gentleman, the professor has a method to win Maria’s cooperation‐ Professor?”
“Thank you Senator, and thank you, Commodore. As usual, your actions have saved us all.” Justin waved him off, smiling. “Now, with the Senator’s permission, I’d like to invite Dr. Benjamin Binder into the fold if I may."
“Granted” answered the Senator.
The intercom blared throughout the facility, “Benjamin Binder, calling Doctor Benjamin Binder to the Senator’s office, please, thank you."
When they were all assembled, the professor walked them through his plan. For the rest of her stay, Maria would interact only with staff and crew dressed in the medieval garb of her day. She would speak only with Dr. Binder, the world’s foremost Byzantine historian, and she would dwell only in marked areas that simulated her native surroundings. This, the professor believed, would alleviate the difficulties arising as a result of time travel.
“Welcome aboard, Doctor” said the Senator. They shook hands, and welcomed him to a very elite team‐ the
Alternity Group!
Chapter Twenty One
New Blood
Senator Stilwell sat fidgeting in his chair, chewing a fingernail on one hand and tapping a pencil on the desk with the other. “Privates Fulton and Terco here to see you, Senator” crackled the receptionists voice over the intercom.
“Send them right in” he answered.
The door opened, and two young soldiers entered, snapping to attention. They issued the best salute they could muster, and the Senator returned in kind. “Private First Class Robert Terco, Private First Class Fulton, you are wondering why I’ve called you in this evening."
“Yes sir” they answered in unison.
Senator Stilwell rose from his chair and tossed the pencil across the room, hitting a waste paper basket with Michael Jordan accuracy. “Gentleman, our last mission at Alternity Group would not have been possible without your teamwork and cooperation. You two were on sentry duty at the facility gates when Commodore Thyme arrived in an, ahem, borrowed hover craft that is still sitting on the lawn out there, am I correct?”
The two looked at each other sullenly, and answered 'no' simultaneously. The Senator pushed a button on his desk and said, “Send in the Commodore please."
The door opened and in walked Justin Nicholas Thyme, dressed for business. He smiled at the young men, then shook both their hands. “J.T. keeps a promise boys” he said.
The Senator walked across the room, and opened an old fashioned roll‐top desk, exposing several bottles of very expensive liquor. He poured them all a shot, and announced that their days as glorified security guards were over. He threw two black-zippered packs on the desk, and instructed them to be opened. Inside were two thick envelopes.
“Here at Alternity Group, we appreciate soldiers who can make split second decisions, and know how to keep their mouths shut. Besides, you’ve been recommended by the best. Justin?”
Justin handed each soldier a certificate for a full 20 years of service, though both were merely sophomores.
“If you’ll open the envelope marked C, you’ll find full pay for the next 17 years, and a chit entitling you to a generous pension for the rest of your lives."
They opened the envelopes and stared, jaws agape.
“There, that much of it is done. I’ve kept my word, as I always do. But there’s more. Senator?”
The Senator said, “Boys, without you two, Alternity Group might have been finished before we got started. But what matters is your background. I’ve had you scanned and your records indicate you are both single, no siblings, no surviving parents. Now that we’ve retired you, we’d like to offer you a better job‐ much better. Justin?”
“Do you guys think you might be interested in my line of work? It’s rewarding, but dangerous. You'd have to think on your feet and it is impossible to overstate the importance of the decisions you'll have to make on a regular basis."
They nodded their heads immediately.
“Now hold on. Remember, this is like a death sentence in a way. No wife, no family, no friends except here at Alternity. Take a look inside the other envelope. It’s your identification as an agent. Upon completion of training, your official titles will be Special Agents of the United Nations Multi‐National Chronology Task Force. It’s also stamped with a blue hologram; kind of a license to kill, but not really. After all, you wouldn’t want to kill an ancestor, you see?”
Again, they both nodded vigorously.
“Yes” said Private Fulton.
Justin walked over, clinked glasses with him, and slapped a 6000 megaburst polaser on the desk in front of him.
“Yes,” said Private Terco, and they repeated the process.
“Congratulations” said Commodore Thyme, saluting them both.
Senator Stilwell took the glasses from them and said, “Special Agents Terco and Fulton, report to Colonel Jasper in the lab to begin your training."
"And Godspeed to you both."
New Blood
Senator Stilwell sat fidgeting in his chair, chewing a fingernail on one hand and tapping a pencil on the desk with the other. “Privates Fulton and Terco here to see you, Senator” crackled the receptionists voice over the intercom.
“Send them right in” he answered.
The door opened, and two young soldiers entered, snapping to attention. They issued the best salute they could muster, and the Senator returned in kind. “Private First Class Robert Terco, Private First Class Fulton, you are wondering why I’ve called you in this evening."
“Yes sir” they answered in unison.
Senator Stilwell rose from his chair and tossed the pencil across the room, hitting a waste paper basket with Michael Jordan accuracy. “Gentleman, our last mission at Alternity Group would not have been possible without your teamwork and cooperation. You two were on sentry duty at the facility gates when Commodore Thyme arrived in an, ahem, borrowed hover craft that is still sitting on the lawn out there, am I correct?”
The two looked at each other sullenly, and answered 'no' simultaneously. The Senator pushed a button on his desk and said, “Send in the Commodore please."
The door opened and in walked Justin Nicholas Thyme, dressed for business. He smiled at the young men, then shook both their hands. “J.T. keeps a promise boys” he said.
The Senator walked across the room, and opened an old fashioned roll‐top desk, exposing several bottles of very expensive liquor. He poured them all a shot, and announced that their days as glorified security guards were over. He threw two black-zippered packs on the desk, and instructed them to be opened. Inside were two thick envelopes.
“Here at Alternity Group, we appreciate soldiers who can make split second decisions, and know how to keep their mouths shut. Besides, you’ve been recommended by the best. Justin?”
Justin handed each soldier a certificate for a full 20 years of service, though both were merely sophomores.
“If you’ll open the envelope marked C, you’ll find full pay for the next 17 years, and a chit entitling you to a generous pension for the rest of your lives."
They opened the envelopes and stared, jaws agape.
“There, that much of it is done. I’ve kept my word, as I always do. But there’s more. Senator?”
The Senator said, “Boys, without you two, Alternity Group might have been finished before we got started. But what matters is your background. I’ve had you scanned and your records indicate you are both single, no siblings, no surviving parents. Now that we’ve retired you, we’d like to offer you a better job‐ much better. Justin?”
“Do you guys think you might be interested in my line of work? It’s rewarding, but dangerous. You'd have to think on your feet and it is impossible to overstate the importance of the decisions you'll have to make on a regular basis."
They nodded their heads immediately.
“Now hold on. Remember, this is like a death sentence in a way. No wife, no family, no friends except here at Alternity. Take a look inside the other envelope. It’s your identification as an agent. Upon completion of training, your official titles will be Special Agents of the United Nations Multi‐National Chronology Task Force. It’s also stamped with a blue hologram; kind of a license to kill, but not really. After all, you wouldn’t want to kill an ancestor, you see?”
Again, they both nodded vigorously.
“Yes” said Private Fulton.
Justin walked over, clinked glasses with him, and slapped a 6000 megaburst polaser on the desk in front of him.
“Yes,” said Private Terco, and they repeated the process.
“Congratulations” said Commodore Thyme, saluting them both.
Senator Stilwell took the glasses from them and said, “Special Agents Terco and Fulton, report to Colonel Jasper in the lab to begin your training."
"And Godspeed to you both."
Chapter Twenty Two
The Lady’s Lair
Dr. Benjamin Binder had never been so excited in his work as when he stood at the door of Lady Maria’s confinement wing. He was dressed like a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism, lit torch in one hand, fresh‐killed rabbits in the other. During the middle Ages, the Bulgarian language underwent three stages of development, early, middle, and late. The late stage was similar to what is still being spoken in modern day
Bulgaria. The Doctor choose to use the harsh middle dialect to call out to Maria.
“Maria, I would enter, bringing food and a fire” he said.
There was no answer, though he repeated himself several times. He decided to give up for the day and would try again tomorrow. Then as he turned to leave to leave, the door creaked open, and Maria’s haunting eyes were there, peeking cautiously out.
“And ye be?” she asked in a small voice.
“I am Binder and I would speak with ye."
Seeing no weapons, she opened the door, let him in, immediately grabbing the rabbits. He let them go with a smile. After placing his torch into a ring on the mossy wall, he went back out to retrieve the firewood he had brought. But when he returned with a load of wood in his arms, the door had been closed and securely bolted from the inside. He stood a long while before calling to her again, but got no answer.
After setting the wood carefully outside the door, he reached into his fur and drew out a bag containing stone implements; flint, obsidian, and chert.
“I return on the morrow” he declared.
“Aye” came Maria’s melodic voice.
That in itself was a victory. Doctor Binder left the wing feeling like a boy who had just been granted the phone number of a homecoming queen. On a second thought, he decided not to leave the obsidian and chert, tantamount to sharpening the claws of a tigress. But when he returned to the door, she had already taken everything inside. He could hear her working diligently, and the smell of roasting meat wafted to his flaring nostrils. This was shaping up to be the best history lesson possible, a scholar’s dream. He turned on his heels and quietly left the area.
Upon returning to his office, he removed his medieval garb, and stared down at the furs gathered about his sandals. Today, he had met and spoken with a Byzantine princess. Through the miracle of the Chrona, she had stepped out of the pages of history and into his life. Paradoxically, the damp gray walls of a medieval dwelling had brought great brightness to the formerly dull life of a grateful historian. Making notes until his candles grew short, he threw himself across the bed, fell asleep‐ and loved her in his dreams.
The Lady’s Lair
Dr. Benjamin Binder had never been so excited in his work as when he stood at the door of Lady Maria’s confinement wing. He was dressed like a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism, lit torch in one hand, fresh‐killed rabbits in the other. During the middle Ages, the Bulgarian language underwent three stages of development, early, middle, and late. The late stage was similar to what is still being spoken in modern day
Bulgaria. The Doctor choose to use the harsh middle dialect to call out to Maria.
“Maria, I would enter, bringing food and a fire” he said.
There was no answer, though he repeated himself several times. He decided to give up for the day and would try again tomorrow. Then as he turned to leave to leave, the door creaked open, and Maria’s haunting eyes were there, peeking cautiously out.
“And ye be?” she asked in a small voice.
“I am Binder and I would speak with ye."
Seeing no weapons, she opened the door, let him in, immediately grabbing the rabbits. He let them go with a smile. After placing his torch into a ring on the mossy wall, he went back out to retrieve the firewood he had brought. But when he returned with a load of wood in his arms, the door had been closed and securely bolted from the inside. He stood a long while before calling to her again, but got no answer.
After setting the wood carefully outside the door, he reached into his fur and drew out a bag containing stone implements; flint, obsidian, and chert.
“I return on the morrow” he declared.
“Aye” came Maria’s melodic voice.
That in itself was a victory. Doctor Binder left the wing feeling like a boy who had just been granted the phone number of a homecoming queen. On a second thought, he decided not to leave the obsidian and chert, tantamount to sharpening the claws of a tigress. But when he returned to the door, she had already taken everything inside. He could hear her working diligently, and the smell of roasting meat wafted to his flaring nostrils. This was shaping up to be the best history lesson possible, a scholar’s dream. He turned on his heels and quietly left the area.
Upon returning to his office, he removed his medieval garb, and stared down at the furs gathered about his sandals. Today, he had met and spoken with a Byzantine princess. Through the miracle of the Chrona, she had stepped out of the pages of history and into his life. Paradoxically, the damp gray walls of a medieval dwelling had brought great brightness to the formerly dull life of a grateful historian. Making notes until his candles grew short, he threw himself across the bed, fell asleep‐ and loved her in his dreams.
Chapter Twenty Three
A New Beginning
The doorman rushed outside when the first limousine pulled up. It wasn’t every day you saw a caravan like this one, even at the Mile High. The bellhop also stepped out of the hotel and asked, “Presidential motorcade?”
“I don’t know who it is‐ could be” answered the doorman.
He opened the back door of the vehicle and out stepped Senator Stilwell, followed by the Professor, his wife Joan, and the Colonel and Cynthia Jasper. The Senator shook the doorman’s gloved hand, discreetly handing him a large bill.
“Thank you” he said smiling, “please follow me."
By now there were half a dozen black cars, long and sleek, their electric power plants as silent as they were powerful. All were soon emptied of their cargo of well dressed VIP’s, and driven
around back by gleeful valets. Senator Stilwell had decided that planning for the next phase of the Alternity Group’s mission should be done in a festive atmosphere. After all there was a lot to celebrate. Not only was
the mission for Maria a success, but a subsequent mission fine-tuning that achievement was also a success. It proved the Chrona could be used to change the past, and also to tweak their work should the need arise.
Senator Stilwell and the professor entered the lobby and announced the party’s arrival to an attractive young woman
working at the reception desk. She looked at them inquisitively and asked, “Have you stayed with us before?”
“No” they answered with wry smiles.
Having leased two adjoining penthouse suites, the group propped all connecting doors wide open. Refreshments and entertainment were available in one suite, the other kept clear but for thirty five
folding chairs placed several rows deep. In the center of that room stood an easel and a pointing stick with a yellow rubber tip.
When everyone had a glass of champagne in hand and the hors d’oeuvres trays were nearly empty, Colonel Jasper called for everybody’s attention as the professor gestured for them all to be
seated.
“We all worked hard to get here” said the Colonel, “and we are all proud of what has been accomplished. But I would urge that we not be too awe struck, at least not just yet. Ladies, gentleman, and families of the Alternity Group, I give you the man of the hour‐ Commodore Justin Nicholas Thyme!”
The applause was polite but intense as Justin took center stage, with more than a few whistles and hoots coming from the black-tie crowd.
“My good friends” he began, “if I were to travel from the age of dinosaurs to Minotaurs, from the Ice Age to the time of fragrant spice trades, from the beginning of time to this time of new beginnings, it would still be impossible to find a better friend or a man more fit to lead our project than the one I am here to introduce. Please welcome Alternity Group’s Chief Executive Officer, and my good personal friend, the honorable Senator Morgan Stilwell.”
The Senator walked out from the balcony where, unbeknownst to him, he had recently watched the mission glitch unfold. He gave Justin a bear hug, took center suite, and faced the cheering assembly. After a few moments, his face grew serious, the crowd quieted and the atmosphere changed.
“Friends, the time has come for us to congratulate ourselves on a job well done. Go ahead, give yourselves a hand.”
The room gave themselves a smattering of applause. “There. Now, with that behind us, it’s time to reveal the true scope of the mission before us. I must ask all non‐members of Alternity Group to please leave the room.”
People gasped.
A New Beginning
The doorman rushed outside when the first limousine pulled up. It wasn’t every day you saw a caravan like this one, even at the Mile High. The bellhop also stepped out of the hotel and asked, “Presidential motorcade?”
“I don’t know who it is‐ could be” answered the doorman.
He opened the back door of the vehicle and out stepped Senator Stilwell, followed by the Professor, his wife Joan, and the Colonel and Cynthia Jasper. The Senator shook the doorman’s gloved hand, discreetly handing him a large bill.
“Thank you” he said smiling, “please follow me."
By now there were half a dozen black cars, long and sleek, their electric power plants as silent as they were powerful. All were soon emptied of their cargo of well dressed VIP’s, and driven
around back by gleeful valets. Senator Stilwell had decided that planning for the next phase of the Alternity Group’s mission should be done in a festive atmosphere. After all there was a lot to celebrate. Not only was
the mission for Maria a success, but a subsequent mission fine-tuning that achievement was also a success. It proved the Chrona could be used to change the past, and also to tweak their work should the need arise.
Senator Stilwell and the professor entered the lobby and announced the party’s arrival to an attractive young woman
working at the reception desk. She looked at them inquisitively and asked, “Have you stayed with us before?”
“No” they answered with wry smiles.
Having leased two adjoining penthouse suites, the group propped all connecting doors wide open. Refreshments and entertainment were available in one suite, the other kept clear but for thirty five
folding chairs placed several rows deep. In the center of that room stood an easel and a pointing stick with a yellow rubber tip.
When everyone had a glass of champagne in hand and the hors d’oeuvres trays were nearly empty, Colonel Jasper called for everybody’s attention as the professor gestured for them all to be
seated.
“We all worked hard to get here” said the Colonel, “and we are all proud of what has been accomplished. But I would urge that we not be too awe struck, at least not just yet. Ladies, gentleman, and families of the Alternity Group, I give you the man of the hour‐ Commodore Justin Nicholas Thyme!”
The applause was polite but intense as Justin took center stage, with more than a few whistles and hoots coming from the black-tie crowd.
“My good friends” he began, “if I were to travel from the age of dinosaurs to Minotaurs, from the Ice Age to the time of fragrant spice trades, from the beginning of time to this time of new beginnings, it would still be impossible to find a better friend or a man more fit to lead our project than the one I am here to introduce. Please welcome Alternity Group’s Chief Executive Officer, and my good personal friend, the honorable Senator Morgan Stilwell.”
The Senator walked out from the balcony where, unbeknownst to him, he had recently watched the mission glitch unfold. He gave Justin a bear hug, took center suite, and faced the cheering assembly. After a few moments, his face grew serious, the crowd quieted and the atmosphere changed.
“Friends, the time has come for us to congratulate ourselves on a job well done. Go ahead, give yourselves a hand.”
The room gave themselves a smattering of applause. “There. Now, with that behind us, it’s time to reveal the true scope of the mission before us. I must ask all non‐members of Alternity Group to please leave the room.”
People gasped.
Chapter Twenty Four
Bringing the Heat
The big wigs must be in town, thought Detective Raskins, as he passed the Mile High on a bright Chronopolis afternoon. A line of limos stretched the entire length of the long horseshoe driveway, and the doorman stood shaking someone’s hand at about the midway point, under a fancy overhead structure called a ‘Flying
M’. He wanted to ask what was going on, but it was his first day off in weeks and he was anxious to go flying himself. With a thermos full of coffee and a pocket of bread sticks from the table of a local steak house, he pulled into the Mooring facility, and used the restroom one last time. Everyone knew his car, so leaving it there was nothing to worry about.
“A-wooh!” he shouted joyously, and it echoed throughout the empty structure. He fumbled for his magnetic pass card, and used it to access the mooring area. After passing many rows of hovercraft, he reached his own slip and was confounded to find it empty.
“What the..” he whispered to himself, exasperated. As he checked out all the possibilities, his heart began to race. It wasn’t in the slip or the repair bay, and it wasn’t being tested.
“Well can you believe it- it’s been stolen!” he lamented. Back at his car he pushed the two way, and it hissed like an angry Tom Cat. “Base, come in over, this is Raskins."
“Yeah John, we read. I thought it was your day off, just can’t get
enough, is that it?” came the response.
“Well you’re right, it is, and I was going to go flying, but my hovercraft is missing from the bay. You guys fucking around again? It ain’t my birthday you know‐ please, tell me you got it."
“Negative, my friend, wish I could. You want to put it out as an APB or just keep it on the down low for now?”
“Ah, just put it out‐ and let me know right away if anything” said Raskins.
“Will do. Sorry to hear about it, base out." Detective Raskins retreated to his car and left the facility.
“All those hovercraft and they had to take mine”, he spat. It wasn’t as though he had a lot of enemies. He treated everyone with respect. “What is this place coming too?” he asked himself. He pulled a bread stick from his pocket and tore off a bite with some ferocity. “Well you know what? Maybe no more Mr. nice guy."
Once out on the highway, the sun, breeze, and beautiful afternoon all got the better of him. After all, the darn thing really belonged to the bank and not to him. Then came the call over the police two way.
“Detective Raskins, John- come in John."
“Yeah, got something for me?” he asked.
“They found the hovercraft, they’re looking at it now” came the report.
“In what condition?” Detective Raskins asked.
“It’s fine, probably wasn’t kids or a chop shop crew."
“Where is it?” Raskins asked further.
“Sitting on the front lawn at Alternity Corporation, you know the place?”
“Sure do. That bunch of weirdos always making noise."
“Right. There’s a Lieutenant Baxter from Chronopolis Military Command Center there who’s also interested for whatever reason. He’s gonna meet you there, base out."
The Detective was now spending his day off racing to a crime scene where the crime was Grand Theft Auto, the auto was his, and the scene was the front lawn of the Alternity Corporation Facility, home of the very secretive Alternity Group.
“Something about that place” thought Detective Raskins.
Bringing the Heat
The big wigs must be in town, thought Detective Raskins, as he passed the Mile High on a bright Chronopolis afternoon. A line of limos stretched the entire length of the long horseshoe driveway, and the doorman stood shaking someone’s hand at about the midway point, under a fancy overhead structure called a ‘Flying
M’. He wanted to ask what was going on, but it was his first day off in weeks and he was anxious to go flying himself. With a thermos full of coffee and a pocket of bread sticks from the table of a local steak house, he pulled into the Mooring facility, and used the restroom one last time. Everyone knew his car, so leaving it there was nothing to worry about.
“A-wooh!” he shouted joyously, and it echoed throughout the empty structure. He fumbled for his magnetic pass card, and used it to access the mooring area. After passing many rows of hovercraft, he reached his own slip and was confounded to find it empty.
“What the..” he whispered to himself, exasperated. As he checked out all the possibilities, his heart began to race. It wasn’t in the slip or the repair bay, and it wasn’t being tested.
“Well can you believe it- it’s been stolen!” he lamented. Back at his car he pushed the two way, and it hissed like an angry Tom Cat. “Base, come in over, this is Raskins."
“Yeah John, we read. I thought it was your day off, just can’t get
enough, is that it?” came the response.
“Well you’re right, it is, and I was going to go flying, but my hovercraft is missing from the bay. You guys fucking around again? It ain’t my birthday you know‐ please, tell me you got it."
“Negative, my friend, wish I could. You want to put it out as an APB or just keep it on the down low for now?”
“Ah, just put it out‐ and let me know right away if anything” said Raskins.
“Will do. Sorry to hear about it, base out." Detective Raskins retreated to his car and left the facility.
“All those hovercraft and they had to take mine”, he spat. It wasn’t as though he had a lot of enemies. He treated everyone with respect. “What is this place coming too?” he asked himself. He pulled a bread stick from his pocket and tore off a bite with some ferocity. “Well you know what? Maybe no more Mr. nice guy."
Once out on the highway, the sun, breeze, and beautiful afternoon all got the better of him. After all, the darn thing really belonged to the bank and not to him. Then came the call over the police two way.
“Detective Raskins, John- come in John."
“Yeah, got something for me?” he asked.
“They found the hovercraft, they’re looking at it now” came the report.
“In what condition?” Detective Raskins asked.
“It’s fine, probably wasn’t kids or a chop shop crew."
“Where is it?” Raskins asked further.
“Sitting on the front lawn at Alternity Corporation, you know the place?”
“Sure do. That bunch of weirdos always making noise."
“Right. There’s a Lieutenant Baxter from Chronopolis Military Command Center there who’s also interested for whatever reason. He’s gonna meet you there, base out."
The Detective was now spending his day off racing to a crime scene where the crime was Grand Theft Auto, the auto was his, and the scene was the front lawn of the Alternity Corporation Facility, home of the very secretive Alternity Group.
“Something about that place” thought Detective Raskins.
Chapter Twenty Five
Boot Camp
“Alright raisins, listen up!” shouted Colonel Jaspar to the roomful of sweating recruits. “This next one is like playing ‘twister’- see those colored circles? You will sprint across the room, and I will shout out a color, at which time you will drop to the floor, place one knee on that color, then twist your torso around opening fire on your target. Two shots maximum, points off for shooting the wrong targets. Everybody got that?”
The line of recruits nodded eagerly, each huffing and puffing, with their hands on their knees. First up was a young woman in tight polydex. She wore two 6000 megaburst Polasers, one strapped to each thigh, and she moved like a panther. An advanced recruit nearing the end of her training program, the Colonel liked her to go first as an example to others. Her name was Infinity Stairs.
“When I call your name, you will line up single file” shouted the Colonel. “Stairs, Terco, Fulton, Nightbird, you're up!”
The girl in black polydex sprinted across the room like the star runner at a track meet. The Colonel yelled ‘blue!’ She knelt, turned, and popped off two bursts. Having reduced her targets to smoking ash, she returned with a swagger to the back of the line. Special Agents Terco and Fulton laughed to each other that it was an impressive display.
“What did he say her name was again?” asked Terco.
“Terco, you’re up, Cinderella, or do you need Ms. Stairs to show it to you again?” barked the Colonel. Terco lit out across the room like a Cheetah. “Green!” shouted Colonel Jasper. Terco spun sideways like a diver doing a half‐twist, dragged one knee over a green circle and fired a single shot- a polaser burst between the eyes of a target made to look like a bank robber. But he didn’t shoot another made to look like a family pet.
“Good shooting Cinderella,” shouted Colonel Jasper. “Fulton, you’re up! Nightbird, you’re next!”
At the back of the line, Special Agent Terco stood hands on hips, catching his breath. The noise of the training room seemed to fade off into the background as he marveled at the woman called Stairs.
“Hey, that was some pretty hot shooting” he said to her. I’m Terco- Robert Terco, but my friends just call me Turk."
The lady in the black polydex suit looked back at him blankly as she reloaded her weapons.
“Nice to meet you, Jerk” she said. Then her name was called, and she sprinted across the room again.
“I think she likes you,” his partner Fulton laughed.
“Pure chemistry,” added Nightbird, a young woman of native descent and another agent‐in‐training.
“Fulton, let’s go!” the Colonel called out. He walked over to Terco and whispered, “She’s out of your league Turk”. But Terco didn’t hear it, as he kneeled, turned and shot out another target.
“He’s got skills,” Infinity later confided to the Colonel.
“Uh‐huh,” the Colonel agreed. “And he’s gonna need them."
Boot Camp
“Alright raisins, listen up!” shouted Colonel Jaspar to the roomful of sweating recruits. “This next one is like playing ‘twister’- see those colored circles? You will sprint across the room, and I will shout out a color, at which time you will drop to the floor, place one knee on that color, then twist your torso around opening fire on your target. Two shots maximum, points off for shooting the wrong targets. Everybody got that?”
The line of recruits nodded eagerly, each huffing and puffing, with their hands on their knees. First up was a young woman in tight polydex. She wore two 6000 megaburst Polasers, one strapped to each thigh, and she moved like a panther. An advanced recruit nearing the end of her training program, the Colonel liked her to go first as an example to others. Her name was Infinity Stairs.
“When I call your name, you will line up single file” shouted the Colonel. “Stairs, Terco, Fulton, Nightbird, you're up!”
The girl in black polydex sprinted across the room like the star runner at a track meet. The Colonel yelled ‘blue!’ She knelt, turned, and popped off two bursts. Having reduced her targets to smoking ash, she returned with a swagger to the back of the line. Special Agents Terco and Fulton laughed to each other that it was an impressive display.
“What did he say her name was again?” asked Terco.
“Terco, you’re up, Cinderella, or do you need Ms. Stairs to show it to you again?” barked the Colonel. Terco lit out across the room like a Cheetah. “Green!” shouted Colonel Jasper. Terco spun sideways like a diver doing a half‐twist, dragged one knee over a green circle and fired a single shot- a polaser burst between the eyes of a target made to look like a bank robber. But he didn’t shoot another made to look like a family pet.
“Good shooting Cinderella,” shouted Colonel Jasper. “Fulton, you’re up! Nightbird, you’re next!”
At the back of the line, Special Agent Terco stood hands on hips, catching his breath. The noise of the training room seemed to fade off into the background as he marveled at the woman called Stairs.
“Hey, that was some pretty hot shooting” he said to her. I’m Terco- Robert Terco, but my friends just call me Turk."
The lady in the black polydex suit looked back at him blankly as she reloaded her weapons.
“Nice to meet you, Jerk” she said. Then her name was called, and she sprinted across the room again.
“I think she likes you,” his partner Fulton laughed.
“Pure chemistry,” added Nightbird, a young woman of native descent and another agent‐in‐training.
“Fulton, let’s go!” the Colonel called out. He walked over to Terco and whispered, “She’s out of your league Turk”. But Terco didn’t hear it, as he kneeled, turned and shot out another target.
“He’s got skills,” Infinity later confided to the Colonel.
“Uh‐huh,” the Colonel agreed. “And he’s gonna need them."
Chapter Twenty Six
A Warm Fire
Doctor Binder arrived at Maria’s confinement wing in the basement of the Alternity Group facility at 6:00 am. He was about to call out in middle Bulgarian when the door creaked open. It was Maria, who had been anticipating his arrival. Binder held out his hands to show her he had no weapons, and he had brought supplies. She opened the door, and this time, let him in.
Looking around, he marveled at the way she had redecorated. With just a well placed fur here, and a mat there, she had made a cold, damp place comfortable. She gestured for him to sit by a glowing fire, left the room for a moment and returned to hand him a steaming bowl of rabbit broth. She then sat down next to him, lacing up a fresh pair of rabbit‐skin boots. Amazing, he thought to himself. By now, Maria’s condition had become a little more evident, and she wore it well. So long as nothing was done to confuse the poor lass, it was also obvious that her nesting instincts were taking over, and that could only be good for her, the child and Alternitycorp.
In the days after, Maria grew larger and larger, while becoming more and more trusting of Doctor Binder. She began to show the softer side of her nature as the two spent many hours together. At one point, Maria looked him in the eye, grabbed his hand and placed it to her stomach. Doctor Binder was delighted to feel the kicking of her developing baby. He smiled at her and she at him.
“And what of a name, my lady? What shall ye call him?” asked the Doctor.
“That be dependin’ on if it be she or he!” Maria answered.
“No matter” said the doctor, “so long as it be strappin." At this, he unrolled a beautiful woolen blanket he had picked up at the facility PX. Maria’s eyes lit up at the site of such craftsmanship. She had never seen a blanket woven by machine. It was so perfect, she thought. Doctor Binder stood up and gently draped it over her soft
shoulders. She tried to show the Doctor her appreciation, but he resisted, having found himself in an ethical quandary.
“Do ya find me plain?” she asked him.
“Lady Maria” he said, “for me, you are the only woman in the wide world."
She snuggled close to him and fell comfortably asleep on his shoulder.
‘This’ he thought, ‘is paradise’.
A Warm Fire
Doctor Binder arrived at Maria’s confinement wing in the basement of the Alternity Group facility at 6:00 am. He was about to call out in middle Bulgarian when the door creaked open. It was Maria, who had been anticipating his arrival. Binder held out his hands to show her he had no weapons, and he had brought supplies. She opened the door, and this time, let him in.
Looking around, he marveled at the way she had redecorated. With just a well placed fur here, and a mat there, she had made a cold, damp place comfortable. She gestured for him to sit by a glowing fire, left the room for a moment and returned to hand him a steaming bowl of rabbit broth. She then sat down next to him, lacing up a fresh pair of rabbit‐skin boots. Amazing, he thought to himself. By now, Maria’s condition had become a little more evident, and she wore it well. So long as nothing was done to confuse the poor lass, it was also obvious that her nesting instincts were taking over, and that could only be good for her, the child and Alternitycorp.
In the days after, Maria grew larger and larger, while becoming more and more trusting of Doctor Binder. She began to show the softer side of her nature as the two spent many hours together. At one point, Maria looked him in the eye, grabbed his hand and placed it to her stomach. Doctor Binder was delighted to feel the kicking of her developing baby. He smiled at her and she at him.
“And what of a name, my lady? What shall ye call him?” asked the Doctor.
“That be dependin’ on if it be she or he!” Maria answered.
“No matter” said the doctor, “so long as it be strappin." At this, he unrolled a beautiful woolen blanket he had picked up at the facility PX. Maria’s eyes lit up at the site of such craftsmanship. She had never seen a blanket woven by machine. It was so perfect, she thought. Doctor Binder stood up and gently draped it over her soft
shoulders. She tried to show the Doctor her appreciation, but he resisted, having found himself in an ethical quandary.
“Do ya find me plain?” she asked him.
“Lady Maria” he said, “for me, you are the only woman in the wide world."
She snuggled close to him and fell comfortably asleep on his shoulder.
‘This’ he thought, ‘is paradise’.
Chapter Twenty Seven
First Target
With the outer doors closed, the only sound in the hotel room was the occasional ‘whoosh’ of a passing vehicle. Senator Stilwell stood in the center of the room, reflecting thoughtfully.
“Fellows, we have all come to know our charter. We know who we are and what we stand for. Now the time has come for action. It’s easy to see things could be better with minimal changes made to the past.”
Everyone knew where this was going, only the particulars remained a mystery. Senator Stilwell was about to put even those last mysteries to bed as he reached down for the pointing stick.
“You are all aware it is no longer beyond the capability of man to revise past events, thereby reshaping the present. Reality is no longer an absolute. We have a finger on our fate, and a hand on our destiny. Sure, we’ve already seen how manipulating the past can be dangerous, but with care, we can use our invention to set
things profoundly right.”
He placed pointer to chalkboard, and tapped rhythmically on several small, colorful chalk markings.
“Here is a list of seemingly innocuous historical events, whose effects later became vast in scope.”
A hand shot up in the second row. It belonged to a scientist named Franz Graber, last of a family of famous Swiss watch makers. Franz was always filled with questions about the nature of time travel, the problems associated with causality, and the paradoxes chrononomy invariably raised. Relentless and brilliant, he was here to piss in the punchbowl.
“And what of the innocent citizens of a former reality, or those who end up, as a consequence of our actions, never having been born- are we their murderers?” Graber asked. “At some point, shall we consider the present to be satisfactory? Or will we forever seek to change smaller and smaller details, micro-manage the omniverse, as it were? These questions must be adequately addressed before the project can move any further, wouldn’t you all agree?"
Many in the room fiddled uncomfortably at the gravity of his questions. There was no doubt of their validity. There was also no doubt that the moral dilemmas in answering them was dogma the project didn’t need. After some mumbling and grumbling, they pressed on. The consensus was, here was a chance to save an entire world, not just a wetland, a forest, a tribe or a species. The Chrona offered the power to short‐circuit history, to re-write what had turned out to be a worst case scenario of destruction, the poisoning of entire oceans- a perfect storm, if you will. Was it a crime to use it- or was it a crime not to use it?
Senator Stilwell continued, “Our first target is La Paz on the southern tip of Baja, California, in 1533. Cortez ordered two ships built in 1532 on the shores of Tehuantepec, just to the south. The following year he sent them to begin colonization of California and their first landing was at La Paz. When Columbus landed on San Salvador, the Taino Indians who naively came out to greet him were rewarded with abduction and sold into slavery. Then followed the industrialization of the most bio‐diverse three and a half million square miles on Earth."
The room was quiet. "We believe we can stop it. When those ships reach La Paz, our agents will be waiting for them. Our plan is to send a team back there to light the fuse of resistance. These teams are already in training, and I’d like to know we have unanimous support, Franz," he said looking at the thoughtful scientist.
The Alternity Group members rose from their chairs and left the room in single file. Senator Stilwell stood at the doorway offering to shake the hand of each team member on the way out, and all of them did ‐except Franz Graber.
First Target
With the outer doors closed, the only sound in the hotel room was the occasional ‘whoosh’ of a passing vehicle. Senator Stilwell stood in the center of the room, reflecting thoughtfully.
“Fellows, we have all come to know our charter. We know who we are and what we stand for. Now the time has come for action. It’s easy to see things could be better with minimal changes made to the past.”
Everyone knew where this was going, only the particulars remained a mystery. Senator Stilwell was about to put even those last mysteries to bed as he reached down for the pointing stick.
“You are all aware it is no longer beyond the capability of man to revise past events, thereby reshaping the present. Reality is no longer an absolute. We have a finger on our fate, and a hand on our destiny. Sure, we’ve already seen how manipulating the past can be dangerous, but with care, we can use our invention to set
things profoundly right.”
He placed pointer to chalkboard, and tapped rhythmically on several small, colorful chalk markings.
“Here is a list of seemingly innocuous historical events, whose effects later became vast in scope.”
A hand shot up in the second row. It belonged to a scientist named Franz Graber, last of a family of famous Swiss watch makers. Franz was always filled with questions about the nature of time travel, the problems associated with causality, and the paradoxes chrononomy invariably raised. Relentless and brilliant, he was here to piss in the punchbowl.
“And what of the innocent citizens of a former reality, or those who end up, as a consequence of our actions, never having been born- are we their murderers?” Graber asked. “At some point, shall we consider the present to be satisfactory? Or will we forever seek to change smaller and smaller details, micro-manage the omniverse, as it were? These questions must be adequately addressed before the project can move any further, wouldn’t you all agree?"
Many in the room fiddled uncomfortably at the gravity of his questions. There was no doubt of their validity. There was also no doubt that the moral dilemmas in answering them was dogma the project didn’t need. After some mumbling and grumbling, they pressed on. The consensus was, here was a chance to save an entire world, not just a wetland, a forest, a tribe or a species. The Chrona offered the power to short‐circuit history, to re-write what had turned out to be a worst case scenario of destruction, the poisoning of entire oceans- a perfect storm, if you will. Was it a crime to use it- or was it a crime not to use it?
Senator Stilwell continued, “Our first target is La Paz on the southern tip of Baja, California, in 1533. Cortez ordered two ships built in 1532 on the shores of Tehuantepec, just to the south. The following year he sent them to begin colonization of California and their first landing was at La Paz. When Columbus landed on San Salvador, the Taino Indians who naively came out to greet him were rewarded with abduction and sold into slavery. Then followed the industrialization of the most bio‐diverse three and a half million square miles on Earth."
The room was quiet. "We believe we can stop it. When those ships reach La Paz, our agents will be waiting for them. Our plan is to send a team back there to light the fuse of resistance. These teams are already in training, and I’d like to know we have unanimous support, Franz," he said looking at the thoughtful scientist.
The Alternity Group members rose from their chairs and left the room in single file. Senator Stilwell stood at the doorway offering to shake the hand of each team member on the way out, and all of them did ‐except Franz Graber.
Chapter Twenty Eight
The Investigation
When Detective Raskins arrived on the front lawn of AlternityCorp, Lieutenant Baxter was there waiting for him. He had already set up a crime scene perimeter, with guards stationed at the corners of a taped‐off area. In the center of that area, sat his stolen hovercraft. Some day off, he thought.
“I appreciate you coming down on your day off, John,” said the lieutenant. “I need it dusted for prints."
“Well Bob, I do have a certain interest in this case, you know” answered Detective Raskins.
“Oh, how so?” asked the lieutenant.
“It’s my car!” said Raskins.
The Detective ordered an arriving police van to dust the recovered vehicle. As they worked, Detective Raskins made calls to his bank, his insurance company, and his wife. “I am so sorry about your new toy, dear” she said, comforting him. “Who in the world would do such a thing‐ and to a police officer!” she added.
“No idea yet, but we’re dusting for prints now. Don’t worry, we’ll find the perp. In the meantime, don’t worry about the craft, it’s insured to the hilt” he said, comforting her in return.
“Yes,” she agreed, “and financed to the hilt, too."
He turned his attention back to the crime scene. “Has anybody spoken to the sentries on duty? They must have
seen something."
“There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of people here right now,” said the lieutenant, “but I was thinking there may be surveillance footage."
“Now there’s a thought,” said Raskins. “How do we get our hands on that?”
“If you can’t get a warrant, I’ll ask the General to declare an emergency and confiscate any video records for security purposes,” answered the lieutenant. By now, the fingerprint crew had gone over the whole scene, inside the craft and out. The side of the police van slid outward, and the van became a mobile crime lab. Investigators working inside could be seen through the windows, mixing print‐dust in small vials of liquid. After a few last shakes, a field investigator held a vial under an infra red light, studied it there for a moment, and shouted, “Detective Raskins, we’ve got something.”
Meanwhile, sentries at the front entrance of AlternityCorp stood motionless, and uncooperative. Like the Royal Guards of Britain, they ignored all questions and showed no signs of emotion or even recognition. When the investigators finally gave up on them and walked away, the sentries looked at each other and smiled. One of them waved a palm over his chronophone, and contacted Senator Stilwell.
“Stilwell here” said a voice from a holograph.
“Sir, there’s a bunch of suits on the lawn swarming over that hovercraft like mosquitoes. Looks like they’re gonna be trouble, over” reported the sentry.
“Did you speak with them at all?” asked the Senator.
“Negative sir” he answered, proudly.
“Very well, private- carry on,” he ordered.
Back on the lawn, there was a commotion at the van. Detective Raskins stood holding a vial in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.
“Lieutenant Baxter!” he shouted. “Lieutenant Baxter!”
The lieutenant turned his attention from the hovercraft. “Yes John?” he asked.
“Lieutenant, we have a warrant for the arrest of Justin Nicholas Thyme.”
The Investigation
When Detective Raskins arrived on the front lawn of AlternityCorp, Lieutenant Baxter was there waiting for him. He had already set up a crime scene perimeter, with guards stationed at the corners of a taped‐off area. In the center of that area, sat his stolen hovercraft. Some day off, he thought.
“I appreciate you coming down on your day off, John,” said the lieutenant. “I need it dusted for prints."
“Well Bob, I do have a certain interest in this case, you know” answered Detective Raskins.
“Oh, how so?” asked the lieutenant.
“It’s my car!” said Raskins.
The Detective ordered an arriving police van to dust the recovered vehicle. As they worked, Detective Raskins made calls to his bank, his insurance company, and his wife. “I am so sorry about your new toy, dear” she said, comforting him. “Who in the world would do such a thing‐ and to a police officer!” she added.
“No idea yet, but we’re dusting for prints now. Don’t worry, we’ll find the perp. In the meantime, don’t worry about the craft, it’s insured to the hilt” he said, comforting her in return.
“Yes,” she agreed, “and financed to the hilt, too."
He turned his attention back to the crime scene. “Has anybody spoken to the sentries on duty? They must have
seen something."
“There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of people here right now,” said the lieutenant, “but I was thinking there may be surveillance footage."
“Now there’s a thought,” said Raskins. “How do we get our hands on that?”
“If you can’t get a warrant, I’ll ask the General to declare an emergency and confiscate any video records for security purposes,” answered the lieutenant. By now, the fingerprint crew had gone over the whole scene, inside the craft and out. The side of the police van slid outward, and the van became a mobile crime lab. Investigators working inside could be seen through the windows, mixing print‐dust in small vials of liquid. After a few last shakes, a field investigator held a vial under an infra red light, studied it there for a moment, and shouted, “Detective Raskins, we’ve got something.”
Meanwhile, sentries at the front entrance of AlternityCorp stood motionless, and uncooperative. Like the Royal Guards of Britain, they ignored all questions and showed no signs of emotion or even recognition. When the investigators finally gave up on them and walked away, the sentries looked at each other and smiled. One of them waved a palm over his chronophone, and contacted Senator Stilwell.
“Stilwell here” said a voice from a holograph.
“Sir, there’s a bunch of suits on the lawn swarming over that hovercraft like mosquitoes. Looks like they’re gonna be trouble, over” reported the sentry.
“Did you speak with them at all?” asked the Senator.
“Negative sir” he answered, proudly.
“Very well, private- carry on,” he ordered.
Back on the lawn, there was a commotion at the van. Detective Raskins stood holding a vial in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.
“Lieutenant Baxter!” he shouted. “Lieutenant Baxter!”
The lieutenant turned his attention from the hovercraft. “Yes John?” he asked.
“Lieutenant, we have a warrant for the arrest of Justin Nicholas Thyme.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
The Renaissance Faire
“You must be out of your mind!” shouted the Senator. “There is no way that woman is ready for the outside world, nor it for her- she belongs to the past.”
“Senator, just hear me out”, replied Doctor Benjamin Binder. “Watch the films; she’s made a lot of progress since her arrival. It is certainly not helpful to our cause for her to be kept in a locked room. Getting out in the sun would be therapeutic for her, she needs to be around people."
“Around people? Around people? Doctor, do you remember what happened the last time that little hellcat was around people?" "Someone died!” the Senator fired back.
Across the room, the professor sat at his desk, quietly fiddling with a Rubik’s cube. He, too, was interested in improving Maria’s mental health, and said so. “Let’s reserve judgment until we’ve heard the doctor’s proposal.
The woman can’t be kept as a prisoner. We either take steps to improve her well being or send her back to Constantinople” he said. “I have studied the tapes, and I agree. Maria has made enormous progress. You are to be commended, doctor. The question is, where do you take a Byzantine Princess in this day
and age without causing a stir, or creating one?”
Doctor Binder spread a large color poster across the Senators desk with the words, ‘Renaissance Faire’ splashed across the top. It sported a glorious photo of a knight in shining armor, holding the reigns of a rearing white stallion, similarly adorned. “I’ll need a costume and a dress for m’lady, and of course, a steed,” he smiled.
“Of course.” answered the professor.
The Senator knew he had lost this one and stood shaking his head side to side. “Of course.” he added.
The suns shown so brightly that lady Maria could see them through the hefty blindfold she wore.
“It’s for your own protection, m’lady”, he had told her. The footsteps of their large horse clipity‐clopped through the streets of Chronopolis, then fell silent on the grass of the Fairgrounds. The Chronopolis Society for Creative Anachronism Club was holding their annual Renaissance Faire and Doctor Binder knew it would make Maria feel somewhat at home. Maria was helped off the horse by gate attendants, but it was Binder who removed the blindfold. She marveled at the sights as he tied the horse, then took her by both hands and looked her up
and down.
“You make that dress look wonderful!” he opined.
Maria told him it was the most beautiful thing she had ever worn, and that he would be knighted when they reached Constantinople. He unconsciously felt for the broadsword he wore on his hilt at the thought of it. Could be arranged, he thought jokingly to himself. They walked through the faire turning not a few heads. Many were the characters and costumes, and fancy were the chickens running underfoot. They watched as faux knights put on displays of sword fighting and a joust. Doctor Binder smiled broadly as Maria sat devouring the leg of a roasted chicken, handing her a damp towel afterward. When they reached the heart of the faire, Maria led the doctor behind a series of tents and kissed him. His heart raced and his knees nearly buckled as he tore himself away. But she would have none of it, and kissed him with a fiery passion the world hadn’t seen in almost a thousand years.
“Ho ha!” shouted a large stranger who had come behind the tents to relieve himself. He walked straight toward them and pushed the sleight Doctor Binder roughly aside. “The wench will be mine!” he
shouted, drawing his sword.
Doctor Binder put his hands in the air and pleaded with the actor. “No please‐ you don’t understand!” he yelled.
“Oye, I understand alright! You be too timid a vermin for the lass!” He snatched a passing chicken by the neck, sliced off its head and handed it to Maria all in one move. “Take this and cook it wench! I’ll be along for dinner after I dispatch your two legged chicken!”
“Please, you don’t understand!” said Binder once again.
Maria stood aghast as spurt after spurt of chicken blood sprayed all over the front of her beautiful dress. Doctor Binder winced as he watched the fire build in her eyes. The large man stood holding the bleeding chicken in one hand and his sword in the other, a ghastly grin smeared across his face. Maria thought back to the last man who had tried to steal her from her husband. He died a slow, agonizing death. She would be more merciful this time. The world slowed almost to a stand still with Doctor Binder watching in horror as Maria reached back for the sword. Snatching it from the scabbard, she waved it three times, like a magician waves a wand. One stroke separated head from body, the return stroke sliced the torso and arms in two, and the final stroke severed both legs just above the knees.
And so it was done. The man’s grimacing face sat atop eight pieces of fresh meat piled two feet high. Maria smiled back at the Doctor. “Do ye be alright?” she asked.
“Nay!” said Doctor Binder and he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out of there. “Drop the sword, and let’s be off with ye!” he yelled.
They emerged calmly from the tangle of tents and walked arm in arm back to their waiting horse.
The Renaissance Faire
“You must be out of your mind!” shouted the Senator. “There is no way that woman is ready for the outside world, nor it for her- she belongs to the past.”
“Senator, just hear me out”, replied Doctor Benjamin Binder. “Watch the films; she’s made a lot of progress since her arrival. It is certainly not helpful to our cause for her to be kept in a locked room. Getting out in the sun would be therapeutic for her, she needs to be around people."
“Around people? Around people? Doctor, do you remember what happened the last time that little hellcat was around people?" "Someone died!” the Senator fired back.
Across the room, the professor sat at his desk, quietly fiddling with a Rubik’s cube. He, too, was interested in improving Maria’s mental health, and said so. “Let’s reserve judgment until we’ve heard the doctor’s proposal.
The woman can’t be kept as a prisoner. We either take steps to improve her well being or send her back to Constantinople” he said. “I have studied the tapes, and I agree. Maria has made enormous progress. You are to be commended, doctor. The question is, where do you take a Byzantine Princess in this day
and age without causing a stir, or creating one?”
Doctor Binder spread a large color poster across the Senators desk with the words, ‘Renaissance Faire’ splashed across the top. It sported a glorious photo of a knight in shining armor, holding the reigns of a rearing white stallion, similarly adorned. “I’ll need a costume and a dress for m’lady, and of course, a steed,” he smiled.
“Of course.” answered the professor.
The Senator knew he had lost this one and stood shaking his head side to side. “Of course.” he added.
The suns shown so brightly that lady Maria could see them through the hefty blindfold she wore.
“It’s for your own protection, m’lady”, he had told her. The footsteps of their large horse clipity‐clopped through the streets of Chronopolis, then fell silent on the grass of the Fairgrounds. The Chronopolis Society for Creative Anachronism Club was holding their annual Renaissance Faire and Doctor Binder knew it would make Maria feel somewhat at home. Maria was helped off the horse by gate attendants, but it was Binder who removed the blindfold. She marveled at the sights as he tied the horse, then took her by both hands and looked her up
and down.
“You make that dress look wonderful!” he opined.
Maria told him it was the most beautiful thing she had ever worn, and that he would be knighted when they reached Constantinople. He unconsciously felt for the broadsword he wore on his hilt at the thought of it. Could be arranged, he thought jokingly to himself. They walked through the faire turning not a few heads. Many were the characters and costumes, and fancy were the chickens running underfoot. They watched as faux knights put on displays of sword fighting and a joust. Doctor Binder smiled broadly as Maria sat devouring the leg of a roasted chicken, handing her a damp towel afterward. When they reached the heart of the faire, Maria led the doctor behind a series of tents and kissed him. His heart raced and his knees nearly buckled as he tore himself away. But she would have none of it, and kissed him with a fiery passion the world hadn’t seen in almost a thousand years.
“Ho ha!” shouted a large stranger who had come behind the tents to relieve himself. He walked straight toward them and pushed the sleight Doctor Binder roughly aside. “The wench will be mine!” he
shouted, drawing his sword.
Doctor Binder put his hands in the air and pleaded with the actor. “No please‐ you don’t understand!” he yelled.
“Oye, I understand alright! You be too timid a vermin for the lass!” He snatched a passing chicken by the neck, sliced off its head and handed it to Maria all in one move. “Take this and cook it wench! I’ll be along for dinner after I dispatch your two legged chicken!”
“Please, you don’t understand!” said Binder once again.
Maria stood aghast as spurt after spurt of chicken blood sprayed all over the front of her beautiful dress. Doctor Binder winced as he watched the fire build in her eyes. The large man stood holding the bleeding chicken in one hand and his sword in the other, a ghastly grin smeared across his face. Maria thought back to the last man who had tried to steal her from her husband. He died a slow, agonizing death. She would be more merciful this time. The world slowed almost to a stand still with Doctor Binder watching in horror as Maria reached back for the sword. Snatching it from the scabbard, she waved it three times, like a magician waves a wand. One stroke separated head from body, the return stroke sliced the torso and arms in two, and the final stroke severed both legs just above the knees.
And so it was done. The man’s grimacing face sat atop eight pieces of fresh meat piled two feet high. Maria smiled back at the Doctor. “Do ye be alright?” she asked.
“Nay!” said Doctor Binder and he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out of there. “Drop the sword, and let’s be off with ye!” he yelled.
They emerged calmly from the tangle of tents and walked arm in arm back to their waiting horse.
Chapter Thirty
The White Horse
Detective Raskins had no care in the world as he took the hovercraft through its paces high above Chronopolis. All systems seemed to be working fine, and the view was awesome from horizon to horizon. Cirrus clouds with silver linings whisped across the azure sky, becoming hummingbirds, dragons, and just about anything else he could imagine them to be. He was about to bank around for another pass over the Mile High when a call came over the police two‐way.
“Base to Raskins, can you read me, over” it squawked.
Detective Raskins chose to ignore the call until he completed one more loop, his stomach wedged solidly into his mouth from the centrifugal force.
“Base to Detective Raskins, come in please” it called him again.
“Yeah, Raskins here. Go ahead Base, over” he replied.
“John, we need you over at the Burgundy County Fairgrounds right away, do you copy, over?” asked the police switchboard operator.
“I’m on my way. I’ve got my hovercraft so it’ll only take a minute. What have you got?” he asked.
“Looks like we got a hack job on a wackjob. Somebody carved up one of the actors at the Renaissance Faire, over”.
“I can see it now, Base. Raskins, over and out”
“Thanks John, Base out.”
Descending from one thousand feet, Detective Raskins could see a crowd gathered around a group of flowing white tents. The afternoon breeze had them billowing like mainsails on a frigate ship. At five hundred feet he made out a uniformed policeman waving him in for a landing. He landed, set the magnets on warm and popped out of the cockpit.
“Thanks for comin’ down, John. It happened right through there,” said the uniformed officer. “Pretty gross,” he warned. Raskins walked through the tangle of tents and found himself stepping over bloody chicken parts and a huge bloodstained broadsword. “A chicken?” he asked. “Somebody killed a chicken?”
“Over here, John,” came a familiar voice. “It’s here”.
“Detective Raskins,” interrupted the uniformed officer, “have you met Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter.
“Yes I have‐ Bob, how are ya?” asked Raskins.
“We meet again, John. Good to see you” said Lieutenant Baxter.
“Thank you officer, that will be all,” he said, dismissing the policeman. “It’s not pretty, so brace yourself. He’s right there."
“Where?” asked Detective Raskins, nearly tripping over the small pile of meat. “Oh Christ!” he said. He took a moment to compose himself, and then said, “Where’s the rest of the body?”
“That’s the whole thing, John. It just looks small because it’s been sliced into cold cuts by somebody who really knew what they were doing.” said Lieutenant Baxter.
“Probably one of these weirdo Anarchists running around in their pajamas” said Detective Raskins.”
“Anachronists, John- and I don’t think so,” answered Baxter. "Witnesses say they saw a nice couple walk away about the same time, get on a white horse, and ride off into the sunsets."
“A white horse? You kiddin’ me?” asked Raskins.
“I never joke about cold cuts, John,” said the Lieutenant.
“What makes you think they were involved?” asked the detective.
“The woman was covered in blood, head to toe‐ that’s always suspicious, right?” the Lieutenant answered, smiling sarcastically.
Another call came over the two‐way. Detective Raskins and Lieutenant Baxter trotted over to the hovercraft, where they stood leaning and listening.“ Detective Raskins, we’ve located a horse matching the witnesses
description, over,” came the dispatch.
Raskins picked up the two‐way. “Raskins here, copy, what is the twenty of that horse, over?”
“Alternity Corporation Headquarters John, same spot where they found your hovercraft!”
The two men looked at each other with furrowed brows. “There’s something going on there,” said Detective Raskins.
The lieutenant nodded in agreement and added, “Let’s go find out what it is.”
The White Horse
Detective Raskins had no care in the world as he took the hovercraft through its paces high above Chronopolis. All systems seemed to be working fine, and the view was awesome from horizon to horizon. Cirrus clouds with silver linings whisped across the azure sky, becoming hummingbirds, dragons, and just about anything else he could imagine them to be. He was about to bank around for another pass over the Mile High when a call came over the police two‐way.
“Base to Raskins, can you read me, over” it squawked.
Detective Raskins chose to ignore the call until he completed one more loop, his stomach wedged solidly into his mouth from the centrifugal force.
“Base to Detective Raskins, come in please” it called him again.
“Yeah, Raskins here. Go ahead Base, over” he replied.
“John, we need you over at the Burgundy County Fairgrounds right away, do you copy, over?” asked the police switchboard operator.
“I’m on my way. I’ve got my hovercraft so it’ll only take a minute. What have you got?” he asked.
“Looks like we got a hack job on a wackjob. Somebody carved up one of the actors at the Renaissance Faire, over”.
“I can see it now, Base. Raskins, over and out”
“Thanks John, Base out.”
Descending from one thousand feet, Detective Raskins could see a crowd gathered around a group of flowing white tents. The afternoon breeze had them billowing like mainsails on a frigate ship. At five hundred feet he made out a uniformed policeman waving him in for a landing. He landed, set the magnets on warm and popped out of the cockpit.
“Thanks for comin’ down, John. It happened right through there,” said the uniformed officer. “Pretty gross,” he warned. Raskins walked through the tangle of tents and found himself stepping over bloody chicken parts and a huge bloodstained broadsword. “A chicken?” he asked. “Somebody killed a chicken?”
“Over here, John,” came a familiar voice. “It’s here”.
“Detective Raskins,” interrupted the uniformed officer, “have you met Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter.
“Yes I have‐ Bob, how are ya?” asked Raskins.
“We meet again, John. Good to see you” said Lieutenant Baxter.
“Thank you officer, that will be all,” he said, dismissing the policeman. “It’s not pretty, so brace yourself. He’s right there."
“Where?” asked Detective Raskins, nearly tripping over the small pile of meat. “Oh Christ!” he said. He took a moment to compose himself, and then said, “Where’s the rest of the body?”
“That’s the whole thing, John. It just looks small because it’s been sliced into cold cuts by somebody who really knew what they were doing.” said Lieutenant Baxter.
“Probably one of these weirdo Anarchists running around in their pajamas” said Detective Raskins.”
“Anachronists, John- and I don’t think so,” answered Baxter. "Witnesses say they saw a nice couple walk away about the same time, get on a white horse, and ride off into the sunsets."
“A white horse? You kiddin’ me?” asked Raskins.
“I never joke about cold cuts, John,” said the Lieutenant.
“What makes you think they were involved?” asked the detective.
“The woman was covered in blood, head to toe‐ that’s always suspicious, right?” the Lieutenant answered, smiling sarcastically.
Another call came over the two‐way. Detective Raskins and Lieutenant Baxter trotted over to the hovercraft, where they stood leaning and listening.“ Detective Raskins, we’ve located a horse matching the witnesses
description, over,” came the dispatch.
Raskins picked up the two‐way. “Raskins here, copy, what is the twenty of that horse, over?”
“Alternity Corporation Headquarters John, same spot where they found your hovercraft!”
The two men looked at each other with furrowed brows. “There’s something going on there,” said Detective Raskins.
The lieutenant nodded in agreement and added, “Let’s go find out what it is.”
Chapter Thirty One
A New Assignment
The words resounded over the facility loudspeaker like a grade school broadcast ordering someone to the principal’s office. “Doctor Binder, report to the Senator’s office. Doctor Benjamin Binder, to the senator’s office please.”
Senator Stilwell and the Professor bumped into each other several times dressing themselves in the small office. “Looks pretty sharp,” said the professor, commenting on the Senator’s snazzy three‐piece suit. The facility loudspeaker once again repeated the message, “Doctor Binder, report to the Senator’s office. Doctor Benjamin
Binder, to the Senator’s office please."
“Is that it? Is that what you’re wearing?” asked the Senator. “Corduroy went out with the last flood, professor. What is it with you intellectual types that make you so fashion deficient?”
“Well, listen to the runway model,” sneered the professor as he walked up behind his friend and pretended to choke him. Then, a voice came over the intercom saying, “Doctor Binder is here to see you Senator."
“Send him back” the Senator answered, pressing the button with one hand while busily knotting his tie with the other. The door opened and in walked Binder, dark circles turning his eyes into clams on the half shell. The Senator was now sitting at his desk, sipping coffee and flipping through the morning paper.
“Yes, Senator?” asked Doctor Binder.
“Looks like you had a rough night, Ben” said the Senator. “Anything you might want to talk about?”
Binder looked over at the professor, but got no help, as he quickly looked away. The Senator continued, “How did it go at the Faire? You two have fun?”
“Well sir, we‐“
“Know anything about this?” asked the Senator, turning the newspaper around so the Doctor could read it. Splashed across the front page, it said: ‘Faire Game‐ Authorities Investigate Dismemberment Killing’.
The Doctor dropped his head and stared at the floor. There was just nothing to say.
“Listen carefully Doctor,” said Senator Stilwell. “I want you to get Maria, blindfold her, and take her to the lab within the half hour. You will report to Commodore Thyme for duty, understood?”
“What will become of her?” asked Binder.
“Of you both,” said Stilwell. “You are being assigned to new duty, and yes, you will be together‐ for at least the next twenty years, that sound ok?”
“Yes sir!” he answered. He nodded to the professor, and left the office. “Now, where were we?” he asked.
“You were saying you didn’t like corduroy,” answered the professor.
“I was kidding, it looks fine. Let’s get to the graduation before they start without us." Downstairs in the facility basement, Doctor Binder knocked quietly on Maria’s door. She opened it before he was through, pulling him inside to a warm embrace. After kissing her passionately, he told her to get ready.
“Ready for what?” she asked.
“Get ye ready to leave, m’lady.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “We have to leave. Now.”
Chapter Thirty Two
Graduation
The marching band played beautifully, even putting on a dazzling dance routine as they passed in review. Trombones and tubas created brass harmonies that wafted from the luminaries and dignitaries in the bleachers, all the way up to the jet fighters doing an impressive flyover. When the band finished, the loudspeaker asked all in attendance to rise for the national anthem saying, “Ladies and Gentlemen, here to sing Crown of Chronopolis, please welcome singing star and international teen sensation, Persephone!” The crowd applauded wildly. Persephone was very popular, even in Burgundy County. The members of the graduating class of 2067 stood on their platforms holding both hands on their hearts, the national symbol of empathy.
Infinity Stairs stood on the highest platform, an honor earned by graduating first in her class. She was flanked on the right by her runner up and adoring fan, Special Agent Robert Terco. To her left stood second runner up, her best friend, Special Agent Nikki Night Bird. On the lowest platform stood Terco’s best friend, Special Agent Jefferson ‘Photon’ Fulton, who smiled throughout the entire ceremony. It was a moving anthem and Persephone sang it beautifully:
Crown of Chronopolis
With two hands upon our hearts
We guard this gateway
where the universe starts
Chronopolis for you
Chronopolis for me
No limit to what we may pursue
Our Metropolis is free
Hands on hearts
We bare our soul
Among the stars
A starring role
And if the suns
Should rise no more
Our agents still
Will guard the door
Chronopolis for you
Chronopolis for me
No limit to what we may pursue
Our Metropolis is free!
The teary‐eyed crowd roared its approval as cannon blasts rang out through the drill hall area. Infinity Stairs stood cheering and clapping along with all her fellow graduates. When the cheering subsided, she heard her name being called from up in the crowded bleachers. “Infinity! Infinity!” cried the far away voice. Squinting her eyes she saw a splash of white hair amid the sea of blue graduation caps and knew it was her mother, calling from the very last row.
“I love you mom!” she mouthed the words over the din. Then, “I love you dad!” she mouthed again. Infinity turned to Nikki and shouted, “I told you they’d be here!”
Nikki Night Bird smiled broadly. She was so excited to be graduating she had to pinch herself to make sure it was real. She was also happy for Infinity, who had trained so hard and been through so much. They both knew Infinity might not get to talk with her parents before the first mission. Alternity Group always sent agents out right after graduation. After all, forever was a lot of time to cover!
As Senator Stilwell called their names, they bowed their heads and received a set of plasmodium dog tags around their necks. Then, one by one, the Senator pinned on their wings. A clock with wings was the official symbol of Alternity Group worn only by Special Agents of the United Nations Multi‐National Chrononomy
Task Force.
The band played on.
Graduation
The marching band played beautifully, even putting on a dazzling dance routine as they passed in review. Trombones and tubas created brass harmonies that wafted from the luminaries and dignitaries in the bleachers, all the way up to the jet fighters doing an impressive flyover. When the band finished, the loudspeaker asked all in attendance to rise for the national anthem saying, “Ladies and Gentlemen, here to sing Crown of Chronopolis, please welcome singing star and international teen sensation, Persephone!” The crowd applauded wildly. Persephone was very popular, even in Burgundy County. The members of the graduating class of 2067 stood on their platforms holding both hands on their hearts, the national symbol of empathy.
Infinity Stairs stood on the highest platform, an honor earned by graduating first in her class. She was flanked on the right by her runner up and adoring fan, Special Agent Robert Terco. To her left stood second runner up, her best friend, Special Agent Nikki Night Bird. On the lowest platform stood Terco’s best friend, Special Agent Jefferson ‘Photon’ Fulton, who smiled throughout the entire ceremony. It was a moving anthem and Persephone sang it beautifully:
Crown of Chronopolis
With two hands upon our hearts
We guard this gateway
where the universe starts
Chronopolis for you
Chronopolis for me
No limit to what we may pursue
Our Metropolis is free
Hands on hearts
We bare our soul
Among the stars
A starring role
And if the suns
Should rise no more
Our agents still
Will guard the door
Chronopolis for you
Chronopolis for me
No limit to what we may pursue
Our Metropolis is free!
The teary‐eyed crowd roared its approval as cannon blasts rang out through the drill hall area. Infinity Stairs stood cheering and clapping along with all her fellow graduates. When the cheering subsided, she heard her name being called from up in the crowded bleachers. “Infinity! Infinity!” cried the far away voice. Squinting her eyes she saw a splash of white hair amid the sea of blue graduation caps and knew it was her mother, calling from the very last row.
“I love you mom!” she mouthed the words over the din. Then, “I love you dad!” she mouthed again. Infinity turned to Nikki and shouted, “I told you they’d be here!”
Nikki Night Bird smiled broadly. She was so excited to be graduating she had to pinch herself to make sure it was real. She was also happy for Infinity, who had trained so hard and been through so much. They both knew Infinity might not get to talk with her parents before the first mission. Alternity Group always sent agents out right after graduation. After all, forever was a lot of time to cover!
As Senator Stilwell called their names, they bowed their heads and received a set of plasmodium dog tags around their necks. Then, one by one, the Senator pinned on their wings. A clock with wings was the official symbol of Alternity Group worn only by Special Agents of the United Nations Multi‐National Chrononomy
Task Force.
The band played on.
Chapter Thirty Three
Twenty Years from Trouble
Commodore Thyme allowed Maria to slip through the laboratory checkpoints by holding close to Doctor Binder. The blindfold was now more important than ever; one look at the Chrona would certainly send Maria into a fit of terror. Justin also knew that Doctor Binder himself was terrified. Who could blame him?
Maria clung tightly as Binder submitted to two retina scans, one at each Permaglass wall. When they finally entered the Chrona’s portal, Justin pointed back toward the plasticized floor chart. He said to the doctor, “Look at the quartermasters chart, Ben. Remember the three lights. Amber is for where you’ll land, red is
for where you are, and blue…”
“Yes, we never did get to the blue one” said Binder.
“Well Doc, on many –not all, but many missions, we provide our agents with back up. That could mean another agent, a team of agents, a supply stash, or as is the case this time, a safe house.”
“Safe from what? asked Doctor Binder.
“Safe from whom would be more accurate” answered Thyme.
“Recent events involving Maria now require us to keep Alternity Group safe‐ from her!” Binder smiled, kissing Maria gently on the forehead.
Justin pointed back toward the instrument panel and signaled for Colonel Jaspar to energize the Chrona. The machinery began its whining crescendo, prompting Maria to ask “What sorcery is this?”
Doctor Binder held her tightly and said “All I can tell you is, it is good sorcery, do not fear.”
After shouting last minute orders to Binder about laying prone on the floor, and what to do upon arrival, the Commodore said, “Godspeed”, and left the portal area. He strapped into a chair, and had barely put on his glasses when the lights dimmed, and an enormous surge of energy pulsed down the optic conduit, energizing the Chrona.
Maria dug her fingernails into the back of Binder's hand, creating a small trickle of blood that dripped to the floor. Binder was amazed as the laboratory began to slowly revolve around the portal. It moved faster and faster, until all was a spinning blur. The droplets of blood no longer fell to the floor. They instead took the form of a pinwheel galaxy, floating in the center of the mass that spun around them.
It ended as soon as it had begun. Maria and Doctor Binder found themselves lying on their stomachs on the hot asphalt of a church parking lot, some twenty years earlier. Squinting in the suns, they rose to their feet and were immediately met by a handsome young man wearing the uniform of an Alternity Special Agent. Having lost her blindfold, Maria opened her eyes to see a huge marble statue of the Virgin Mary. She crossed herself again and
again, while murmuring prayers in medieval Bulgarian. "Close your eyes, Maria, and for the love of God, keep them closed!” growled Doctor Binder urgently.
The agent extended his hand to the doctor and said, “Come with me right away!”
Twenty Years from Trouble
Commodore Thyme allowed Maria to slip through the laboratory checkpoints by holding close to Doctor Binder. The blindfold was now more important than ever; one look at the Chrona would certainly send Maria into a fit of terror. Justin also knew that Doctor Binder himself was terrified. Who could blame him?
Maria clung tightly as Binder submitted to two retina scans, one at each Permaglass wall. When they finally entered the Chrona’s portal, Justin pointed back toward the plasticized floor chart. He said to the doctor, “Look at the quartermasters chart, Ben. Remember the three lights. Amber is for where you’ll land, red is
for where you are, and blue…”
“Yes, we never did get to the blue one” said Binder.
“Well Doc, on many –not all, but many missions, we provide our agents with back up. That could mean another agent, a team of agents, a supply stash, or as is the case this time, a safe house.”
“Safe from what? asked Doctor Binder.
“Safe from whom would be more accurate” answered Thyme.
“Recent events involving Maria now require us to keep Alternity Group safe‐ from her!” Binder smiled, kissing Maria gently on the forehead.
Justin pointed back toward the instrument panel and signaled for Colonel Jaspar to energize the Chrona. The machinery began its whining crescendo, prompting Maria to ask “What sorcery is this?”
Doctor Binder held her tightly and said “All I can tell you is, it is good sorcery, do not fear.”
After shouting last minute orders to Binder about laying prone on the floor, and what to do upon arrival, the Commodore said, “Godspeed”, and left the portal area. He strapped into a chair, and had barely put on his glasses when the lights dimmed, and an enormous surge of energy pulsed down the optic conduit, energizing the Chrona.
Maria dug her fingernails into the back of Binder's hand, creating a small trickle of blood that dripped to the floor. Binder was amazed as the laboratory began to slowly revolve around the portal. It moved faster and faster, until all was a spinning blur. The droplets of blood no longer fell to the floor. They instead took the form of a pinwheel galaxy, floating in the center of the mass that spun around them.
It ended as soon as it had begun. Maria and Doctor Binder found themselves lying on their stomachs on the hot asphalt of a church parking lot, some twenty years earlier. Squinting in the suns, they rose to their feet and were immediately met by a handsome young man wearing the uniform of an Alternity Special Agent. Having lost her blindfold, Maria opened her eyes to see a huge marble statue of the Virgin Mary. She crossed herself again and
again, while murmuring prayers in medieval Bulgarian. "Close your eyes, Maria, and for the love of God, keep them closed!” growled Doctor Binder urgently.
The agent extended his hand to the doctor and said, “Come with me right away!”
Chapter Thirty Four
The Secret Entrance
The attendant never had so much trouble recovering a horse in the three years he had worked for W.A.R.CO, the Western Animal Rental Company of Chronopolis. The giant white draft horse was beautiful, but at seventeen hands high, impossible to contain. He had been spooked by a maelstrom coming from Alternity Corporation and just as he calmed, a hovercraft landed to spook him all over again. “Whoa, easy, easy” coaxed the attendant. The incoming pilot saw the commotion and decided to land far away, for the horses benefit as well as his own. The motor whirred to a stop, and out popped Detective Raskins, who went right to work.
“Hold it right there, cowboy” said the Detective. “Are you the owner of that horse?”
“No sir, he’s just a rental,” he answered. “I work for W.A.R.Co. sir, sixteen years now.”
“I want to see your identification and I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate the horse as evidence in a murder investigation” said the Detective.
“Heck, he’s all yours!” agreed the attendant, handing him the reigns of the bucking behemoth.
The Detective gamely held the horses lead with both hands, all the while cooing and soothing him with gentle words. “There boy now, now, big fella,” he said. The horse began to bray more quietly and was about to taste the grass underfoot when Lieutenant Baxter arrived in a military vehicle whose blaring siren started the commotion all over again.
“Raskins,” shouted the Lieutenant as the horse now dragged them both around, “It occurred to me we couldn’t get inside without help, so I brought someone with me.”
“And who‘s that?” asked the Detective, struggling to hold the horse.
“His name is Franz Graber, he says he’s one of them.” The vehicle door opened and out stepped Graber, the scientist concerned with the too‐fast pace at which AlternityCorp was moving forward.
“Go with him, Detective‐ he can get you inside‐ I’ll take care of this.”
“Follow me!” shouted Graber to Detective Raskins.
“Get the hell over here and help me!” Lieutenant Baxter screamed to the attendant who sat watching it all in amazement. Graber, meanwhile, led the Detective around the side and away from the main entrance to Alternity Group Headquarters.
“There is a way in, a utility entrance, disguised to look like a circuit breaker box from outside,” he said, huffing and puffing as they ran.
“What the hell is this place, actually, Mr. Graber?” asked Detective Raskins. The scientist looked back at him with a blank expression, and did not answer.
With the graduation going on in Drill Hall Eight Hundred, the Chrona energized for transport, and the commotion on the front lawn, Graber and Raskins managed to reach their destination undetected. They stood a while, gasping for breath. “It’s right in here,” said Graber. “It’ll open when you pull those black tie wires. When you get in, wait for me to seal it up behind us. Then it’s down a level. From there, you’ll see for yourself what
this place is about, what they’re doing here.”
“What’s the short version?” asked Detective Raskins.
“The short version? Too fantastic to believe without your own eyes‐ shortest version you’re going to get."
Raskins saw the honesty in Grabers’ eyes. “Just tie wires and we’re in, that’s it?” asked Raskins.
“Yes, that’s it” answered Graber. “That and two retina scans.”
The Secret Entrance
The attendant never had so much trouble recovering a horse in the three years he had worked for W.A.R.CO, the Western Animal Rental Company of Chronopolis. The giant white draft horse was beautiful, but at seventeen hands high, impossible to contain. He had been spooked by a maelstrom coming from Alternity Corporation and just as he calmed, a hovercraft landed to spook him all over again. “Whoa, easy, easy” coaxed the attendant. The incoming pilot saw the commotion and decided to land far away, for the horses benefit as well as his own. The motor whirred to a stop, and out popped Detective Raskins, who went right to work.
“Hold it right there, cowboy” said the Detective. “Are you the owner of that horse?”
“No sir, he’s just a rental,” he answered. “I work for W.A.R.Co. sir, sixteen years now.”
“I want to see your identification and I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate the horse as evidence in a murder investigation” said the Detective.
“Heck, he’s all yours!” agreed the attendant, handing him the reigns of the bucking behemoth.
The Detective gamely held the horses lead with both hands, all the while cooing and soothing him with gentle words. “There boy now, now, big fella,” he said. The horse began to bray more quietly and was about to taste the grass underfoot when Lieutenant Baxter arrived in a military vehicle whose blaring siren started the commotion all over again.
“Raskins,” shouted the Lieutenant as the horse now dragged them both around, “It occurred to me we couldn’t get inside without help, so I brought someone with me.”
“And who‘s that?” asked the Detective, struggling to hold the horse.
“His name is Franz Graber, he says he’s one of them.” The vehicle door opened and out stepped Graber, the scientist concerned with the too‐fast pace at which AlternityCorp was moving forward.
“Go with him, Detective‐ he can get you inside‐ I’ll take care of this.”
“Follow me!” shouted Graber to Detective Raskins.
“Get the hell over here and help me!” Lieutenant Baxter screamed to the attendant who sat watching it all in amazement. Graber, meanwhile, led the Detective around the side and away from the main entrance to Alternity Group Headquarters.
“There is a way in, a utility entrance, disguised to look like a circuit breaker box from outside,” he said, huffing and puffing as they ran.
“What the hell is this place, actually, Mr. Graber?” asked Detective Raskins. The scientist looked back at him with a blank expression, and did not answer.
With the graduation going on in Drill Hall Eight Hundred, the Chrona energized for transport, and the commotion on the front lawn, Graber and Raskins managed to reach their destination undetected. They stood a while, gasping for breath. “It’s right in here,” said Graber. “It’ll open when you pull those black tie wires. When you get in, wait for me to seal it up behind us. Then it’s down a level. From there, you’ll see for yourself what
this place is about, what they’re doing here.”
“What’s the short version?” asked Detective Raskins.
“The short version? Too fantastic to believe without your own eyes‐ shortest version you’re going to get."
Raskins saw the honesty in Grabers’ eyes. “Just tie wires and we’re in, that’s it?” asked Raskins.
“Yes, that’s it” answered Graber. “That and two retina scans.”
Chapter Thirty Five
Tangled in Time
“Just the way I like it,” said Thyme, referring to the empty laboratory. With everyone else still at the graduation ceremony, there was just a skeleton crew to initiate the next mission. With Colonel Jasper at the control board, the Chrona spat hot steam against the soundtrack of a dying whine and ground to a halt.
“Me too,” the Colonel replied.
Both men were seasoned agents, and didn’t need anyone to tell them how to do their jobs. Sure, there was a chain of command, but anyone working this close to the Chrona could run the show. No sooner had the last operation ended, than the next was to begin. It reminded Justin of the commercial jets at an airport. They landed, refueled, changed crews and took on new passengers. Then, with a new flight number, they were back in the air. And so it was with the Chrona. The two crew members in the lab pored over Justin’s suit for leaks or signs of wear as he stood looking over his mission orders. He was to travel to 1533 AD, landing on the very tip of Baja, at La Paz. When the team arrived, they would initiate contact with the natives and warn them of the coming danger‐ Cort’es, the Conquistador, would soon arrive from Tehuantepec with two ships and bad intentions.
An AlternityCorp strike force, or a ‘whack team’ as the agents called themselves, would be there waiting. Justin would arrive early to set up camp for the agents, who were still out celebrating graduation. With everything in place, all systems were declared a ‘go’, and the Colonel energized the Chrona. Justin submitted to a retina scan,
the permaglass wall opened and he entered the no‐man’s land between the clear walls. The process was repeated, and the Commodore climbed the steps toward the Chrona’s portal. Colonel Jaspar was already strapped in when an alarm light began whirling on the laboratory ceiling. One of the two crew members reported via chronophone that a biological alarm had been tripped somewhere near the Chrona.
“What’s it mean?” asked Jaspar.
One crewman began, “It means that a biological entity has been detected in or near‐“
“It means something got in when the door was open, probably a bug or a mouse,” the other crewman interrupted. "He's going for a hell of a ride!"
The Chrona had begun to shake as Justin ascended the steps to the portal, everyone else was strapped in tight.
“Put on your safety glasses!” ordered the Colonel, as pulses of energy surged down from the planet’s surface.
“Justin Nicholas Thyme?” came a shout from behind the Commodore. Justin turned and was startled to see a policeman lunge at him with handcuffs and slap one manacle on each of their wrists as they both fell forward into the Chrona. “Detective John Raskins of the Chronopolis Police Department. Justin Thyme, I am placing you under arrest for Grand Larceny. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law!”
By now, the Chrona was spinning forcefully, and Justin found himself unusually speechless. “Shut it down! Colonel, shut it down!” he finally managed to say.
Detective Raskins began to look around himself and saw the room revolving. It was more than he cared to understand and so he continued. “You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one…”
“Shut it off!” screamed Thyme, but the Colonel was now engaged in a violent struggle with Franz Graber, who reached for the Chrona Emergency Shutoff Switch. Commodore Thyme didn’t need a time machine to see where this was headed, and he reached into his utility belt for a ‘T.I.B.’‐a Time Indicator Beacon. Graber lashed at the control board but missed the emergency shutoff, managing instead to activate the Chrona’s steering
mechanism.
“You fool!” screamed Colonel Jasper. He tried to pull the steering lever back to where it had been, but to no avail. Franz Graber had unwittingly directed the energy of six suns to take the Chrona and its two occupants on a trip through time of unknown length to an unknown destination. “You fool” whispered the Colonel.
The two struggling men now just stood together, watching the melodrama unfold. Special Agent Thyme had just enough opportunity to break the seal on the beacon, put the transmitter half back into his belt, and toss the receiver half out of the Chrona. “On the floor, now!” shouted Thyme to his hapless policeman partner.
“…one will be appointed for you,” the Detective said feebly. The Chrona sent them into that floating, peaceful netherworld Justin had come to know as the ‘time chamber’. They saw stars around them flashing in and out of existence. Thyme noticed perceptible motion of the Milky Way itself.
Judging by the rotation, they were going backward and they floated for a long, long time.
Tangled in Time
“Just the way I like it,” said Thyme, referring to the empty laboratory. With everyone else still at the graduation ceremony, there was just a skeleton crew to initiate the next mission. With Colonel Jasper at the control board, the Chrona spat hot steam against the soundtrack of a dying whine and ground to a halt.
“Me too,” the Colonel replied.
Both men were seasoned agents, and didn’t need anyone to tell them how to do their jobs. Sure, there was a chain of command, but anyone working this close to the Chrona could run the show. No sooner had the last operation ended, than the next was to begin. It reminded Justin of the commercial jets at an airport. They landed, refueled, changed crews and took on new passengers. Then, with a new flight number, they were back in the air. And so it was with the Chrona. The two crew members in the lab pored over Justin’s suit for leaks or signs of wear as he stood looking over his mission orders. He was to travel to 1533 AD, landing on the very tip of Baja, at La Paz. When the team arrived, they would initiate contact with the natives and warn them of the coming danger‐ Cort’es, the Conquistador, would soon arrive from Tehuantepec with two ships and bad intentions.
An AlternityCorp strike force, or a ‘whack team’ as the agents called themselves, would be there waiting. Justin would arrive early to set up camp for the agents, who were still out celebrating graduation. With everything in place, all systems were declared a ‘go’, and the Colonel energized the Chrona. Justin submitted to a retina scan,
the permaglass wall opened and he entered the no‐man’s land between the clear walls. The process was repeated, and the Commodore climbed the steps toward the Chrona’s portal. Colonel Jaspar was already strapped in when an alarm light began whirling on the laboratory ceiling. One of the two crew members reported via chronophone that a biological alarm had been tripped somewhere near the Chrona.
“What’s it mean?” asked Jaspar.
One crewman began, “It means that a biological entity has been detected in or near‐“
“It means something got in when the door was open, probably a bug or a mouse,” the other crewman interrupted. "He's going for a hell of a ride!"
The Chrona had begun to shake as Justin ascended the steps to the portal, everyone else was strapped in tight.
“Put on your safety glasses!” ordered the Colonel, as pulses of energy surged down from the planet’s surface.
“Justin Nicholas Thyme?” came a shout from behind the Commodore. Justin turned and was startled to see a policeman lunge at him with handcuffs and slap one manacle on each of their wrists as they both fell forward into the Chrona. “Detective John Raskins of the Chronopolis Police Department. Justin Thyme, I am placing you under arrest for Grand Larceny. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law!”
By now, the Chrona was spinning forcefully, and Justin found himself unusually speechless. “Shut it down! Colonel, shut it down!” he finally managed to say.
Detective Raskins began to look around himself and saw the room revolving. It was more than he cared to understand and so he continued. “You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one…”
“Shut it off!” screamed Thyme, but the Colonel was now engaged in a violent struggle with Franz Graber, who reached for the Chrona Emergency Shutoff Switch. Commodore Thyme didn’t need a time machine to see where this was headed, and he reached into his utility belt for a ‘T.I.B.’‐a Time Indicator Beacon. Graber lashed at the control board but missed the emergency shutoff, managing instead to activate the Chrona’s steering
mechanism.
“You fool!” screamed Colonel Jasper. He tried to pull the steering lever back to where it had been, but to no avail. Franz Graber had unwittingly directed the energy of six suns to take the Chrona and its two occupants on a trip through time of unknown length to an unknown destination. “You fool” whispered the Colonel.
The two struggling men now just stood together, watching the melodrama unfold. Special Agent Thyme had just enough opportunity to break the seal on the beacon, put the transmitter half back into his belt, and toss the receiver half out of the Chrona. “On the floor, now!” shouted Thyme to his hapless policeman partner.
“…one will be appointed for you,” the Detective said feebly. The Chrona sent them into that floating, peaceful netherworld Justin had come to know as the ‘time chamber’. They saw stars around them flashing in and out of existence. Thyme noticed perceptible motion of the Milky Way itself.
Judging by the rotation, they were going backward and they floated for a long, long time.
Chapter Thirty Six
Pirates Parlay
Bright flashes and deafening energy blasts filled the sky above Alternity Group Headquarters. The draft horse galloped in circles, dragging the attendant face down, his cowboy boots digging ruts in the mud. Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter was on the phone with General Studemier, apprising him of the situation and requesting assistance.
“I can hear it from here and not just through the phone,” said the General. “What the hell is going on?”
“Some kind of a launch or discharge or something” answered Baxter. “It seems to be settling down,” he added as the attendant was dragged by, screaming.
“It doesn’t sound like it Lieutenant. I order you to secure that area on the double soldier. I’m putting you through to my supply secretary who will get you whatever you need.” Lieutenant Baxter thanked the General, who was already off the phone.
When the supply secretary came on the line, Baxter ordered a portable construction fence. “Enough to cover half an acre,” he said. “And a mobile office, something with accommodations‐ we’re likely to be here for a very long time”.
As the horse came by again, Baxter cupped his hands and shouted to the attendant, “Help’s on the way‐ hang in there!” Within ten minutes, a convoy of military trucks arrived, each loaded with uniformed troops. Baxter stationed them around the perimeter of the entire property and grounds. All had orders to detain the Senator using as much diplomacy as possible. “And bring him to me.” he ordered. With the soldiers help, the horse was brought under control and now grazed quietly as the attendant walked him along. Flatbed trucks began pulling onto the field, unloading and erecting their cargo of temporary construction fencing. By the time the Senator
arrived with his caravan of limousines, the entire facility had been fenced in, and the cars were greeted at the gate by military guards.
The lead car stopped at the gate, and its driver stepped out of the vehicle to address the guards. They turned him around, disarmed him and confiscated his car keys. Another group of soldiers walked to the second vehicle, and instructed the occupants to roll down the window. At gunpoint, they complied.
“Senator Stilwell?” asked the guard. “Please step out of the vehicle”. The Senator exited the car and placed his hands in the air. “That’s not necessary sir” said the guard. “Please come with me.” All the occupants were detained and all the vehicles confiscated. Twelve limos in all were brought to a newly fenced area where
their magnets were permanently deactivated. Up the long driveway came a huge military truck with a large ‘Wide Load’ sign. It was here to deliver the mobile base unit the Lieutenant had requested from General Studemier. It was manuevered inside the gated half acre, and a large satellite dish was deployed on its roof. When all was ready, the Senator was brought there to meet with Baxter.
“That will be all,” said the Lieutenant to his men. They left the gated area to the Lieutenant, the Senator, and one happily grazing horse. “Please, Senator, come in.” The Lieutenant took a long look at Senator Stilwell and asked,
“Have we met before?”
The senator shook his head. “Don’t believe so,” he answered, taking a seat with a window view of the beautiful white horse. “Am I under arrest?”
Lieutenant Baxter laughed. “Not at all, Morgan ‐may I call you Morgan?” The Senator gestured ‘why not’ with his free hand, while accepting a glass of scotch in the other. “Good. My name is Lieutenant Robert Baxter‐ but call me Bob.”
“Alright Bob” asked the Senator, “where should we start?” Two soldiers carried in a leather reclining chair, and the Lieutenant sat down as soon as it was brought in.
He leaned back, lit a pipe, and answered, “At the beginning.”
Senator Stilwell leaned forward and reached for the pipe. “May I?” he asked.
“By all means,” came the reply.
Pirates Parlay
Bright flashes and deafening energy blasts filled the sky above Alternity Group Headquarters. The draft horse galloped in circles, dragging the attendant face down, his cowboy boots digging ruts in the mud. Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter was on the phone with General Studemier, apprising him of the situation and requesting assistance.
“I can hear it from here and not just through the phone,” said the General. “What the hell is going on?”
“Some kind of a launch or discharge or something” answered Baxter. “It seems to be settling down,” he added as the attendant was dragged by, screaming.
“It doesn’t sound like it Lieutenant. I order you to secure that area on the double soldier. I’m putting you through to my supply secretary who will get you whatever you need.” Lieutenant Baxter thanked the General, who was already off the phone.
When the supply secretary came on the line, Baxter ordered a portable construction fence. “Enough to cover half an acre,” he said. “And a mobile office, something with accommodations‐ we’re likely to be here for a very long time”.
As the horse came by again, Baxter cupped his hands and shouted to the attendant, “Help’s on the way‐ hang in there!” Within ten minutes, a convoy of military trucks arrived, each loaded with uniformed troops. Baxter stationed them around the perimeter of the entire property and grounds. All had orders to detain the Senator using as much diplomacy as possible. “And bring him to me.” he ordered. With the soldiers help, the horse was brought under control and now grazed quietly as the attendant walked him along. Flatbed trucks began pulling onto the field, unloading and erecting their cargo of temporary construction fencing. By the time the Senator
arrived with his caravan of limousines, the entire facility had been fenced in, and the cars were greeted at the gate by military guards.
The lead car stopped at the gate, and its driver stepped out of the vehicle to address the guards. They turned him around, disarmed him and confiscated his car keys. Another group of soldiers walked to the second vehicle, and instructed the occupants to roll down the window. At gunpoint, they complied.
“Senator Stilwell?” asked the guard. “Please step out of the vehicle”. The Senator exited the car and placed his hands in the air. “That’s not necessary sir” said the guard. “Please come with me.” All the occupants were detained and all the vehicles confiscated. Twelve limos in all were brought to a newly fenced area where
their magnets were permanently deactivated. Up the long driveway came a huge military truck with a large ‘Wide Load’ sign. It was here to deliver the mobile base unit the Lieutenant had requested from General Studemier. It was manuevered inside the gated half acre, and a large satellite dish was deployed on its roof. When all was ready, the Senator was brought there to meet with Baxter.
“That will be all,” said the Lieutenant to his men. They left the gated area to the Lieutenant, the Senator, and one happily grazing horse. “Please, Senator, come in.” The Lieutenant took a long look at Senator Stilwell and asked,
“Have we met before?”
The senator shook his head. “Don’t believe so,” he answered, taking a seat with a window view of the beautiful white horse. “Am I under arrest?”
Lieutenant Baxter laughed. “Not at all, Morgan ‐may I call you Morgan?” The Senator gestured ‘why not’ with his free hand, while accepting a glass of scotch in the other. “Good. My name is Lieutenant Robert Baxter‐ but call me Bob.”
“Alright Bob” asked the Senator, “where should we start?” Two soldiers carried in a leather reclining chair, and the Lieutenant sat down as soon as it was brought in.
He leaned back, lit a pipe, and answered, “At the beginning.”
Senator Stilwell leaned forward and reached for the pipe. “May I?” he asked.
“By all means,” came the reply.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Mexican Standoff
Outside Drill Hall Eight Hundred, the new graduates approached a sleek red hovercraft floating inches off the tarmac. Behind them lay the cheers and confetti of their old lives, ahead only danger.
“Bring it on!” shouted Infinity Stairs, blowing on her index fingers. The rest smiled ear to ear, hearts beating twice as fast as normal. They were ready for anything and would follow Infinity anywhere. Where previously no seam had been visible on the craft, a door opened as smoothly and silently as a nictitating membrane.
“Check!” shouted Infinity, placing her hands on her weapons.
“Check!” came the reply from the others, following suit.
“Time to go to school!” she chanted. One by one they entered the fuselage, chose a compartment and strapped in. They were only traveling from the Drill Hall to Facility Headquarters, but this was their first ride, their first moments, as a team of Special Agents. The pilot smiled at the youngsters, as excited as they were. These were no ordinary kids, nor were they ordinary soldiers. A Special Agent was like being half soldier, half monk. You had to respect that. While most twenty‐somethings were blossoming into the social network, these Special Agents had already given it all up. He flashed them a thumbs up, and they all returned it, their faces grown sullen. After a vertical liftoff, the electromagnetic drive engaged and the craft peeled through the magnetosphere. It took less than a minute for Infinity to know something was wrong.
“Up!” she ordered her teammates.
“Up!” they shouted in unison.
The pilot was next to see the fence and troops surrounding AlternityCorp grounds. He looked at Infinity, and cocked his head. She nodded in answer. “It’s hot down there, so we’re out of the nest in three, two, one…”
The same door slid silently open and out they hurtled one by one. The pilot shouted “Geronimo!”and held the craft steady until empty, then banked right and evacuated 180 degrees. Survival suits come equipped with webbed armpits and crotch, and make excellent gliders. Infinity placed her palms flat on her hips and steered for the top of the long driveway of AlternityCorp. The others followed her lead.
“Sing out!” yelled Infinity, and said, “Stairs!”
“Terco!” came the reply.
“Bird!” hollered Nikki.
“Fulton!” shouted Jefferson.
“Walker!” crackled the pilot via chronophone.
Infinity waved a hand over her chronophone and called the Senator. In the mobile office, a tall hologram of Infinity popped up from the Senator’s floor. “Stilwell here,” he said. “Go ahead Agent Stairs.”
“Whack Team, descending; did we miss curfew?”
“Party cancelled‐ wait one” replied the Senator.
Lieutenant Baxter was impressed by the futuristic communications device. The hologram of Infinity Stairs also left an impression, and he whistled his approval. “Who are they?” he asked.
“They’re a team of agents, assigned to this facility. They won’t start a firefight but they sure will end one,” the Senator stated matter-of-factly. “Tell your men to hold their fire.”
“Hold fire,” the Lieutenant announced from a rooftop megaphone. “Hold fire. Senator, have your team walk to the gate and surrender their weapons.”
“Ain’t gonna happen” answered Stilwell. “Not in this lifetime. Lieutenant -Bob- look, these agents are trained, and rule one of that training is never give up your weapon. Now I promise you‐“
“Drop your weapons now!” the Lieutenant’s voice boomed once more via megaphone. Just then, another hologram appeared from the Senator’s wrist. It was Franz Graber.
“Lieutenant Baxter! Lieutenant, this is Franz! Do not engage AlternityCorp agents.“
“Senator Stilwell,” interrupted Colonel Jasper using the same chronophone. “We’ve got big problems!”
With military guards on one side of the fence, it seemed the team of special agents had arrived to a Mexican standoff.
Mexican Standoff
Outside Drill Hall Eight Hundred, the new graduates approached a sleek red hovercraft floating inches off the tarmac. Behind them lay the cheers and confetti of their old lives, ahead only danger.
“Bring it on!” shouted Infinity Stairs, blowing on her index fingers. The rest smiled ear to ear, hearts beating twice as fast as normal. They were ready for anything and would follow Infinity anywhere. Where previously no seam had been visible on the craft, a door opened as smoothly and silently as a nictitating membrane.
“Check!” shouted Infinity, placing her hands on her weapons.
“Check!” came the reply from the others, following suit.
“Time to go to school!” she chanted. One by one they entered the fuselage, chose a compartment and strapped in. They were only traveling from the Drill Hall to Facility Headquarters, but this was their first ride, their first moments, as a team of Special Agents. The pilot smiled at the youngsters, as excited as they were. These were no ordinary kids, nor were they ordinary soldiers. A Special Agent was like being half soldier, half monk. You had to respect that. While most twenty‐somethings were blossoming into the social network, these Special Agents had already given it all up. He flashed them a thumbs up, and they all returned it, their faces grown sullen. After a vertical liftoff, the electromagnetic drive engaged and the craft peeled through the magnetosphere. It took less than a minute for Infinity to know something was wrong.
“Up!” she ordered her teammates.
“Up!” they shouted in unison.
The pilot was next to see the fence and troops surrounding AlternityCorp grounds. He looked at Infinity, and cocked his head. She nodded in answer. “It’s hot down there, so we’re out of the nest in three, two, one…”
The same door slid silently open and out they hurtled one by one. The pilot shouted “Geronimo!”and held the craft steady until empty, then banked right and evacuated 180 degrees. Survival suits come equipped with webbed armpits and crotch, and make excellent gliders. Infinity placed her palms flat on her hips and steered for the top of the long driveway of AlternityCorp. The others followed her lead.
“Sing out!” yelled Infinity, and said, “Stairs!”
“Terco!” came the reply.
“Bird!” hollered Nikki.
“Fulton!” shouted Jefferson.
“Walker!” crackled the pilot via chronophone.
Infinity waved a hand over her chronophone and called the Senator. In the mobile office, a tall hologram of Infinity popped up from the Senator’s floor. “Stilwell here,” he said. “Go ahead Agent Stairs.”
“Whack Team, descending; did we miss curfew?”
“Party cancelled‐ wait one” replied the Senator.
Lieutenant Baxter was impressed by the futuristic communications device. The hologram of Infinity Stairs also left an impression, and he whistled his approval. “Who are they?” he asked.
“They’re a team of agents, assigned to this facility. They won’t start a firefight but they sure will end one,” the Senator stated matter-of-factly. “Tell your men to hold their fire.”
“Hold fire,” the Lieutenant announced from a rooftop megaphone. “Hold fire. Senator, have your team walk to the gate and surrender their weapons.”
“Ain’t gonna happen” answered Stilwell. “Not in this lifetime. Lieutenant -Bob- look, these agents are trained, and rule one of that training is never give up your weapon. Now I promise you‐“
“Drop your weapons now!” the Lieutenant’s voice boomed once more via megaphone. Just then, another hologram appeared from the Senator’s wrist. It was Franz Graber.
“Lieutenant Baxter! Lieutenant, this is Franz! Do not engage AlternityCorp agents.“
“Senator Stilwell,” interrupted Colonel Jasper using the same chronophone. “We’ve got big problems!”
With military guards on one side of the fence, it seemed the team of special agents had arrived to a Mexican standoff.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Maria’s Apartment
Maria closed her eyes tightly as Doctor Benjamin Binder led her by the hand. He in turn, was being led down the narrow back alleys of Chronopolis by a young agent whom Binder did not recognize.
“Where are we?” asked the doctor.
“Oh, you haven’t gone anywhere, Ben, not really” answered the handsome youth. They arrived at an inconspicuous wooden door just off the main alley, and the agent used a master‐control card to open it.
“Right this way,” he said, leading them up a flight of stairs. They came into a modest but pleasant two bedroom apartment overlooking an alley in the rear and a busy marketplace out front. “Everything you need is within a few hundred yards, Doc” said the man.
Maria sat quietly looking over the room. There was much she didn’t understand, but it felt safe.
“This is a nice place,” opined the doctor, “it’s really comfortable.”
“Go ahead, take a look around” said the agent. “It’s all yours for the next twenty years.”
Doctor Binder walked through the apartment room by room and liked what he saw. A smoking room, a study, and a pantry for Maria, “Maria, come look at this!” the doctor called out.
She rose gingerly from her chair and walked down the foyer, running her tiny hands along the walls to feel their texture. She found the doctor looking into a small room with a crib and there were interesting things hanging from the ceiling. He placed a hand on her ripe stomach, and she held his hand in hers.
“We took the liberty of painting it pink,” smiled the agent.
“Oh‐ know something we don’t?” asked Doctor Binder.
“Yeah,” the agent laughed, “a lot of things.”
Binder extended a hand to the agent and said, “I didn’t get your name, son.”
“Sorry, Doc‐ it’s Fulton, Jefferson Fulton. My friends call me Photon. I’ll be your guardian angel for the foreseeable future‐ and at AlternityCorp, that’s saying something!” They both laughed. “I won’t always be here, but I’ll be close.”
“So what do we do here?” asked the doctor.
“You live,” said the agent. “And you take care of the baby, she’s quite a gal.”
“Pardon?” asked Binder.
“Right,” said Fulton. “You’re safe here, that’s what matters right now.”
“How do we contact you?” asked Binder.
“There’s a chronophone on the wall,” the agent replied. “Don’t show it to anybody, please. And there’s a computer in your smoking room and you won’t want anybody to see that either.”
“And may I ask why not?” said Binder.
“Because nothing like it will exist for a many years to come- are you starting to understand?”
“Yes, I believe I am,” the doctor answered.
Special Agent Photon Fulton looked at his oscillator wrist-readout and went to use the bathroom. “I have to leave. Keep her in there for a little while, can do?”
“I will,” answered Doctor Binder. “And, thank you son,” he said.
“It’s my job, Doc‐ but I’d be glad to help in any case. Take care of yourselves.” The agent disappeared into the bathroom, filled the tub with water, and immersed himself.
Maria’s Apartment
Maria closed her eyes tightly as Doctor Benjamin Binder led her by the hand. He in turn, was being led down the narrow back alleys of Chronopolis by a young agent whom Binder did not recognize.
“Where are we?” asked the doctor.
“Oh, you haven’t gone anywhere, Ben, not really” answered the handsome youth. They arrived at an inconspicuous wooden door just off the main alley, and the agent used a master‐control card to open it.
“Right this way,” he said, leading them up a flight of stairs. They came into a modest but pleasant two bedroom apartment overlooking an alley in the rear and a busy marketplace out front. “Everything you need is within a few hundred yards, Doc” said the man.
Maria sat quietly looking over the room. There was much she didn’t understand, but it felt safe.
“This is a nice place,” opined the doctor, “it’s really comfortable.”
“Go ahead, take a look around” said the agent. “It’s all yours for the next twenty years.”
Doctor Binder walked through the apartment room by room and liked what he saw. A smoking room, a study, and a pantry for Maria, “Maria, come look at this!” the doctor called out.
She rose gingerly from her chair and walked down the foyer, running her tiny hands along the walls to feel their texture. She found the doctor looking into a small room with a crib and there were interesting things hanging from the ceiling. He placed a hand on her ripe stomach, and she held his hand in hers.
“We took the liberty of painting it pink,” smiled the agent.
“Oh‐ know something we don’t?” asked Doctor Binder.
“Yeah,” the agent laughed, “a lot of things.”
Binder extended a hand to the agent and said, “I didn’t get your name, son.”
“Sorry, Doc‐ it’s Fulton, Jefferson Fulton. My friends call me Photon. I’ll be your guardian angel for the foreseeable future‐ and at AlternityCorp, that’s saying something!” They both laughed. “I won’t always be here, but I’ll be close.”
“So what do we do here?” asked the doctor.
“You live,” said the agent. “And you take care of the baby, she’s quite a gal.”
“Pardon?” asked Binder.
“Right,” said Fulton. “You’re safe here, that’s what matters right now.”
“How do we contact you?” asked Binder.
“There’s a chronophone on the wall,” the agent replied. “Don’t show it to anybody, please. And there’s a computer in your smoking room and you won’t want anybody to see that either.”
“And may I ask why not?” said Binder.
“Because nothing like it will exist for a many years to come- are you starting to understand?”
“Yes, I believe I am,” the doctor answered.
Special Agent Photon Fulton looked at his oscillator wrist-readout and went to use the bathroom. “I have to leave. Keep her in there for a little while, can do?”
“I will,” answered Doctor Binder. “And, thank you son,” he said.
“It’s my job, Doc‐ but I’d be glad to help in any case. Take care of yourselves.” The agent disappeared into the bathroom, filled the tub with water, and immersed himself.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Crash Landing
Commodore Thyme raised his left hand, also raising that of Detective Raskins. The policeman strained to resist, but was overpowered by the sheer strength of the agent. With a space-time anomaly whirling around them, they locked eyes.
“Detective, you have two choices- listen up, or die, copy?” asked Thyme.
“Copy,” answered Raskins.
“When this thing stops spinning, your skin will begin to burn. I will attempt to shield you as best I can, but I won’t be able to get it all.” He reached into his utility belt and came up with a package containing a ready to eat meal, designed for combat or emergencies. Justin felt this situation qualified. “Here, open this MRE, and smear it on your face and neck. Save some for the back of your hands.”
Detective Raskins hesitated at first, but complied after considering the obvious weirdness going on around him. They had been in limbo for a full ten minutes now, a sign they had traveled far. When the revolutions began to slow, Justin ordered Raskins onto the floor, and then he lay down on top of the disoriented policeman.
“Agh, you’re too heavy!” complained Raskins.
“Shut up,” Justin replied.
At once, the spinning stopped, the sky brightened, and they were pitched through dank air. Justin found himself dangling by his left arm, with his legs kicking uselessly below him. Detective Raskins screamed, and Thyme looked up to see him plunged head first into a large plant that was making a gurgling sound. “Detective!” shouted Thyme, but he got no answer. He looked down at a jungle of Cypress trees, their windward flanks covered in bright green moss. The plant itself seemed to have mandibles like a Venus Fly Trap. “Detective!” he shouted again. This time he heard a weak moan. Justin began to bounce himself up and down. He could feel Raskins’ body starting to pull loose. After a last strong bounce, the detective’s head pulled free with a kissing sound. Thyme drew his polaser, pointed it at the handcuff chain and fired. They fell several meters to the soft jungle floor below and lay perfectly still.
The detectives clothing had all but burned away. He had sustained severe burns‐ but the plant had saved his life. It had also been starting to digest him, and his face was devoid of color. He looked frightening, but he was alive. And he was no longer in the mood to arrest Commodore Thyme. Justin reached for his belt to give the man a drink, but remembered he had used all his water trying to save him. Better thirsty than dead, he thought. “Now, where the hell are we?” he said aloud.
The detective looked over at Justin, nodded his head and said, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” answered Justin. “Stay put and rest, I’m going to reconnoiter a bit.” Before he left, he handed the detective a polaser, armed it, and said, “Be careful with that.”
Crash Landing
Commodore Thyme raised his left hand, also raising that of Detective Raskins. The policeman strained to resist, but was overpowered by the sheer strength of the agent. With a space-time anomaly whirling around them, they locked eyes.
“Detective, you have two choices- listen up, or die, copy?” asked Thyme.
“Copy,” answered Raskins.
“When this thing stops spinning, your skin will begin to burn. I will attempt to shield you as best I can, but I won’t be able to get it all.” He reached into his utility belt and came up with a package containing a ready to eat meal, designed for combat or emergencies. Justin felt this situation qualified. “Here, open this MRE, and smear it on your face and neck. Save some for the back of your hands.”
Detective Raskins hesitated at first, but complied after considering the obvious weirdness going on around him. They had been in limbo for a full ten minutes now, a sign they had traveled far. When the revolutions began to slow, Justin ordered Raskins onto the floor, and then he lay down on top of the disoriented policeman.
“Agh, you’re too heavy!” complained Raskins.
“Shut up,” Justin replied.
At once, the spinning stopped, the sky brightened, and they were pitched through dank air. Justin found himself dangling by his left arm, with his legs kicking uselessly below him. Detective Raskins screamed, and Thyme looked up to see him plunged head first into a large plant that was making a gurgling sound. “Detective!” shouted Thyme, but he got no answer. He looked down at a jungle of Cypress trees, their windward flanks covered in bright green moss. The plant itself seemed to have mandibles like a Venus Fly Trap. “Detective!” he shouted again. This time he heard a weak moan. Justin began to bounce himself up and down. He could feel Raskins’ body starting to pull loose. After a last strong bounce, the detective’s head pulled free with a kissing sound. Thyme drew his polaser, pointed it at the handcuff chain and fired. They fell several meters to the soft jungle floor below and lay perfectly still.
The detectives clothing had all but burned away. He had sustained severe burns‐ but the plant had saved his life. It had also been starting to digest him, and his face was devoid of color. He looked frightening, but he was alive. And he was no longer in the mood to arrest Commodore Thyme. Justin reached for his belt to give the man a drink, but remembered he had used all his water trying to save him. Better thirsty than dead, he thought. “Now, where the hell are we?” he said aloud.
The detective looked over at Justin, nodded his head and said, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” answered Justin. “Stay put and rest, I’m going to reconnoiter a bit.” Before he left, he handed the detective a polaser, armed it, and said, “Be careful with that.”
Chapter Forty
Infinity’s Gate
The soldiers at the gate were well trained- they always were, from General Studemiers battalions. But this duty was a little bit different, according to reports written later and submitted to Lieutenant Baxter.
Here is a transcript of that recording:
'The opposing force weren’t your usual grunts, dressed in fatigues and carrying the weapon of the day. These guys looked like they were from outer space. And that girl‐ it was hard to keep your eyes off her. She was heavily armed with weapons we were completely unfamiliar with, dressed in silver or blue, some kind of jumpsuit or parachute outfit and she wore it, uh, very well.
You never saw her eyes, because they all wore some kind of glasses, not dark, but you couldn’t see through them anyway. And on her, the way she wore them, they looked kind of spooky. Kind of like an insect maybe. But you could tell she was beautiful. Deadly maybe, but beautiful‐ and it was a real distraction.'
Back in the mobile base, Senator Stilwell pleaded with the Lieutenant. “Look Bob, we’re in the middle of some very touchy work and it’s important that we get on with it,” said the Senator.
“From the sound of the men inside your facility, you’re in some serious trouble, Morgan. And I’m here to help you. Why don’t we just work together and get the issues resolved?” Lieutenant Baxter asked.
“You really don’t have any idea what you’re asking, Lieutenant. My men need access to the laboratory and they need it now,” shouted Stilwell, losing his temper.
“Laboratory?” asked the Lieutenant. “Tell me about the laboratory Senator.”
“Dammit!” Stilwell replied. “Just what the hell do you want, Lieutenant, what is it you need?”
“I’ll tell you what, Morgan. You get immediate access and carte blanche to get back to your program when I and a couple of assistants get to accompany you.”
“For how long, Lieutenant? How long do I have to trip with you under my feet?” asked the Senator.
“For the duration,” he answered.
“Out of the question!” roared Stilwell.
“Well then I guess we’ll just sit here and wait for the General, that sound ok with you?” asked Baxter.
“No,” answered Stilwell, grimacing.
“That’s my only offer,” said Baxter.
Outside, the military guard in charge of his unit stood almost face to face with Infinity Stairs. Both brandished formidable weapons. His being large, gray and heavy, and hers were silver, shiny and sleek. After a long silent pause, he cocked his weapon, licked his thumb and cleaned the sight. Infinity unbuckled her polaser strap and stood with her arm hanging limp over her weapon, gunfighter style. The soldier laughed. He spit a chaw of tobacco noisily on the ground, took aim at a light sitting atop a pole across the field, and fired.
The light went out.
Infinity removed the polaser from its harness, spun it on her index finger a dozen times, then dropped to one knee and let it pulse. It hit the same pole, causing the light to flash back on. The soldiers guffawed together. When a secondary energy surge caused the entire pole to glow like neon and then vanish into thin air, all laughter stopped.
Infinity’s Gate
The soldiers at the gate were well trained- they always were, from General Studemiers battalions. But this duty was a little bit different, according to reports written later and submitted to Lieutenant Baxter.
Here is a transcript of that recording:
'The opposing force weren’t your usual grunts, dressed in fatigues and carrying the weapon of the day. These guys looked like they were from outer space. And that girl‐ it was hard to keep your eyes off her. She was heavily armed with weapons we were completely unfamiliar with, dressed in silver or blue, some kind of jumpsuit or parachute outfit and she wore it, uh, very well.
You never saw her eyes, because they all wore some kind of glasses, not dark, but you couldn’t see through them anyway. And on her, the way she wore them, they looked kind of spooky. Kind of like an insect maybe. But you could tell she was beautiful. Deadly maybe, but beautiful‐ and it was a real distraction.'
Back in the mobile base, Senator Stilwell pleaded with the Lieutenant. “Look Bob, we’re in the middle of some very touchy work and it’s important that we get on with it,” said the Senator.
“From the sound of the men inside your facility, you’re in some serious trouble, Morgan. And I’m here to help you. Why don’t we just work together and get the issues resolved?” Lieutenant Baxter asked.
“You really don’t have any idea what you’re asking, Lieutenant. My men need access to the laboratory and they need it now,” shouted Stilwell, losing his temper.
“Laboratory?” asked the Lieutenant. “Tell me about the laboratory Senator.”
“Dammit!” Stilwell replied. “Just what the hell do you want, Lieutenant, what is it you need?”
“I’ll tell you what, Morgan. You get immediate access and carte blanche to get back to your program when I and a couple of assistants get to accompany you.”
“For how long, Lieutenant? How long do I have to trip with you under my feet?” asked the Senator.
“For the duration,” he answered.
“Out of the question!” roared Stilwell.
“Well then I guess we’ll just sit here and wait for the General, that sound ok with you?” asked Baxter.
“No,” answered Stilwell, grimacing.
“That’s my only offer,” said Baxter.
Outside, the military guard in charge of his unit stood almost face to face with Infinity Stairs. Both brandished formidable weapons. His being large, gray and heavy, and hers were silver, shiny and sleek. After a long silent pause, he cocked his weapon, licked his thumb and cleaned the sight. Infinity unbuckled her polaser strap and stood with her arm hanging limp over her weapon, gunfighter style. The soldier laughed. He spit a chaw of tobacco noisily on the ground, took aim at a light sitting atop a pole across the field, and fired.
The light went out.
Infinity removed the polaser from its harness, spun it on her index finger a dozen times, then dropped to one knee and let it pulse. It hit the same pole, causing the light to flash back on. The soldiers guffawed together. When a secondary energy surge caused the entire pole to glow like neon and then vanish into thin air, all laughter stopped.
Chapter Forty One
Setting the Beacon
The detective sat with his back against a tall fern, drifting in and out of consciousness. Without a protective survival suit, he had sustained burns on his back, arms and shoulders. Each time he awoke, his body throbbed like an unbalanced washing machine, pounding until the pain made him pass out again. Justin returned with several primitive coconuts, and woke the detective while cracking one open. After helping him drink the juice from one he had halved, he said, “Let’s get to higher ground‐ then we can dress those wounds and set up the beacon.”
Raskins slurped down the coconut milk and staggered to his feet. “What do I look like?” he asked.
“Like a ghost,” came the answer. With the detective leaning heavily on Justin, they slowly made their way to the top of a rise and set up camp. Their position overlooked the forest on one side, and a vast expanse of boggy
lowlands on the other. Justin used utility scissors to cut the last shreds of shirt away from the detective’s grizzly back wound.
“How bad am I?” asked Raskins.
“It’s like a bad road rash, that’s all,” he answered. But Justin was very concerned about infection. The arms weren’t so bad, but the detectives back had been severely burned. When the cutting was done, Justin placed him on his stomach, handed him a small tree branch and said, “Bite on this."
“Shit,” said Raskins.
Justin energized his polaser, set it on extreme low and let it pulse the wound. Detective Raskins screamed until he cried, but the burn had been cauterized. The agent powered down his weapon and applied a topical ointment. By the time the wounds were fully dressed, Raskins was again asleep. Justin took the opportunity to search out and climb the highest tree in the area. Hand over hand, he made the ascent, with the beacon clenched in his teeth. When the branches would no longer support his weight, he placed the beacon against the trunk, duct
taped it securely and pressed the transmitter button. Making his way down the tall tree, he paused to take in the
panoramic view of what appeared to be a late Permian or early Triassic landscape. The trees were a type of huge Cypress, lording it over a multitude of ferns. The air was alive with the buzzing of large insects, including a red dragonfly with a four foot wing span that continually attempted to land on Justin’s shoulder. At one point, it sat long enough for Justin to see his own reflection in its multi‐chambered eyes.
Once back on the soft turf, the agent looked at the blank screen of his wrist‐worn oscillator. The length of their journey had caused a glitch in the warning function, leaving them with no way of knowing when they would be drawn back to their time of origin, or even if they would be drawn back at all. He wasn’t sure which was worse, not being prepared for freeze, or living out his life in a Permian jungle. With the beacon set, Justin had done what he could. It could be detected from a distance of a million years, but that was like finding a needle in a haystack. Justin could only hope that Infinity would get lucky; he was sure it would be her they would send.
Suddenly, a loud cry from the detective brought Justin racing back to find him pinned against the fern by a ten foot centipede. Its mandibles would have severed the detective’s neck cleanly had they not been snagged on the fern itself, which would not hold for long. Thyme mounted the creature from the rear, using its thorax as a
stairway and came to a sitting position just behind the head. An acidic vapor rising from between the armored sections of its body caused both men to retch. As the creature turned its attention on Justin, he fired the polaser point blank into the back of its neck and it dropped lifelessly to the turf, cooked, and ready to eat.
Setting the Beacon
The detective sat with his back against a tall fern, drifting in and out of consciousness. Without a protective survival suit, he had sustained burns on his back, arms and shoulders. Each time he awoke, his body throbbed like an unbalanced washing machine, pounding until the pain made him pass out again. Justin returned with several primitive coconuts, and woke the detective while cracking one open. After helping him drink the juice from one he had halved, he said, “Let’s get to higher ground‐ then we can dress those wounds and set up the beacon.”
Raskins slurped down the coconut milk and staggered to his feet. “What do I look like?” he asked.
“Like a ghost,” came the answer. With the detective leaning heavily on Justin, they slowly made their way to the top of a rise and set up camp. Their position overlooked the forest on one side, and a vast expanse of boggy
lowlands on the other. Justin used utility scissors to cut the last shreds of shirt away from the detective’s grizzly back wound.
“How bad am I?” asked Raskins.
“It’s like a bad road rash, that’s all,” he answered. But Justin was very concerned about infection. The arms weren’t so bad, but the detectives back had been severely burned. When the cutting was done, Justin placed him on his stomach, handed him a small tree branch and said, “Bite on this."
“Shit,” said Raskins.
Justin energized his polaser, set it on extreme low and let it pulse the wound. Detective Raskins screamed until he cried, but the burn had been cauterized. The agent powered down his weapon and applied a topical ointment. By the time the wounds were fully dressed, Raskins was again asleep. Justin took the opportunity to search out and climb the highest tree in the area. Hand over hand, he made the ascent, with the beacon clenched in his teeth. When the branches would no longer support his weight, he placed the beacon against the trunk, duct
taped it securely and pressed the transmitter button. Making his way down the tall tree, he paused to take in the
panoramic view of what appeared to be a late Permian or early Triassic landscape. The trees were a type of huge Cypress, lording it over a multitude of ferns. The air was alive with the buzzing of large insects, including a red dragonfly with a four foot wing span that continually attempted to land on Justin’s shoulder. At one point, it sat long enough for Justin to see his own reflection in its multi‐chambered eyes.
Once back on the soft turf, the agent looked at the blank screen of his wrist‐worn oscillator. The length of their journey had caused a glitch in the warning function, leaving them with no way of knowing when they would be drawn back to their time of origin, or even if they would be drawn back at all. He wasn’t sure which was worse, not being prepared for freeze, or living out his life in a Permian jungle. With the beacon set, Justin had done what he could. It could be detected from a distance of a million years, but that was like finding a needle in a haystack. Justin could only hope that Infinity would get lucky; he was sure it would be her they would send.
Suddenly, a loud cry from the detective brought Justin racing back to find him pinned against the fern by a ten foot centipede. Its mandibles would have severed the detective’s neck cleanly had they not been snagged on the fern itself, which would not hold for long. Thyme mounted the creature from the rear, using its thorax as a
stairway and came to a sitting position just behind the head. An acidic vapor rising from between the armored sections of its body caused both men to retch. As the creature turned its attention on Justin, he fired the polaser point blank into the back of its neck and it dropped lifelessly to the turf, cooked, and ready to eat.
Chapter Forty Two
The Chicken or the Egg
“The beginning?” asked the Senator. “Lieutenant, I’m afraid this bucket of worms doesn’t have a beginning‐ or an end. All I can tell you is this facility is way beyond Top Secret, like aliens.”
“Oh really? smiled Lieutenant Baxter. “Then answer me this, Morgan. How does one go about building a time machine?”
Senator Stilwell’s heart leaped. “Lieutenant, it sounds like you’re off your medica‐“
“Don’t waste time senator, it’s too late for that. I know about the Chrona‐ Franz told me everything.”
Senator Stilwell cursed the Swiss watch maker and every one of his ancestors. He knew the cat was out of the bag, but he also knew Alternity Group could never allow the military to have access to this technology. But all that would have to wait, because a different set of problems needed to be solved immediately.
“OK Lieutenant, what is it that you want to know?” the Senator asked.
“How did you come upon the discovery in the first place?” the Lieutenant replied.
“We always knew time was malleable, that it could be manipulated. And, that subatomic particles sometimes behaved paradoxically. But time travel itself, as in sending a person through time, creates problems, riddles, contradictions.”
“I can well imagine,” said Baxter.
“We didn’t actually come upon a discovery,” said Stilwell.
“Oh?” asked Lieutenant Baxter.
“We never made any discovery, Lieutenant. Rather, we let our future selves make it for us.” The room fell silent and the men looked each other squarely in the eyes. “When we realized it could actually be done, we also realized that we would be the ones to do it‐ so we undertook the building of a receiving portal first. Then, we made a pact to send someone back to the present with the instructions to build it, and armed with the science behind those instructions. After the Chrona's completion, we stood a secret watch for several uneventful years. We had all begun to laugh at ourselves over the foolishness and expense of it all. Then one fateful evening, the receiving portal belched smelly steam, and spat a lump of burnt flesh at our feet."
He continued, "Amid the carcass lay a container of an unknown alloy which we examined and found to be highly radioactive. Taking the proper precautions, we opened it and inside found what we had hoped for‐ a pulse record of much science we were yet to discover, along the with directions and methodology on how to get there! We did the work, and the Chrona was eventually completed. The lump of flesh in the portal turned out to be one of several death row inmates who would volunteer for the experiment, in return for a handsome sum delivered to their families upon the event of their death –or disappearance."
“But if you just stood by, how did you ever come to discover the technology you sent back?” asked the Lieutenant.
“We did more than stand by, Bob. We worked hard, and never stopped. Franz has an interesting take on it. Franz, what was it you said? You thought that..”
Franz Graber’s voice came over the chronophone. “The work went on until the discovery was made in real time. But once the directions were sent back, the events that led to them ended, forever relegated to a closed time loop that occurs only in an alternate dimension, over and over again- a dimension that shall always be just next door.”
The Lieutenant hung his head and sat rubbing his eyes. “That’s a bit theoretical for me, Mr. Graber. I guess what really matters, is that we’re here at this point. How we came to be here is another matter entirely that I’ll leave to scientists, or whatever you are. Now what’s it gonna be, Morgan?” he asked.
“Okay, let’s get back to work,” answered Senator Stilwell.
The Chicken or the Egg
“The beginning?” asked the Senator. “Lieutenant, I’m afraid this bucket of worms doesn’t have a beginning‐ or an end. All I can tell you is this facility is way beyond Top Secret, like aliens.”
“Oh really? smiled Lieutenant Baxter. “Then answer me this, Morgan. How does one go about building a time machine?”
Senator Stilwell’s heart leaped. “Lieutenant, it sounds like you’re off your medica‐“
“Don’t waste time senator, it’s too late for that. I know about the Chrona‐ Franz told me everything.”
Senator Stilwell cursed the Swiss watch maker and every one of his ancestors. He knew the cat was out of the bag, but he also knew Alternity Group could never allow the military to have access to this technology. But all that would have to wait, because a different set of problems needed to be solved immediately.
“OK Lieutenant, what is it that you want to know?” the Senator asked.
“How did you come upon the discovery in the first place?” the Lieutenant replied.
“We always knew time was malleable, that it could be manipulated. And, that subatomic particles sometimes behaved paradoxically. But time travel itself, as in sending a person through time, creates problems, riddles, contradictions.”
“I can well imagine,” said Baxter.
“We didn’t actually come upon a discovery,” said Stilwell.
“Oh?” asked Lieutenant Baxter.
“We never made any discovery, Lieutenant. Rather, we let our future selves make it for us.” The room fell silent and the men looked each other squarely in the eyes. “When we realized it could actually be done, we also realized that we would be the ones to do it‐ so we undertook the building of a receiving portal first. Then, we made a pact to send someone back to the present with the instructions to build it, and armed with the science behind those instructions. After the Chrona's completion, we stood a secret watch for several uneventful years. We had all begun to laugh at ourselves over the foolishness and expense of it all. Then one fateful evening, the receiving portal belched smelly steam, and spat a lump of burnt flesh at our feet."
He continued, "Amid the carcass lay a container of an unknown alloy which we examined and found to be highly radioactive. Taking the proper precautions, we opened it and inside found what we had hoped for‐ a pulse record of much science we were yet to discover, along the with directions and methodology on how to get there! We did the work, and the Chrona was eventually completed. The lump of flesh in the portal turned out to be one of several death row inmates who would volunteer for the experiment, in return for a handsome sum delivered to their families upon the event of their death –or disappearance."
“But if you just stood by, how did you ever come to discover the technology you sent back?” asked the Lieutenant.
“We did more than stand by, Bob. We worked hard, and never stopped. Franz has an interesting take on it. Franz, what was it you said? You thought that..”
Franz Graber’s voice came over the chronophone. “The work went on until the discovery was made in real time. But once the directions were sent back, the events that led to them ended, forever relegated to a closed time loop that occurs only in an alternate dimension, over and over again- a dimension that shall always be just next door.”
The Lieutenant hung his head and sat rubbing his eyes. “That’s a bit theoretical for me, Mr. Graber. I guess what really matters, is that we’re here at this point. How we came to be here is another matter entirely that I’ll leave to scientists, or whatever you are. Now what’s it gonna be, Morgan?” he asked.
“Okay, let’s get back to work,” answered Senator Stilwell.
Chapter Forty Three
Permian Shelter
Justin Thyme awoke to the sound of a babbling brook and the warmth of a bright morning sun. Detective Raskins was already up and cooking over the glowing embers of last night’s fire. It had been an uneventful evening and the fire was only one reason why. The other was the circle of bamboo poles Justin had stuck
into the ground surrounding the campsite. It had occurred to the agent that a bamboo pole could hold fluid
like a tiki torch if the top most section were filled with juice from the centipede. The acid that had made them retch seemed to act as a strong repellent to the creatures here. Justin saved nearly a gallon, stored in several coconuts for later use. There was no need to light it; the breeze carried its acidic scent for some distance and
they were able to sleep unmolested.
Detective Raskins looked wistfully over the vast expanse that stretched many miles before them. A verdant jungle of shimmering emerald was capped with puffy white clouds in a powder-blue sky. And, like a Chronopolin field in summer, it was alive with the buzz of zig zagging insects but spiced with the unfamiliar
calls of long forgotten creatures. “Good morning sleeping beauty,” teased Raskins. “Hungry?”
“I feel like I could eat a horse,” Justin answered.
“How ‘bout a giant Permian centipede then?” offered the detective.
“Next best thing,” said Justin, knowing they were lucky to be eating anything at all.
“I wonder what they’re going to tell my wife. She must be worried sick by now,” the detective pondered.
“Well, nobody’s gonna tell her the truth, that’s for sure,” replied Justin.
“Do you think we’ll make it back?” asked Raskins.
“All I can say is, we’re still alive to be having this conversation John, and that’s a good sign. They’ll have the best agents out looking for us, using the best technology that’s ever existed. And don’t forget old faithful up there, Justin said, pointing toward the beacon in the tree tops. "The T.I.B. is putting out a signal twenty four, seven. Right now, our main concern is staying alive. And speaking of that, we’ll take a look at your back wound after
breakfast,” said Thyme.
Justin cleaned and dressed the detective’s wounds for the second time in as many days, and saw marked improvement. For some reason, John was beating down the infection. Justin suspected it had something to do with the ultra pure air and water they were breathing and drinking. The more the agent time traveled, the
more convinced he became that most diseases had their root in the pollution of the modern world. They spent the rest of the summer‐like day digging out a circular shelter and shielding it from above using sticks cut from the strong local bamboo. Justin carved them skillfully, some with interlocking features and others with sharp, pointed tips. By dusk, the cubby hole was large enough for two men and a cache of supplies. It was covered on top by two layers of bamboo, both crisscrossed, and individually interlocked. Justin had designed the upper surface with bamboo points honed to razor sharpness, like a sea urchin. A small hatch allowed them to leave and tend the fire, which Justin thought should always be kept burning at night.
Permian Shelter
Justin Thyme awoke to the sound of a babbling brook and the warmth of a bright morning sun. Detective Raskins was already up and cooking over the glowing embers of last night’s fire. It had been an uneventful evening and the fire was only one reason why. The other was the circle of bamboo poles Justin had stuck
into the ground surrounding the campsite. It had occurred to the agent that a bamboo pole could hold fluid
like a tiki torch if the top most section were filled with juice from the centipede. The acid that had made them retch seemed to act as a strong repellent to the creatures here. Justin saved nearly a gallon, stored in several coconuts for later use. There was no need to light it; the breeze carried its acidic scent for some distance and
they were able to sleep unmolested.
Detective Raskins looked wistfully over the vast expanse that stretched many miles before them. A verdant jungle of shimmering emerald was capped with puffy white clouds in a powder-blue sky. And, like a Chronopolin field in summer, it was alive with the buzz of zig zagging insects but spiced with the unfamiliar
calls of long forgotten creatures. “Good morning sleeping beauty,” teased Raskins. “Hungry?”
“I feel like I could eat a horse,” Justin answered.
“How ‘bout a giant Permian centipede then?” offered the detective.
“Next best thing,” said Justin, knowing they were lucky to be eating anything at all.
“I wonder what they’re going to tell my wife. She must be worried sick by now,” the detective pondered.
“Well, nobody’s gonna tell her the truth, that’s for sure,” replied Justin.
“Do you think we’ll make it back?” asked Raskins.
“All I can say is, we’re still alive to be having this conversation John, and that’s a good sign. They’ll have the best agents out looking for us, using the best technology that’s ever existed. And don’t forget old faithful up there, Justin said, pointing toward the beacon in the tree tops. "The T.I.B. is putting out a signal twenty four, seven. Right now, our main concern is staying alive. And speaking of that, we’ll take a look at your back wound after
breakfast,” said Thyme.
Justin cleaned and dressed the detective’s wounds for the second time in as many days, and saw marked improvement. For some reason, John was beating down the infection. Justin suspected it had something to do with the ultra pure air and water they were breathing and drinking. The more the agent time traveled, the
more convinced he became that most diseases had their root in the pollution of the modern world. They spent the rest of the summer‐like day digging out a circular shelter and shielding it from above using sticks cut from the strong local bamboo. Justin carved them skillfully, some with interlocking features and others with sharp, pointed tips. By dusk, the cubby hole was large enough for two men and a cache of supplies. It was covered on top by two layers of bamboo, both crisscrossed, and individually interlocked. Justin had designed the upper surface with bamboo points honed to razor sharpness, like a sea urchin. A small hatch allowed them to leave and tend the fire, which Justin thought should always be kept burning at night.
Chapter Forty Four
Entering Alternity
Both factions were simultaneously ordered to cease aggressions upon arriving at the gate surrounding Alternity Group Headquarters. The loudspeaker resounded with the voice of Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter, saying, “Stand down. You will stand down immediately, and lower your weapons.”
Although there was some grumbling among the soldiers, the order was followed instantly. Then over the loudspeaker he spoke again, this time simply saying, “Stand by.” Back in the mobile unit, the Lieutenant looked toward the Senator and said, “Your turn.”
Senator Stilwell raised his arm and spoke into his wrist chronophone, calling for Infinity. Outside the gate, a hologram of the Senator’s likeness popped up from her wrist. She was ordered to stand down, and escort the soldiers into the facility.
“Understood, Stairs out” she replied, slapping the cap on the chronophone closed.
Once again, the Lieutenant’s voice blared over the loudspeaker. “Have your men form two columns, lining up single file on either side of the Alternity agents. Your duty is to march to the front doors of the premises, and await further orders there. The agents will remain outside until the arrival of both the Senator and myself, copy?”
The soldier in charge raised a closed fist above his head and opened his hand, signaling his acknowledgement of the order. He turned to his men and said, “Open it up!” The gate rolled slowly and noisily open, and the soldier gave his commands.
“Columns of two, prepare to march, left platoon forward!”
From elsewhere in the group came a second command saying, “First platoon prepare to march, second platoon stand fast!” At that, Infinity Stairs led her group through the gate. They swaggered to a position in between two long lines of soldiers.
“March!” came the order. A guide‐on who stood at the forefront holding a company flag began singing cadence.
“One‐two- three‐four!” Fifty men answered each count back in tight unison, marching in a military spectacle that went on with the rhythm of a chain gang:
“Chron-corps sure been good to me!”
(Chron-corps sure been good to me!)
“”Patches me up when I scrape my knee!”
(Patch me up when I scrape my knee!)
“Sound off!” (One‐two!)
“Sound off!” (Three‐four!)
“Sound off!” (One‐two! Three‐four!)
“My mamma cried when I joined the corps!”
(Mamma cried when I joined the corps!)
“But she had my clothes outside the door!”
(Had my clothes packed at the door!)
“Sound off!” (Sound off!)
“Sound off!” (Sound off!)
“Sound off!” (One‐two! Three‐four!)
As they passed the mobile unit, Senator Stilwell and Lieutenant Baxter took positions beside the marchers until they reached the front doors of the facility. There, Lieutenant Baxter hand‐picked a small squad to accompany him. They momentarily resisted being disarmed by guards at the door, but complied after the Senator explained the stupendous effect an errant projectile could have. Once relieved of their arms, they followed the Senator and his agents down into the laboratory, where they were stopped once again by guards. This time, they were all sworn to secrecy, including Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter, who nodded his head in agreement. When
the Senator had their sworn oaths –and signatures‐ they were allowed inside.
At the permaglass they stood dumbfounded like children before a Tyrannosaurus at the Chicago Museum of Natural History. “Gentleman,” said the Senator-
“I give you the Chrona!”
Entering Alternity
Both factions were simultaneously ordered to cease aggressions upon arriving at the gate surrounding Alternity Group Headquarters. The loudspeaker resounded with the voice of Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter, saying, “Stand down. You will stand down immediately, and lower your weapons.”
Although there was some grumbling among the soldiers, the order was followed instantly. Then over the loudspeaker he spoke again, this time simply saying, “Stand by.” Back in the mobile unit, the Lieutenant looked toward the Senator and said, “Your turn.”
Senator Stilwell raised his arm and spoke into his wrist chronophone, calling for Infinity. Outside the gate, a hologram of the Senator’s likeness popped up from her wrist. She was ordered to stand down, and escort the soldiers into the facility.
“Understood, Stairs out” she replied, slapping the cap on the chronophone closed.
Once again, the Lieutenant’s voice blared over the loudspeaker. “Have your men form two columns, lining up single file on either side of the Alternity agents. Your duty is to march to the front doors of the premises, and await further orders there. The agents will remain outside until the arrival of both the Senator and myself, copy?”
The soldier in charge raised a closed fist above his head and opened his hand, signaling his acknowledgement of the order. He turned to his men and said, “Open it up!” The gate rolled slowly and noisily open, and the soldier gave his commands.
“Columns of two, prepare to march, left platoon forward!”
From elsewhere in the group came a second command saying, “First platoon prepare to march, second platoon stand fast!” At that, Infinity Stairs led her group through the gate. They swaggered to a position in between two long lines of soldiers.
“March!” came the order. A guide‐on who stood at the forefront holding a company flag began singing cadence.
“One‐two- three‐four!” Fifty men answered each count back in tight unison, marching in a military spectacle that went on with the rhythm of a chain gang:
“Chron-corps sure been good to me!”
(Chron-corps sure been good to me!)
“”Patches me up when I scrape my knee!”
(Patch me up when I scrape my knee!)
“Sound off!” (One‐two!)
“Sound off!” (Three‐four!)
“Sound off!” (One‐two! Three‐four!)
“My mamma cried when I joined the corps!”
(Mamma cried when I joined the corps!)
“But she had my clothes outside the door!”
(Had my clothes packed at the door!)
“Sound off!” (Sound off!)
“Sound off!” (Sound off!)
“Sound off!” (One‐two! Three‐four!)
As they passed the mobile unit, Senator Stilwell and Lieutenant Baxter took positions beside the marchers until they reached the front doors of the facility. There, Lieutenant Baxter hand‐picked a small squad to accompany him. They momentarily resisted being disarmed by guards at the door, but complied after the Senator explained the stupendous effect an errant projectile could have. Once relieved of their arms, they followed the Senator and his agents down into the laboratory, where they were stopped once again by guards. This time, they were all sworn to secrecy, including Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter, who nodded his head in agreement. When
the Senator had their sworn oaths –and signatures‐ they were allowed inside.
At the permaglass they stood dumbfounded like children before a Tyrannosaurus at the Chicago Museum of Natural History. “Gentleman,” said the Senator-
“I give you the Chrona!”
Chapter Forty Five
Night Visitors
The bamboo cap fit snugly atop the makeshift shelter, allowing Detective Raskins and Special Agent Thyme to sleep peacefully beneath. With the latch tightly secured, they couldn’t feel the cool evening breeze, or hear the buzzing of nocturnal insects attracted by the flickering light outside. They were also unaware of the giant centipedes lurking just outside the circle of light provided by the campfire.
Again and again, the large but nimble‐footed creatures made their way up the hill only to scurry away each time the fire momentarily flared. For two nights, the creatures had been at the site, leaving just before first light to slither beneath boulders, brush and Cypress logs. They returned again at dusk the following evening. Agent Thyme sat at the campfire, working later than he had planned, jotting astronomical observations on papyrus. His goal was to create a chart marking the current positions of all the constellations. He hoped that by comparing it with their known positions in 2067, he could pin point exactly where in the past they were. That was a start.
The hour grew late, and he was about to retire when he thought he heard a hissing sound. He looked up from the chart out into the darkness, but saw only spooky dancing shadows. He added a log to the fire and went back to writing. When the chart was nearly completed, he heard it again. This time he stood up and took several steps toward the direction of the sound. He was about to chalk it up to the playful mystery of firelight when a breeze off the bog delivered the unmistakable acid stench of centipede to his nostrils. He staggered backward toward the hatch, retching as he went.
Once inside, he slept on his polaser for the remainder of the night. In the morning, he lifted the hatch carefully and found nothing amiss. The only relic of the previous night was smoke rising from spent embers like a cobra from a magicians wicker basket. He climbed down the hill for a look around, and could still smell centipede, mixed in with the strong coffee Raskins was brewing topside. Then he stumbled over a large, cracked mandible. When he stooped to pick it up, he found more of them, indicating a large number of the giant bugs had recently been there. He went back up the hill and refilled the bamboo tiki torches.
“What’s that?” asked the detective, passing a cup of coffee.
“It’s a map,” Justin answered.
“Do you really think we’ll be here long enough to need a map?” Raskins asked sadly.
“It’s a map of the stars, John. Let’s just say it’s as if we’re Magellan and this is our ticket home.”
“Why does this place smell so bad?” asked Raskins. “It wasn’t like that yesterday.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t,” answered Thyme. “I believe we’ve got a fan club out there.”
“Are we in danger?” asked the detective.
“Every minute,” smiled Justin. But it should be alright. I filled the tiki torches again.”
“So that’s where the smell is coming from?” asked Raskins.
“Nope,” said Justin. “I think it’s coming from more centipedes, hanging around at night.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Raskins.
“Those,” said Justin, pointing to a pile of large mandibles.
Night Visitors
The bamboo cap fit snugly atop the makeshift shelter, allowing Detective Raskins and Special Agent Thyme to sleep peacefully beneath. With the latch tightly secured, they couldn’t feel the cool evening breeze, or hear the buzzing of nocturnal insects attracted by the flickering light outside. They were also unaware of the giant centipedes lurking just outside the circle of light provided by the campfire.
Again and again, the large but nimble‐footed creatures made their way up the hill only to scurry away each time the fire momentarily flared. For two nights, the creatures had been at the site, leaving just before first light to slither beneath boulders, brush and Cypress logs. They returned again at dusk the following evening. Agent Thyme sat at the campfire, working later than he had planned, jotting astronomical observations on papyrus. His goal was to create a chart marking the current positions of all the constellations. He hoped that by comparing it with their known positions in 2067, he could pin point exactly where in the past they were. That was a start.
The hour grew late, and he was about to retire when he thought he heard a hissing sound. He looked up from the chart out into the darkness, but saw only spooky dancing shadows. He added a log to the fire and went back to writing. When the chart was nearly completed, he heard it again. This time he stood up and took several steps toward the direction of the sound. He was about to chalk it up to the playful mystery of firelight when a breeze off the bog delivered the unmistakable acid stench of centipede to his nostrils. He staggered backward toward the hatch, retching as he went.
Once inside, he slept on his polaser for the remainder of the night. In the morning, he lifted the hatch carefully and found nothing amiss. The only relic of the previous night was smoke rising from spent embers like a cobra from a magicians wicker basket. He climbed down the hill for a look around, and could still smell centipede, mixed in with the strong coffee Raskins was brewing topside. Then he stumbled over a large, cracked mandible. When he stooped to pick it up, he found more of them, indicating a large number of the giant bugs had recently been there. He went back up the hill and refilled the bamboo tiki torches.
“What’s that?” asked the detective, passing a cup of coffee.
“It’s a map,” Justin answered.
“Do you really think we’ll be here long enough to need a map?” Raskins asked sadly.
“It’s a map of the stars, John. Let’s just say it’s as if we’re Magellan and this is our ticket home.”
“Why does this place smell so bad?” asked Raskins. “It wasn’t like that yesterday.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t,” answered Thyme. “I believe we’ve got a fan club out there.”
“Are we in danger?” asked the detective.
“Every minute,” smiled Justin. But it should be alright. I filled the tiki torches again.”
“So that’s where the smell is coming from?” asked Raskins.
“Nope,” said Justin. “I think it’s coming from more centipedes, hanging around at night.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Raskins.
“Those,” said Justin, pointing to a pile of large mandibles.
Chapter Forty Six
Tornadoes of Fire
A dozen members of Alternity Group sat lashed to their chairs and ready to energize the Chrona. The General’s soldiers stood behind the permaglass, while their Lieutenant sat unfazed in his chair. His demeanor changed noticably when the first pulse of star power zapped the Chrona violently to life. Special Agent Jefferson Fulton, newly graduated, stood gamely before the Portal’s gaping maw feeling both frightened and yet determined.
“Nobody lives forever!” he shouted into the roaring din, comforting himself with the famous words of his hero, Justin Thyme. He looked back at Colonel Jasper, gave him the two fingered salute of a scout, and stepped off Chronopolis.
The universe revolved around him as he lay prone on the cobalt blue floor of the portal chamber. He repeated his orders over and over, lest he be overcome with trepidation- hit the ground running. Left at the church yard. Benjamin Binder and a woman named Maria. Four blocks to an apartment over the alley. Check oscillator. Bathtub.
From the point of view of those in the lab, he then disappeared into a tornado of fire.
“Good God!” exclaimed Baxter, clutching the arms of his chair.
“Worth the admission?” asked Senator Stilwell.
“Where’d he go?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Need to know basis only, Lieutenant” answered Stilwell.
The rest of the men raced around the lab preparing another launch, leaving the Chrona energized for the two minutes in between. A slender figure in a protective travel suit emerged from the staging area. She was flanked by two attendants poring over every inch of the suit. They stopped only when she began climbing the steps to the Chrona. As Infinity Stairs turned to see Colonel Jasper nodding his head in approval, she snapped a scout salute of her own. By now, the group was again seated, strapped down and donning their glasses.
Every occupant of the lab flashed her two thumbs up as she stepped into the portal. She checked her oscillator, which was still gaining time. That would reverse itself in about thirty seconds. A second star surge pulsed from the surface of Chronopolis, burying itself into the hardware of the Chrona. All lights and meters dimmed to dark.
This was her very first mission after graduation and yet she felt like a falcon in a tailwind. The world spun around her as she made a last second check of her polasers. She stole one brief glance at her own reflection in the permaglass, and smiled beneath her helmet. She had been a pretty good long jumper in high school, better in college. But now she was about to make her biggest jump of all- five hundred thirty years into the past. She hoped Cortés was ready for her, but she doubted it!
Five seconds later, she too disappeared into a fiery whirlwind.
Tornadoes of Fire
A dozen members of Alternity Group sat lashed to their chairs and ready to energize the Chrona. The General’s soldiers stood behind the permaglass, while their Lieutenant sat unfazed in his chair. His demeanor changed noticably when the first pulse of star power zapped the Chrona violently to life. Special Agent Jefferson Fulton, newly graduated, stood gamely before the Portal’s gaping maw feeling both frightened and yet determined.
“Nobody lives forever!” he shouted into the roaring din, comforting himself with the famous words of his hero, Justin Thyme. He looked back at Colonel Jasper, gave him the two fingered salute of a scout, and stepped off Chronopolis.
The universe revolved around him as he lay prone on the cobalt blue floor of the portal chamber. He repeated his orders over and over, lest he be overcome with trepidation- hit the ground running. Left at the church yard. Benjamin Binder and a woman named Maria. Four blocks to an apartment over the alley. Check oscillator. Bathtub.
From the point of view of those in the lab, he then disappeared into a tornado of fire.
“Good God!” exclaimed Baxter, clutching the arms of his chair.
“Worth the admission?” asked Senator Stilwell.
“Where’d he go?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Need to know basis only, Lieutenant” answered Stilwell.
The rest of the men raced around the lab preparing another launch, leaving the Chrona energized for the two minutes in between. A slender figure in a protective travel suit emerged from the staging area. She was flanked by two attendants poring over every inch of the suit. They stopped only when she began climbing the steps to the Chrona. As Infinity Stairs turned to see Colonel Jasper nodding his head in approval, she snapped a scout salute of her own. By now, the group was again seated, strapped down and donning their glasses.
Every occupant of the lab flashed her two thumbs up as she stepped into the portal. She checked her oscillator, which was still gaining time. That would reverse itself in about thirty seconds. A second star surge pulsed from the surface of Chronopolis, burying itself into the hardware of the Chrona. All lights and meters dimmed to dark.
This was her very first mission after graduation and yet she felt like a falcon in a tailwind. The world spun around her as she made a last second check of her polasers. She stole one brief glance at her own reflection in the permaglass, and smiled beneath her helmet. She had been a pretty good long jumper in high school, better in college. But now she was about to make her biggest jump of all- five hundred thirty years into the past. She hoped Cortés was ready for her, but she doubted it!
Five seconds later, she too disappeared into a fiery whirlwind.
Chapter Forty Seven
Attack of the Centipedes
“There!” exclaimed Justin, slapping down a pencil- “the chart is complete.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Detective Raskins.
“It means,” said Thyme, “that we’re one step closer to leaving this stinkbug‐infested quagmire.”
“Oh, so we’re gonna ride a star out of here?” asked the policeman sarcastically.
Justins eyes flashed. He grabbed Raskins by the collar, drawing the smaller man close. “Look, meter maid, I’m doing the best I can to get us out of a mess you got us into. Now suppose you tell me, what did you do the last time you found yourself trapped in a time zone a hundred million years before you were born?”
The Detective hauled back and delivered a right cross to Justin’s face, but the punch that had taken out many criminals on the streets of Chronopolis had little effect on Justin Thyme. Justin let the man go, and said, “I’m sorry John. I’m doing the best I can.”
Detective Raskins tugged his shirt back into shape, then turned and kicked the coffee pot out of camp and off the hill. By dusk, they were laughing about the incident and making good fun of themselves. But the fun was short lived, as noises from the bog made it hard to ignore their immediate predicament. Neither man had remembered to gather firewood during daylight, and only a log or two now remained. Justin thought of going out for some, but the darkness made it too risky. For now, the fire burned brightly enough, and the fresh stars shone beautifully pinned against a violet sky. Justin pointed out the stars and constellations and their corresponding features on the chart.
“You see Orion’s belt there?” said Justin, pointing skyward.
“If you say so,” answered Raskins.
“Well, in 2067, we know it will be over there. So, for a revolution like that, it would place us at the very beginning of the Triassic Period of the Mesozoic era‐ the beginning of the age of dinosaurs,” explained Justin.
“So, where is T‐Rex?” asked the detective.
“He’s not going to be born for a hundred million years yet,” said Justin. “Be happy with your Dragonflies.”
“And Centipedes?” asked Raskins.
“And your Centipedes” answered Thyme.
“Huh,” scoffed Raskins. “More like the age of bugs.”
A loud noise from out in the bog startled them both, and they decided it was time to retire for the night. Neither of them relished the thought of coming back out later on, so they threw both logs on the fire, relieved themselves, and headed inside. Against the background music of a crackling fire from topside, Raskins talked fondly of his wife and children back in Chronopolis. Justin lay on his back, smiling. He had no family, which was one of the reasons he was chosen for the job of special agent. He found himself living vicariously through the detective and enjoyed it thoroughly. As they drifted off to sleep, the crackling of the fire grew quiet and the acrid smell of centipedes grew strong.
Several hours later, the last glowing embers flickered out, and a host of Centipedes began clambering up the hill.
Attack of the Centipedes
“There!” exclaimed Justin, slapping down a pencil- “the chart is complete.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Detective Raskins.
“It means,” said Thyme, “that we’re one step closer to leaving this stinkbug‐infested quagmire.”
“Oh, so we’re gonna ride a star out of here?” asked the policeman sarcastically.
Justins eyes flashed. He grabbed Raskins by the collar, drawing the smaller man close. “Look, meter maid, I’m doing the best I can to get us out of a mess you got us into. Now suppose you tell me, what did you do the last time you found yourself trapped in a time zone a hundred million years before you were born?”
The Detective hauled back and delivered a right cross to Justin’s face, but the punch that had taken out many criminals on the streets of Chronopolis had little effect on Justin Thyme. Justin let the man go, and said, “I’m sorry John. I’m doing the best I can.”
Detective Raskins tugged his shirt back into shape, then turned and kicked the coffee pot out of camp and off the hill. By dusk, they were laughing about the incident and making good fun of themselves. But the fun was short lived, as noises from the bog made it hard to ignore their immediate predicament. Neither man had remembered to gather firewood during daylight, and only a log or two now remained. Justin thought of going out for some, but the darkness made it too risky. For now, the fire burned brightly enough, and the fresh stars shone beautifully pinned against a violet sky. Justin pointed out the stars and constellations and their corresponding features on the chart.
“You see Orion’s belt there?” said Justin, pointing skyward.
“If you say so,” answered Raskins.
“Well, in 2067, we know it will be over there. So, for a revolution like that, it would place us at the very beginning of the Triassic Period of the Mesozoic era‐ the beginning of the age of dinosaurs,” explained Justin.
“So, where is T‐Rex?” asked the detective.
“He’s not going to be born for a hundred million years yet,” said Justin. “Be happy with your Dragonflies.”
“And Centipedes?” asked Raskins.
“And your Centipedes” answered Thyme.
“Huh,” scoffed Raskins. “More like the age of bugs.”
A loud noise from out in the bog startled them both, and they decided it was time to retire for the night. Neither of them relished the thought of coming back out later on, so they threw both logs on the fire, relieved themselves, and headed inside. Against the background music of a crackling fire from topside, Raskins talked fondly of his wife and children back in Chronopolis. Justin lay on his back, smiling. He had no family, which was one of the reasons he was chosen for the job of special agent. He found himself living vicariously through the detective and enjoyed it thoroughly. As they drifted off to sleep, the crackling of the fire grew quiet and the acrid smell of centipedes grew strong.
Several hours later, the last glowing embers flickered out, and a host of Centipedes began clambering up the hill.
Chapter Forty Eight
Worshiping Infinity
Infinity stood alone with her thoughts in the Chrona portal, as its mechanical whine rose in a crescendo of sound. Her world began to spin, and she watched the universe come passing around again and again. Unlike the rest, it was her nature to remain cool, observant, and analytical no matter the situation. She watched the world flash on and off, days and nights flickering like a strobe light gone mad. Stars rushed in from distant galaxies as the bottom dropped out of space. Infinity craned her neck to watch the images of eternity careening around an axis. Locking her eyes onto a random image, she focused just long enough to send snapshots to her brain. She saw her mother smiling down at her, wearing outlandish garb. She saw the unfinished Pyramid of Cheops, and a hundred thousand Egyptian slaves being guided by a handful of gray‐skinned giants.
Then came the twirling image of an enormous long‐necked reptile munching on ferns, its feathery scales glistening under a Mesozoic sun. Suddenly, she detected a faint beeping in the background of the whirling kaleidoscope. Intuitively, she pressed the record button on the pocket of her suit for later analysis.
The strobe effect slowed until only daylight remained. She felt herself being pitched forward, and stretched her hands out before her. She landed face down, fingers deep in the warm sand of a tropical beach. All was quiet, except the mild lapping of waves and a circus of seagulls laughing at the absurdity of it all. Infinity rose to her feet, brushed herself off, and checked her oscillator. She had forty eight hours to stop Cortés and save a still-pristine Mesoamerica. She retreated from the wet sand, and found a cubby hole among the large rock formations one hundred yards inland. She climbed in, set up a rude camp and collected enough driftwood for a bonfire. In two hours, she was roasting shellfish and lobster on heated rocks. She slept at a good distance from the fire, inside the hollow boulder, and beneath a gorgeous red sunset on a deserted beach.
Later that night, she was awakened by silence when the crickets abruptly ended their symphony. She lay motionless on her back, and unfastened the Velcro straps to her polasers. She remained perfectly still until hearing footfalls coming from the direction of the fire. She strapped on her goggles, switched to infrared and
peeked over the lip of her stone nest. The beach was alive with indigenous people. The agent had to make a statement. Until she did so, she would be in danger.
Staying crouched inside the stone, she called out “Hello‐ I am Infinity Stairs!” Since she didn’t know the language, nor they hers, it was as good a statement as any. The sound of a woman speaking an unfamiliar language in the darkness caused the natives to rattle their weapons, preparing to meet the challenge.
“Infinity Stairs, I’m here to help you!” she called out.
The natives fell silent, and it wasn’t a good sign. They would remain a danger to her, and the mission, until they feared her. “Infin‐“ her words were cut off by the whoosh of an arrow that split the air an inch above her auburn tresses. She drew both her weapons, pointed them into the air and let them pulse. Two bolts of lightning streaked skyward and illuminated the area for miles. Infinity stood with both hands in the air, screamed, “Infinity Stairs!” and fired the polasers again.
Some natives fell on the sand, some bowed in terror. All dropped their weapons. It was quite understandable, considering yesterday she had done the same thing to the Chronopolis Corps. “Infinity!” she shouted again.
Now, she was their God.
Worshiping Infinity
Infinity stood alone with her thoughts in the Chrona portal, as its mechanical whine rose in a crescendo of sound. Her world began to spin, and she watched the universe come passing around again and again. Unlike the rest, it was her nature to remain cool, observant, and analytical no matter the situation. She watched the world flash on and off, days and nights flickering like a strobe light gone mad. Stars rushed in from distant galaxies as the bottom dropped out of space. Infinity craned her neck to watch the images of eternity careening around an axis. Locking her eyes onto a random image, she focused just long enough to send snapshots to her brain. She saw her mother smiling down at her, wearing outlandish garb. She saw the unfinished Pyramid of Cheops, and a hundred thousand Egyptian slaves being guided by a handful of gray‐skinned giants.
Then came the twirling image of an enormous long‐necked reptile munching on ferns, its feathery scales glistening under a Mesozoic sun. Suddenly, she detected a faint beeping in the background of the whirling kaleidoscope. Intuitively, she pressed the record button on the pocket of her suit for later analysis.
The strobe effect slowed until only daylight remained. She felt herself being pitched forward, and stretched her hands out before her. She landed face down, fingers deep in the warm sand of a tropical beach. All was quiet, except the mild lapping of waves and a circus of seagulls laughing at the absurdity of it all. Infinity rose to her feet, brushed herself off, and checked her oscillator. She had forty eight hours to stop Cortés and save a still-pristine Mesoamerica. She retreated from the wet sand, and found a cubby hole among the large rock formations one hundred yards inland. She climbed in, set up a rude camp and collected enough driftwood for a bonfire. In two hours, she was roasting shellfish and lobster on heated rocks. She slept at a good distance from the fire, inside the hollow boulder, and beneath a gorgeous red sunset on a deserted beach.
Later that night, she was awakened by silence when the crickets abruptly ended their symphony. She lay motionless on her back, and unfastened the Velcro straps to her polasers. She remained perfectly still until hearing footfalls coming from the direction of the fire. She strapped on her goggles, switched to infrared and
peeked over the lip of her stone nest. The beach was alive with indigenous people. The agent had to make a statement. Until she did so, she would be in danger.
Staying crouched inside the stone, she called out “Hello‐ I am Infinity Stairs!” Since she didn’t know the language, nor they hers, it was as good a statement as any. The sound of a woman speaking an unfamiliar language in the darkness caused the natives to rattle their weapons, preparing to meet the challenge.
“Infinity Stairs, I’m here to help you!” she called out.
The natives fell silent, and it wasn’t a good sign. They would remain a danger to her, and the mission, until they feared her. “Infin‐“ her words were cut off by the whoosh of an arrow that split the air an inch above her auburn tresses. She drew both her weapons, pointed them into the air and let them pulse. Two bolts of lightning streaked skyward and illuminated the area for miles. Infinity stood with both hands in the air, screamed, “Infinity Stairs!” and fired the polasers again.
Some natives fell on the sand, some bowed in terror. All dropped their weapons. It was quite understandable, considering yesterday she had done the same thing to the Chronopolis Corps. “Infinity!” she shouted again.
Now, she was their God.
Chapter Forty Nine
Sweet Dreams
“Senator, we have a stairway to heaven,” Colonel Jaspar announced in code. “Oscillator reading thirty five and dropping, and first contact has been established. We are reporting weapons fired, sir.”
The group gathered around the laboratory’s floor chart to study the lights. They indicated that Infinity had successfully jumped over five hundred years into the past, and was in position to resist the historic landing of Cortés at La Paz. Senator Stilwell congratulated the lab crew and reminded them there was no time to celebrate.
“Agent Stairs is well capable of handling the La Paz mission as it develops. Our focus is now on locating the Commodore,” he announced to no one in particular.
“Morgan, if I may say…“ began Lieutenant Baxter.
“You may not!” barked the Senator, pointing a finger at him and his small squad. “Keep quiet, and out of the way!”
Franz Graber stood watching from behind the permaglass in the main room, his hands and feet chained together. “Colonel Jaspar!” he shouted. “Colonel Jasper!”
The Senator ordered his security detail to silence the man. The head of that detail was Agent Robert Terco, who greatly resented what Graber had caused. He pushed the scientist into a chair and waved a menacing fist in his face.
Now the Professor’s voice came over the intercom. “Senator Stilwell, your presence is requested in the office.”
“Keep him quiet!” shouted the Senator, pointing at Franz Graber.
“Turk, if he gives you any trouble at all, sedate him.” He turned and left the room.
“Tell them to check the incoming data, it’s just routine police work,” Graber yelled after him. “Remember when they caught‐ what are you doing?” he yelled in mid sentence when he saw Terco preparing a sedative.
“What is that for? You wouldn’t dare!” Graber shouted.
“Oh really?” asked Terco.
Senator Stilwell burst through the office door, walking straight past as his secretary said, “The Professor is waiting for you.”
“What is it Professor?” asked Stilwell, “and why have you been A.W.O.L. while everyone else is..”
“Morgan, charming as ever” said the Professor, as an audio file wafted through the office. “Sit down a minute and listen to this.”
“What am I supposed to be hearing, Professor? It sounds like garble. Do you mean the beeping in the background?” asked Stilwell.
“Exactly,” answered the Professor.
“Satellite interference? White noise? Space junk bounce‐back?” the Senator postulated.
“That’s what I thought at first, but the lab crew was able to rule them all out, one by one,” answered the Professor.
“What do you make of it?” asked the Senator. “Could it be important?”
“Only two people might know that for sure, one of whom has been blasted through the space‐time fabric to God-knows-where,” replied the Professor. “And the other is…”
“Franz Graber” they said in unison.
“Oh shit!” exclaimed the Senator, slapping at his chronophone. “Colonel Jasper,” called the Senator, as his likeness popped up in the laboratory.
“Go ahead Senator,” Japsar answered over a ruckus in the background, a ruckus made by the voice of Franz Graber.
“No! No! I’m lodging a formal protest you son of a bitch! You’re sedating me against my will! I need to speak with the Professor!”
Agent Terco held the scientist immobile as Nikki Night Bird injected him with enough qui‐a‐tone to knock out a horse.
“Colonel, have security escort Mr. Graber upstairs to my office immediately” ordered the Senator.
Colonel Jaspar watched as Graber slumped to the floor drooling, and said “He’ll have to meet you in the infirmary wing, sir.
Chapter Fifty
Rude Awakening
Justin was awakened by the smell of smoke and the sound of clattering bamboo. He immediately knew the fire had gone out, and assumed the worst.
“Raskins!” he whispered. “Get up!”
As the detective rose from his slumber, it sounded like a dance party outside, without the music. They stood together watching as the hatch was somehow being assaulted, sand dropping to the floor with each hit. Justin checked his polasers, set them on full pulse and waited for the inevitable. The detective drew his service revolver and nodded to Justin, who shook his head with a condescending smirk. But it ended as quickly as it had begun, and all once again fell suddenly quiet.
Justin thought it was too quiet. He pointed to his ears, causing Detective Raskins to ask, “What?”
Justin looked at him and mouthed the words, “Too quiet‐ no crickets.”
Now Raskins understood. “You think they’re smart enough to‐“
“No I don’t,” the agent interrupted. Justin grabbed the long walking pole they used to prop open the bamboo hatch on hot afternoons, lifted the cap, and waited. Nothing happened. The detective positioned a short bamboo
ladder and climbed it while Justin covered him. He came tripping back down with a look of fright on his face and said “They’re here!”
“What are they doing?” asked Justin.
“I don’t know,” answered Raskins, “they’re just standing there!”
Justin considered handing the detective a polaser for a second, then reconsidered. He would rather die at the hands of a monster than be incinerated by friendly fire. That’s just not the way a special agent goes out, if he can help it. Justin climbed the ladder and peeked under the hatch. Outside, an enormous centipede stood completely upright, looking like a slender, elongated bear on its hind legs. It seemed to be leaning against one of the bamboo tiki torches. Looking around, he saw the same thing going on all around the campsite! Every tiki torch held up a centipede doing what looked to be a slow dance at an Andrews Sisters USO party. Justin climbed back into the shelter and said “Get your gear‐ fast!”
“We’re not going out there!” said Raskins. “Are we?”
“They’re indisposed, it looks like,” said the agent. “Must be the juice.”
“The juice?” asked Raskins. “The repellent?”
“I’m guessing the one we ate was a female and these are males, attracted by her juice in the torches,” said Thyme. “Let’s get out of here while they’re busy!” With Justin leading, they walked gingerly passed the mesmerized
creatures, who seemed to be holding the torches in a mating embrace. These were huge specimens, much larger than the ten footer they had killed a week ago. With no other centipedes in sight, Justin figured these were males who had won the right to mate, and had driven the others off.
“So, they’re mating?” asked Detective Raskins.
“Yes‐ keep moving!” answered Thyme, “Unless you like the idea of being raped by a giant centipede.”
“Where are we going?” asked the detective.
“Away from here,” answered Thyme. They were a quarter mile away when they realized the centipedes were awake and coming after them. “Move it!” shouted Thyme.
“Oh my God!” Raskins cried. “What are we gonna do?”
“See that tree?” asked Justin. “That tall one?”
“We’re gonna climb it?” asked the detective.
“Well, I’m going to climb it, you can stay down here if you like,” answered Thyme.
“But I’ll get killed!” said Raskins.
“Or worse,” Justin answered.
Rude Awakening
Justin was awakened by the smell of smoke and the sound of clattering bamboo. He immediately knew the fire had gone out, and assumed the worst.
“Raskins!” he whispered. “Get up!”
As the detective rose from his slumber, it sounded like a dance party outside, without the music. They stood together watching as the hatch was somehow being assaulted, sand dropping to the floor with each hit. Justin checked his polasers, set them on full pulse and waited for the inevitable. The detective drew his service revolver and nodded to Justin, who shook his head with a condescending smirk. But it ended as quickly as it had begun, and all once again fell suddenly quiet.
Justin thought it was too quiet. He pointed to his ears, causing Detective Raskins to ask, “What?”
Justin looked at him and mouthed the words, “Too quiet‐ no crickets.”
Now Raskins understood. “You think they’re smart enough to‐“
“No I don’t,” the agent interrupted. Justin grabbed the long walking pole they used to prop open the bamboo hatch on hot afternoons, lifted the cap, and waited. Nothing happened. The detective positioned a short bamboo
ladder and climbed it while Justin covered him. He came tripping back down with a look of fright on his face and said “They’re here!”
“What are they doing?” asked Justin.
“I don’t know,” answered Raskins, “they’re just standing there!”
Justin considered handing the detective a polaser for a second, then reconsidered. He would rather die at the hands of a monster than be incinerated by friendly fire. That’s just not the way a special agent goes out, if he can help it. Justin climbed the ladder and peeked under the hatch. Outside, an enormous centipede stood completely upright, looking like a slender, elongated bear on its hind legs. It seemed to be leaning against one of the bamboo tiki torches. Looking around, he saw the same thing going on all around the campsite! Every tiki torch held up a centipede doing what looked to be a slow dance at an Andrews Sisters USO party. Justin climbed back into the shelter and said “Get your gear‐ fast!”
“We’re not going out there!” said Raskins. “Are we?”
“They’re indisposed, it looks like,” said the agent. “Must be the juice.”
“The juice?” asked Raskins. “The repellent?”
“I’m guessing the one we ate was a female and these are males, attracted by her juice in the torches,” said Thyme. “Let’s get out of here while they’re busy!” With Justin leading, they walked gingerly passed the mesmerized
creatures, who seemed to be holding the torches in a mating embrace. These were huge specimens, much larger than the ten footer they had killed a week ago. With no other centipedes in sight, Justin figured these were males who had won the right to mate, and had driven the others off.
“So, they’re mating?” asked Detective Raskins.
“Yes‐ keep moving!” answered Thyme, “Unless you like the idea of being raped by a giant centipede.”
“Where are we going?” asked the detective.
“Away from here,” answered Thyme. They were a quarter mile away when they realized the centipedes were awake and coming after them. “Move it!” shouted Thyme.
“Oh my God!” Raskins cried. “What are we gonna do?”
“See that tree?” asked Justin. “That tall one?”
“We’re gonna climb it?” asked the detective.
“Well, I’m going to climb it, you can stay down here if you like,” answered Thyme.
“But I’ll get killed!” said Raskins.
“Or worse,” Justin answered.
Chapter Fifty One
Zaban'a
Infinity hadn’t slept so well in ages, and awoke barely remembering the events of the previous evening. She lay in a hut on beautiful blankets, expertly weaved with native patterns still indicative of pre‐contact Mesoamerican culture. Woven baskets filled with sea shells, foodstuffs and beads of all colors surrounded her bedding, and brightly feathered dolls adorned the walls of woven sweet-grass.
She emerged from the doorway into a glorious Caribbean morning and found herself surrounded by thousands of onlookers, all kneeling. She waded into the sea of golden‐skinned humanity, reaching down to touch the heads of small children and the elderly.
“Please rise, my friends, and go on about your business,” Infinity said to no avail. She reentered the grass hut and slapped open her chronophone. The holographic likeness of Colonel Jaspar appeared atop her wrist, something she spared the natives from seeing.
“Agent Stairs, please report!” said Jaspar.
“That would be Queen Stairs now, Colonel!” she laughed.
“Yes, we expected that might happen. Are you tempted to stay on?” he asked.
“It would be tempting indeed, if I didn’t know the hammer was about to come down on these poor people; the sky alone is worth the trip. I’ve never seen anything so radiant!” she exclaimed.
“Agent Stairs, uh your majesty, I know you didn’t contact us to talk about the weather,” said Jaspar.
“No,” she replied. Drawing back the beads in the doorway, she saw that everyone had gone back to their daily tasks. She felt more comfortable not being at the center of everyone’s attention. “I’m at a loss as to how to communicate with them. Charades is too cumbersome. Do I have a translation module?” she asked.
“Infinity, it’s been forty-one years since first contact. There’s a high likelihood someone there speaks at least a little Spanish- how’s yours, seniorita?” asked Jaspar.
“Not good too!” she laughed. “Stairs out.”
Infinity looked down at the many baskets of goods lying at her feet. She decided to continue eating MRE’s. It would take time to adjust to such radically new foods and she didn’t want to chance the irregularity it would bring. Her system was shocked enough from the time jump. “OK everybody,” she said as she emerged from the hut once again. They again dropped to their knees, listening as she inquired in her best spanish, “Si habla ‘espaniole?”
“Si” came the squeak of a youthful girl.
“Venga a verme,” said Infinity, “come see me.”
The girl rose to her feet and quickly scurried between the long lines of worshippers so as not to keep this powerful Goddess waiting. When she arrived, Infinity grabbed her by the wrist to keep her from again prostrating herself.
“Como se llama usted?” asked Infinity.
“I am called Zaban'a,” answered the young woman.
“What a lovely girl you are, Zaban'a, and what a lovely name,” said Infinity.
“It means grasslands and meadow.”
“Zabana, where did you learn to speak the Spanish?” asked Infinity.
“From my mother,” said Zaban'a.
“And where did she learn to speak Spanish?” the agent continued.
“From the men who came to our island,” she answered. “They came in a giant tomol canoe. We welcomed their arrival, but they took many as slaves, including my mother. I was born a slave, but ran away the first time I was sent out alone on an errand. These people took me in.”
“What is the island of your mothers people?” asked Infinity.
“Ghuanahani. I am a Taino,” she said.
Infinity knew the sad story of how Columbus landed on Ghuanahani, enslaved its peoples and renamed the island San Salvador. She hated killing, but this time it would be easy. “Well Zaban'a, you shall rest with me. Have your tribesmen bring us warm water for a bath, and fruits to eat. Then we shall talk about tomorrow- and your revenge.”
Zabana’s eyes flashed at the word. She bowed deeply to Infinity and ran off.
Zaban'a
Infinity hadn’t slept so well in ages, and awoke barely remembering the events of the previous evening. She lay in a hut on beautiful blankets, expertly weaved with native patterns still indicative of pre‐contact Mesoamerican culture. Woven baskets filled with sea shells, foodstuffs and beads of all colors surrounded her bedding, and brightly feathered dolls adorned the walls of woven sweet-grass.
She emerged from the doorway into a glorious Caribbean morning and found herself surrounded by thousands of onlookers, all kneeling. She waded into the sea of golden‐skinned humanity, reaching down to touch the heads of small children and the elderly.
“Please rise, my friends, and go on about your business,” Infinity said to no avail. She reentered the grass hut and slapped open her chronophone. The holographic likeness of Colonel Jaspar appeared atop her wrist, something she spared the natives from seeing.
“Agent Stairs, please report!” said Jaspar.
“That would be Queen Stairs now, Colonel!” she laughed.
“Yes, we expected that might happen. Are you tempted to stay on?” he asked.
“It would be tempting indeed, if I didn’t know the hammer was about to come down on these poor people; the sky alone is worth the trip. I’ve never seen anything so radiant!” she exclaimed.
“Agent Stairs, uh your majesty, I know you didn’t contact us to talk about the weather,” said Jaspar.
“No,” she replied. Drawing back the beads in the doorway, she saw that everyone had gone back to their daily tasks. She felt more comfortable not being at the center of everyone’s attention. “I’m at a loss as to how to communicate with them. Charades is too cumbersome. Do I have a translation module?” she asked.
“Infinity, it’s been forty-one years since first contact. There’s a high likelihood someone there speaks at least a little Spanish- how’s yours, seniorita?” asked Jaspar.
“Not good too!” she laughed. “Stairs out.”
Infinity looked down at the many baskets of goods lying at her feet. She decided to continue eating MRE’s. It would take time to adjust to such radically new foods and she didn’t want to chance the irregularity it would bring. Her system was shocked enough from the time jump. “OK everybody,” she said as she emerged from the hut once again. They again dropped to their knees, listening as she inquired in her best spanish, “Si habla ‘espaniole?”
“Si” came the squeak of a youthful girl.
“Venga a verme,” said Infinity, “come see me.”
The girl rose to her feet and quickly scurried between the long lines of worshippers so as not to keep this powerful Goddess waiting. When she arrived, Infinity grabbed her by the wrist to keep her from again prostrating herself.
“Como se llama usted?” asked Infinity.
“I am called Zaban'a,” answered the young woman.
“What a lovely girl you are, Zaban'a, and what a lovely name,” said Infinity.
“It means grasslands and meadow.”
“Zabana, where did you learn to speak the Spanish?” asked Infinity.
“From my mother,” said Zaban'a.
“And where did she learn to speak Spanish?” the agent continued.
“From the men who came to our island,” she answered. “They came in a giant tomol canoe. We welcomed their arrival, but they took many as slaves, including my mother. I was born a slave, but ran away the first time I was sent out alone on an errand. These people took me in.”
“What is the island of your mothers people?” asked Infinity.
“Ghuanahani. I am a Taino,” she said.
Infinity knew the sad story of how Columbus landed on Ghuanahani, enslaved its peoples and renamed the island San Salvador. She hated killing, but this time it would be easy. “Well Zaban'a, you shall rest with me. Have your tribesmen bring us warm water for a bath, and fruits to eat. Then we shall talk about tomorrow- and your revenge.”
Zabana’s eyes flashed at the word. She bowed deeply to Infinity and ran off.
'Infinity knew the sad story of how Columbus landed on
Ghuanahani, enslaved its peoples and renamed the island San
Salvador. She hated killing, but this time it would be easy.'
Ghuanahani, enslaved its peoples and renamed the island San
Salvador. She hated killing, but this time it would be easy.'
Chapter Fifty Two
Office Hours
Senator Stilwell and the professor watched as the infirmary doors swung wide open, and a patient was rolled through on a gurney. For a brief moment, they had a clear view all the way to the end of the corridor, but there was no sign of Franz Graber.
“Here he is, sir,” came Agent Terco’s voice from behind them.
“That’s Graber?” asked the Senator. “What happened to him?”
“He gave us trouble, so we sedated him, like you told us to,” said Terco.
The professor leaned over the gurney, felt Grabers’ neck for a pulse and asked, “What did you use?”
“Qui‐a‐tone, one hundred cc’s,” answered the agent.
The professor looked over at Senator Stilwell and said, “He’ll be out ‘till Christmas.”
“Sorry. I told him to shut up and he wouldn’t listen,” said Terco.
“What did he say?” asked the professor.
“He said to check incoming data.”
“And he was right, as usual. We’d better have that beeping analyzed,” said Stilwell. “Terco, you stay here and babysit. Nikki, you come with us.”
“Colonel Jaspar, please report to Senator Stilwell’s office, Colonel Jaspar to Senator Stilwell’s office please,” came the announcement over the intercom. As the professor listened to the audio file from Infinity’s last jump
in the Chrona, a knock came on the office door. In walked Agent Night Bird who held the door for the Senator, then stood at parade rest when he took a seat. “Code seven,” came a second announcement over the intercom as
the men sat listening to the recorded beeps. “Code seven.” Nikki slowly and quietly drew her polaser and stood next to the doorway. Suddenly, the door burst open and in came Colonel Jaspar with a soldier holding tightly to each arm. Nikki held her fire. Behind them came Lieutenant Baxter. Behind him came Nikki, holding a polaser to the back of his head.
“John, what part of ‘quiet and out of the way’ do you find it hard to understand?” shouted the Senator.
“I demand to know what’s going on, that’s all,” answered Baxter.
“Lieutenant, need I remind you that this is not a military operation and that you are only a guest of Alternity Corporation?” Stilwell shouted.
“It soon will be, Senator!” yelled Baxter.
“And as such, your invitation to visit here is subject to revocation should you fail to abide…”
“Tell her to take that thing out of my face Morgan!” said Lieutenant Baxter.
“I’ve got it!” announced the professor, and all fell quiet. “The Chrona opens a conduit during transport, that’s it. Sound from any active operation may be conducted via an energized Chrona! That beeping must be the signal from the Commodores' Time Indicator Beacon, and Infinity had the presence of mind to record it during her trip back.”
“Back from where?” asked Lieutenant Baxter.
“Need to know basis only, remember that little agreement we had John?” asked Senator Stilwell.
“I want access to a phone,” said the Lieutenant.
Nikki looked at the Senator, who shook his head, ‘no’.
“Am I a fucking prisoner?” shouted Baxter.
The Senator waved off Nikki and she sheathed her weapon. “Have a seat,” she ordered the soldiers.
“Lieutenant, please have a seat,” she asked politely.
Colonel Jaspar brushed the wrinkles from his sleeves and sat down as well. They listened to the file for several hours, discussing the possibilities. It would be a good idea to record all Chrona missions from now on, they agreed. The secretary’s voice came over the office intercom saying, “Senator Stilwell, Mrs. Raskins is calling about her husband. Shall I put her through?”
Office Hours
Senator Stilwell and the professor watched as the infirmary doors swung wide open, and a patient was rolled through on a gurney. For a brief moment, they had a clear view all the way to the end of the corridor, but there was no sign of Franz Graber.
“Here he is, sir,” came Agent Terco’s voice from behind them.
“That’s Graber?” asked the Senator. “What happened to him?”
“He gave us trouble, so we sedated him, like you told us to,” said Terco.
The professor leaned over the gurney, felt Grabers’ neck for a pulse and asked, “What did you use?”
“Qui‐a‐tone, one hundred cc’s,” answered the agent.
The professor looked over at Senator Stilwell and said, “He’ll be out ‘till Christmas.”
“Sorry. I told him to shut up and he wouldn’t listen,” said Terco.
“What did he say?” asked the professor.
“He said to check incoming data.”
“And he was right, as usual. We’d better have that beeping analyzed,” said Stilwell. “Terco, you stay here and babysit. Nikki, you come with us.”
“Colonel Jaspar, please report to Senator Stilwell’s office, Colonel Jaspar to Senator Stilwell’s office please,” came the announcement over the intercom. As the professor listened to the audio file from Infinity’s last jump
in the Chrona, a knock came on the office door. In walked Agent Night Bird who held the door for the Senator, then stood at parade rest when he took a seat. “Code seven,” came a second announcement over the intercom as
the men sat listening to the recorded beeps. “Code seven.” Nikki slowly and quietly drew her polaser and stood next to the doorway. Suddenly, the door burst open and in came Colonel Jaspar with a soldier holding tightly to each arm. Nikki held her fire. Behind them came Lieutenant Baxter. Behind him came Nikki, holding a polaser to the back of his head.
“John, what part of ‘quiet and out of the way’ do you find it hard to understand?” shouted the Senator.
“I demand to know what’s going on, that’s all,” answered Baxter.
“Lieutenant, need I remind you that this is not a military operation and that you are only a guest of Alternity Corporation?” Stilwell shouted.
“It soon will be, Senator!” yelled Baxter.
“And as such, your invitation to visit here is subject to revocation should you fail to abide…”
“Tell her to take that thing out of my face Morgan!” said Lieutenant Baxter.
“I’ve got it!” announced the professor, and all fell quiet. “The Chrona opens a conduit during transport, that’s it. Sound from any active operation may be conducted via an energized Chrona! That beeping must be the signal from the Commodores' Time Indicator Beacon, and Infinity had the presence of mind to record it during her trip back.”
“Back from where?” asked Lieutenant Baxter.
“Need to know basis only, remember that little agreement we had John?” asked Senator Stilwell.
“I want access to a phone,” said the Lieutenant.
Nikki looked at the Senator, who shook his head, ‘no’.
“Am I a fucking prisoner?” shouted Baxter.
The Senator waved off Nikki and she sheathed her weapon. “Have a seat,” she ordered the soldiers.
“Lieutenant, please have a seat,” she asked politely.
Colonel Jaspar brushed the wrinkles from his sleeves and sat down as well. They listened to the file for several hours, discussing the possibilities. It would be a good idea to record all Chrona missions from now on, they agreed. The secretary’s voice came over the office intercom saying, “Senator Stilwell, Mrs. Raskins is calling about her husband. Shall I put her through?”
Chapter Fifty Three
Two in a Tree Top
Justin Thyme ran toward the large cypress tree, his big frame gliding across interspersed patches of sand and moss with the grace of an antelope. At some distance behind, Detective Raskins continually stumbled over the uneven ground, looking over his shoulder to gauge how fast the centipedes were gaining on them. At fifty yards from the tree, he took a nasty tumble and went down with a cry. Like a track runner, Justin was about to kick for the last yards to the tree and heard nothing but his own rhythmic gasping for air.
Raskins lay face down in the sand, his lungs burning and pain shooting from his rapidly swelling ankle. “Justin!” he cried out. Justin cast a backwards glance just as he reached the tree and saw the detective sprawled on the turf. He looked further back to the horizon and saw the cloud of dust from where several dozen centipedes bore down on them. He then looked high into the tree and saw a bright international orange survival pack, where he had also duct taped the Time Indicator Beacon transmitter. He raced back to Raskins and helped him to his feet.
“Save yourself,” said the detective.
“And cost you a collar?” smiled the agent. The hobbling trip to the base of the tree cost them precious seconds. “Can you climb with that ankle?” asked Justin.
“Yeah,” answered the detective, who then screamed in pain the first time he tried.
Justin looked back and saw that the cloud was now much closer. “Take off your belt” ordered Justin, and the detective obliged. Justin wrapped it around his own shoulder and instructed Raskins to put an arm through the loop. “Lock your hands!” he shouted. With the detective on his back and no time to spare, Justin began the tortuous climb. The centipedes sounded like crabs on cobblestone as they approached. The men were mercifully upwind, sparing them the acrid funk of the leggy bunch. Taking it one branch at a time, Justin soon had the detectives' feet several yards off the ground. He kept his eyes on the top of the tree as Detective Raskins
watched below. When the centipedes reached the spot where he had fallen, they stopped and sniffed the area, a white foam secretion dripping from their mandibles. Raskins shuddered.
The detective grimaced in pain as he was hauled up the tree like a marionette. Justin took no time to rest and soon had them up into the thinnest branches. When the centipedes reached the base of the large Cypress, they circled around until all three dozen of them were interwoven like a greasy orange doily. They had trapped their prey, and would now be content to wait them out. Justin removed the belt and sat the detective precariously out on a limb.
“The thinner the branch, the safer you are if they decide to climb up here” he said. The detective nodded. Justin handed him a jug of water, then tied a second jug to a nearby branch. “Don’t drink that one,” Justin said, pointing to it. Again, Raskins nodded.
“How long will they wait do you think?” asked Raskins.
“No telling,” answered Justin.
“What’s the plan?” asked Raskins.
“To stay alive,” Justin said. Then he pulled out a large bowie knife, opened the cap on the Time Indicator Beacon, and began striking it with the blade over and over.
Two in a Tree Top
Justin Thyme ran toward the large cypress tree, his big frame gliding across interspersed patches of sand and moss with the grace of an antelope. At some distance behind, Detective Raskins continually stumbled over the uneven ground, looking over his shoulder to gauge how fast the centipedes were gaining on them. At fifty yards from the tree, he took a nasty tumble and went down with a cry. Like a track runner, Justin was about to kick for the last yards to the tree and heard nothing but his own rhythmic gasping for air.
Raskins lay face down in the sand, his lungs burning and pain shooting from his rapidly swelling ankle. “Justin!” he cried out. Justin cast a backwards glance just as he reached the tree and saw the detective sprawled on the turf. He looked further back to the horizon and saw the cloud of dust from where several dozen centipedes bore down on them. He then looked high into the tree and saw a bright international orange survival pack, where he had also duct taped the Time Indicator Beacon transmitter. He raced back to Raskins and helped him to his feet.
“Save yourself,” said the detective.
“And cost you a collar?” smiled the agent. The hobbling trip to the base of the tree cost them precious seconds. “Can you climb with that ankle?” asked Justin.
“Yeah,” answered the detective, who then screamed in pain the first time he tried.
Justin looked back and saw that the cloud was now much closer. “Take off your belt” ordered Justin, and the detective obliged. Justin wrapped it around his own shoulder and instructed Raskins to put an arm through the loop. “Lock your hands!” he shouted. With the detective on his back and no time to spare, Justin began the tortuous climb. The centipedes sounded like crabs on cobblestone as they approached. The men were mercifully upwind, sparing them the acrid funk of the leggy bunch. Taking it one branch at a time, Justin soon had the detectives' feet several yards off the ground. He kept his eyes on the top of the tree as Detective Raskins
watched below. When the centipedes reached the spot where he had fallen, they stopped and sniffed the area, a white foam secretion dripping from their mandibles. Raskins shuddered.
The detective grimaced in pain as he was hauled up the tree like a marionette. Justin took no time to rest and soon had them up into the thinnest branches. When the centipedes reached the base of the large Cypress, they circled around until all three dozen of them were interwoven like a greasy orange doily. They had trapped their prey, and would now be content to wait them out. Justin removed the belt and sat the detective precariously out on a limb.
“The thinner the branch, the safer you are if they decide to climb up here” he said. The detective nodded. Justin handed him a jug of water, then tied a second jug to a nearby branch. “Don’t drink that one,” Justin said, pointing to it. Again, Raskins nodded.
“How long will they wait do you think?” asked Raskins.
“No telling,” answered Justin.
“What’s the plan?” asked Raskins.
“To stay alive,” Justin said. Then he pulled out a large bowie knife, opened the cap on the Time Indicator Beacon, and began striking it with the blade over and over.
Chapter Fifty Four
Landing at La Paz
Within the hour, a wooden washtub sat in the grass hut, and a line of Infinity’s disciples waited at the door, jugs of hot water in hand. Each native poured their jugs contents into the tub, bowed deeply to Infinity, then turned and left. A shaman chanted and shook a turtle rattle as two elderly women sprinkled herbs and minerals on the water’s steaming surface. When the last water had been poured, the shaman left, turning one last time to sprinkle sacred cornmeal at Infinity’s feet.
After the grass doorway was closed, Zaban'a kneeled before Infinity and held up an offering of colorful and fragrant flowers. Infinity smiled broadly, accepted the gift, and took Zabana’s hand.
“Levántese”, she said, ‘get up.'
Zabana rose to her feet, but kept her eyes on the ground. Infinity placed a finger beneath her chin and raised the girls gaze to meet her own. She saw in those eyes a sorrow beyond her years, and little hope beyond her fears.
They dropped their garments, entered the tub together and sat one behind the other. Goddess or no, it was Infinity who tended to the girl, hoping to wash away some of the injustice and pain. Zaban'a held her raven tresses aloft with both hands as Infinity dripped the warm contents of a sponge on the back of her neck.
“Que tengas una noche tranquila” Infinity said to her, ‘have a peaceful night.'
Word spread far and wide that the heavens had seen fit to send forth an avenging Goddess. On their march South the following morning, Infinity led thousands of natives from many tribes, each with a reason to despise the invading Spaniards. By the time they reached La Paz, two ships had left Tehuantepec on course for the southern tip of Baja, California. There, they intended to loot gold and gather as many slaves as they could fit
in the dank holds of their vessels. Hernando Cortes had already begun construction of more ships and sent word of his exploits back to Spain. He sent his best men to La Paz and so there was no reason to think they would have any difficulty.
Speaking through Zaban'a, Infinity instructed her minions to cut ten foot poles and carve sharp points on both ends of them. They were placed into the sand at 45 degree angles about fifty yards off the beach. Sponges soaked in poison from the glands of brightly colored lizards were used to smear all the sharpened tips. High on the cliffs above the beach, sand was dug out around large boulders, leaving them to wobble precariously, held only by small sticks. Hemp was run along the ground to where anxious natives sat ready to yank them loose.
Infinity stood with the archers a thousand feet above the harbor and it was she who was first to see the sails appear at dawn.
Landing at La Paz
Within the hour, a wooden washtub sat in the grass hut, and a line of Infinity’s disciples waited at the door, jugs of hot water in hand. Each native poured their jugs contents into the tub, bowed deeply to Infinity, then turned and left. A shaman chanted and shook a turtle rattle as two elderly women sprinkled herbs and minerals on the water’s steaming surface. When the last water had been poured, the shaman left, turning one last time to sprinkle sacred cornmeal at Infinity’s feet.
After the grass doorway was closed, Zaban'a kneeled before Infinity and held up an offering of colorful and fragrant flowers. Infinity smiled broadly, accepted the gift, and took Zabana’s hand.
“Levántese”, she said, ‘get up.'
Zabana rose to her feet, but kept her eyes on the ground. Infinity placed a finger beneath her chin and raised the girls gaze to meet her own. She saw in those eyes a sorrow beyond her years, and little hope beyond her fears.
They dropped their garments, entered the tub together and sat one behind the other. Goddess or no, it was Infinity who tended to the girl, hoping to wash away some of the injustice and pain. Zaban'a held her raven tresses aloft with both hands as Infinity dripped the warm contents of a sponge on the back of her neck.
“Que tengas una noche tranquila” Infinity said to her, ‘have a peaceful night.'
Word spread far and wide that the heavens had seen fit to send forth an avenging Goddess. On their march South the following morning, Infinity led thousands of natives from many tribes, each with a reason to despise the invading Spaniards. By the time they reached La Paz, two ships had left Tehuantepec on course for the southern tip of Baja, California. There, they intended to loot gold and gather as many slaves as they could fit
in the dank holds of their vessels. Hernando Cortes had already begun construction of more ships and sent word of his exploits back to Spain. He sent his best men to La Paz and so there was no reason to think they would have any difficulty.
Speaking through Zaban'a, Infinity instructed her minions to cut ten foot poles and carve sharp points on both ends of them. They were placed into the sand at 45 degree angles about fifty yards off the beach. Sponges soaked in poison from the glands of brightly colored lizards were used to smear all the sharpened tips. High on the cliffs above the beach, sand was dug out around large boulders, leaving them to wobble precariously, held only by small sticks. Hemp was run along the ground to where anxious natives sat ready to yank them loose.
Infinity stood with the archers a thousand feet above the harbor and it was she who was first to see the sails appear at dawn.
artwork by Jack Gaughan
Chapter Fifty Five
Code Seven
Colonel Jasper waved his hand over a blue flashing light on the lab’s master control board, and brought the Chrona to a grinding halt. Steam drifted to an area between the gigantic machine and the first wall of permaglass, obscuring the view momentarily. The laboratory team tore open their Velcro bonds, removed their
safety glasses, and stood up to see inside the portal. An Alternity Alert Team opened the hatches in the permaglass and extracted the unconscious body of Special Agent Fulton, back from his first mission.
As soon as he was strapped to a gurney and wheeled to the infirmary wing, clean up efforts began in the Chrona’s receiving area. It was easier this time. The agent had submerged himself in tap water rather than lake or ocean water; plankton and diatoms had a tendency to stink up the operation. Fulton’s survival suit was relatively intact, which was good news for the group because it contained the incoming data Franz Graber talked about before he fell asleep.
Just outside the laboratory, Lieutenant Baxter and his men had been held incommunicado between two hatchway doors during the operation. They caught a break when a messenger opened the hatch from the outside at the split second the Chrona de‐energized.
“Grab ‘im!” yelled Baxter. The soldiers complied, subduing him quickly.
“Orderly Fitch, Grade ‘N’, serial number one oh seven five two niner..” offered the messenger, giving only his name, rank and serial number.
“Shut up!” ordered the Lieutenant, relieving him of his two‐way. “Mayday Mayday, General Studemier can you read, Mayday Mayday, General Studemier can you read over?” called Baxter. “Mayday Mayday, Gen-"
“General Studemier, Second Command, we copy. Identify yourself, over,” came the reply.
Back in the laboratory, with the cleanup nearly complete and the Chrona powered down, Senator Stilwell led a contingent up to the infirmary wing. When the hatch was opened, Lieutenant Baxter and his crew stood waiting like boy scouts. Stilwell ordered them to follow along and remain close.
“Senator Stilwell?” came the voice of a woman from a holograph on his wrist.
“Stilwell here, go ahead,” he replied.
“The lab crew just discovered a messenger bound and gagged in a utility closet off the main corridor. He says he was assaulted by the Lieutenant and his men, can you confirm?”
The Senator looked Baxter in the eyes for a reaction and saw none. At that moment, the stolen two‐way scratched into operation from inside the Lieutenant’s pocket.
Stilwell answered, “Confirmed. Stilwell out.”
The Lieutenant grinned sheepishly as he and his men were handcuffed together and led away by a security team.
“Shit," exclaimed the Senator. He slapped the chronophone closed and back open again. “Security!” he shouted.
“Security here,” came the instant reply.
“There is reason to believe an attack on Alternity is imminent. Go to code seven, all perimeters.”
“Code seven all perimeters, aye sir,” responded security, “out.”
“Stilwell out,” said the Senator, slapping the chronophone closed once again. With urgency now, the core group of the Chrona operation made their way to the infirmary wing. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, emergency lights were spinning in every closet, room and hallway.
Chapter Fifty Six
Take a Picture
Atop the tall tree, Raskins tried to ignore his throbbing ankle while using his legs to hold on like a rope climber in gym class. His trembling hands held the star chart for the Commodore, who was working feverishly to translate his heavenly observations into Morse code with the bowie knife.
“Will anyone ever hear that?” asked the detective.
“Not for a hundred million years,” answered Thyme with a smirk.
Detective Raskins could only shake his head at the steadfastness of this man, who indefatigably laughed in the face of danger. He decided that if he ever did make it back to Chronopolis, he would return a different man. After all, what were a few graffiti artists and car thieves when you’d stared into the foaming mandibles of a twenty-foot centipede?
He laughed at the thought, becoming a bit like Super-Agent Thyme himself. Sixty feet below, the centipedes began to stir, having picked up the scent of lizard‐like creatures approaching from the direction of the bog.
“Early Triassic alright,” said Justin.
“You recognize them?” asked the detective.
“Archosaurs,” said Justin. “Dinosaurs will come next.”
Detective Raskins began to panic. Perhaps he wasn’t going to be much different after all. The thought of dinosaurs was even worse than the giant bugs now below him. “Dinosaurs? How do you know dinosaurs are coming next? From where?” asked Raskins.
Justin smiled as he hammered out code, striking the Time Indicator Beacon again and again.
“John, Archosaurs were to dinosaurs what apes are to human beings- one led to another. Dinosaurs will come next, but not for fifty-million years or so, relax.”
Raskins looked down at the snapping centipedes and repeated, “Relax.”
The half dozen Archosaurs held their nostrils to the ground as they crested the low ridge. They had obviously been tracking the centipedes, the humans, or both, since the campsite, and were here to feed. The smaller centipedes broke free of their formation and headed off into the surrounding grasslands, while the larger ones turned to fight. Raising the front half of their bodies, the centipedes stood like bears to meet the attack. But in short order, most lay dead, dying, or being devoured in the massive jaws of Archosaur. The one centipede large enough to reach the lowest limb of the tree began to climb.
Justin continued to look back and forth between the star chart and the Time Indicator Beacon, using his knife to tap out the current positions of the constellations in Morse code. Detective Raskins looked down on the scene of feasting reptiles, gigantic flies and foul smelling liquid. Not far below him, impossibly huge dragonflies buzzed around the head of the climbing centipede, causing it to hiss like a cobra. One large, red dragonfly -perhaps the same one from last week, continually tried to land on Justin’s back as he worked.
“Throw me a gun,” shouted Raskins.
Justin reached into his pocket and tossed him a camera instead.
“What do I do with this?” asked Raskins.
Justin held out his arm, and to his delight, the dragonfly landed. “Take a picture” he said.
Take a Picture
Atop the tall tree, Raskins tried to ignore his throbbing ankle while using his legs to hold on like a rope climber in gym class. His trembling hands held the star chart for the Commodore, who was working feverishly to translate his heavenly observations into Morse code with the bowie knife.
“Will anyone ever hear that?” asked the detective.
“Not for a hundred million years,” answered Thyme with a smirk.
Detective Raskins could only shake his head at the steadfastness of this man, who indefatigably laughed in the face of danger. He decided that if he ever did make it back to Chronopolis, he would return a different man. After all, what were a few graffiti artists and car thieves when you’d stared into the foaming mandibles of a twenty-foot centipede?
He laughed at the thought, becoming a bit like Super-Agent Thyme himself. Sixty feet below, the centipedes began to stir, having picked up the scent of lizard‐like creatures approaching from the direction of the bog.
“Early Triassic alright,” said Justin.
“You recognize them?” asked the detective.
“Archosaurs,” said Justin. “Dinosaurs will come next.”
Detective Raskins began to panic. Perhaps he wasn’t going to be much different after all. The thought of dinosaurs was even worse than the giant bugs now below him. “Dinosaurs? How do you know dinosaurs are coming next? From where?” asked Raskins.
Justin smiled as he hammered out code, striking the Time Indicator Beacon again and again.
“John, Archosaurs were to dinosaurs what apes are to human beings- one led to another. Dinosaurs will come next, but not for fifty-million years or so, relax.”
Raskins looked down at the snapping centipedes and repeated, “Relax.”
The half dozen Archosaurs held their nostrils to the ground as they crested the low ridge. They had obviously been tracking the centipedes, the humans, or both, since the campsite, and were here to feed. The smaller centipedes broke free of their formation and headed off into the surrounding grasslands, while the larger ones turned to fight. Raising the front half of their bodies, the centipedes stood like bears to meet the attack. But in short order, most lay dead, dying, or being devoured in the massive jaws of Archosaur. The one centipede large enough to reach the lowest limb of the tree began to climb.
Justin continued to look back and forth between the star chart and the Time Indicator Beacon, using his knife to tap out the current positions of the constellations in Morse code. Detective Raskins looked down on the scene of feasting reptiles, gigantic flies and foul smelling liquid. Not far below him, impossibly huge dragonflies buzzed around the head of the climbing centipede, causing it to hiss like a cobra. One large, red dragonfly -perhaps the same one from last week, continually tried to land on Justin’s back as he worked.
“Throw me a gun,” shouted Raskins.
Justin reached into his pocket and tossed him a camera instead.
“What do I do with this?” asked Raskins.
Justin held out his arm, and to his delight, the dragonfly landed. “Take a picture” he said.
Chapter Fifty Seven
The Sails of Cortes
These were the Pericues people. They and the land they inhabited on the southern end of Baja were cut of the same mold. The land was sparse, the people Spartan. Only cactus and scrub ever thrived in La Paz, and only a simple and modest people could ever live among them. Unlike the tribes further north on the peninsula, the Pericues ancestors came from the islands, as did Zaban'a’s people. The area had been inhabited in Neolithic times, but other than a few haunting cave etchings, those hunter‐gatherers left no trace.
The Pericues themselves left no permanent structures or known descendents. Like many Mesoamerican peoples, their demise came even before first contact, as the approaching Spaniards were preceded by their own wind-borne germs.
In the new world, Spanish conquerors often came upon cultures only to find that ninety percent of their population had died just two weeks earlier, after having thrived for thousands of years. And none ever realized it had been they themselves who rained down the suffrage, their own bodies carrying germs for which the natives held no defense. But no matter the germs, these invading hearts were black, here only to plunder, pillage and enslave. Infinity had already come upon much death and disease in La Paz, but was forbidden by Alternity Group to introduce vaccinations. There was simply no way to estimate the magnitude of change that would result. AlternityCorp itself might blink suddenly out of existence!
Killing the men of Cortes would have to be enough.
With an offshore breeze, the pox carried by the crews of these two wooden ships could be neutralized before it reached the shores of La Paz, and this was Infinity’s plan. She raised her hand, holding aloft a flaming torch visible for many miles. The ships entered the harbor soon thereafter. When they began lowering the first small boats, Infinity dropped the torch to the surf far below.
With the sails of Cortes silhouetted against a fiery backdrop of early morning sky, a hail of flaming arrows showered down, seemingly from the heavens. It was difficult to distinguish one flame from another as death rode poison sticks, bouncing boulders and an archer’s meteor shower upon the suddenly hapless crews.
All at once these invaders- slayers and enslavers of men, women and children, turned their ships and fled.
Many native oarsmanwho rowed back to their home villages and away from La Paz, with whips cracking upon their tanned and straining backs returned alive, but forbidden by the gods to tell of a long‐tressed goddess on a mountain who shot lightning from her fingertips.
Infinity ordered all floating bodies burned on a raft out in the harbor, and all weapons to be left in place for the next attack, which, she prophesied, would come in twenty moons. The minions escorted their she-savior back to where they had found her, and at her command, filled the tub with water once more. Alone inside the hut, Zaban'a cried in Infinity’s embrace, stopping when she saw the goddess draw a large knife. Once again, she tried to fall to her knees, but was stopped by Infinity, who used the blade to lacerate both their delicate forearms.
“No Zaban'a, you have sacrificed enough,” said Infinity.
As they held arms together, letting their bloods mingle, Infinity checked her wrist oscillator- she had forty five seconds. Zaban'a threw her arms around Infinity’s neck and they kissed long and passionately. Infinity smiled, pointed to the door, and Zaban'a walked out into the enormous prostrate crowd. She was their new goddess.
Several seconds later, the entire hut went up in a flash of star energy.
The Sails of Cortes
These were the Pericues people. They and the land they inhabited on the southern end of Baja were cut of the same mold. The land was sparse, the people Spartan. Only cactus and scrub ever thrived in La Paz, and only a simple and modest people could ever live among them. Unlike the tribes further north on the peninsula, the Pericues ancestors came from the islands, as did Zaban'a’s people. The area had been inhabited in Neolithic times, but other than a few haunting cave etchings, those hunter‐gatherers left no trace.
The Pericues themselves left no permanent structures or known descendents. Like many Mesoamerican peoples, their demise came even before first contact, as the approaching Spaniards were preceded by their own wind-borne germs.
In the new world, Spanish conquerors often came upon cultures only to find that ninety percent of their population had died just two weeks earlier, after having thrived for thousands of years. And none ever realized it had been they themselves who rained down the suffrage, their own bodies carrying germs for which the natives held no defense. But no matter the germs, these invading hearts were black, here only to plunder, pillage and enslave. Infinity had already come upon much death and disease in La Paz, but was forbidden by Alternity Group to introduce vaccinations. There was simply no way to estimate the magnitude of change that would result. AlternityCorp itself might blink suddenly out of existence!
Killing the men of Cortes would have to be enough.
With an offshore breeze, the pox carried by the crews of these two wooden ships could be neutralized before it reached the shores of La Paz, and this was Infinity’s plan. She raised her hand, holding aloft a flaming torch visible for many miles. The ships entered the harbor soon thereafter. When they began lowering the first small boats, Infinity dropped the torch to the surf far below.
With the sails of Cortes silhouetted against a fiery backdrop of early morning sky, a hail of flaming arrows showered down, seemingly from the heavens. It was difficult to distinguish one flame from another as death rode poison sticks, bouncing boulders and an archer’s meteor shower upon the suddenly hapless crews.
All at once these invaders- slayers and enslavers of men, women and children, turned their ships and fled.
Many native oarsmanwho rowed back to their home villages and away from La Paz, with whips cracking upon their tanned and straining backs returned alive, but forbidden by the gods to tell of a long‐tressed goddess on a mountain who shot lightning from her fingertips.
Infinity ordered all floating bodies burned on a raft out in the harbor, and all weapons to be left in place for the next attack, which, she prophesied, would come in twenty moons. The minions escorted their she-savior back to where they had found her, and at her command, filled the tub with water once more. Alone inside the hut, Zaban'a cried in Infinity’s embrace, stopping when she saw the goddess draw a large knife. Once again, she tried to fall to her knees, but was stopped by Infinity, who used the blade to lacerate both their delicate forearms.
“No Zaban'a, you have sacrificed enough,” said Infinity.
As they held arms together, letting their bloods mingle, Infinity checked her wrist oscillator- she had forty five seconds. Zaban'a threw her arms around Infinity’s neck and they kissed long and passionately. Infinity smiled, pointed to the door, and Zaban'a walked out into the enormous prostrate crowd. She was their new goddess.
Several seconds later, the entire hut went up in a flash of star energy.
Chapter Fifty Eight
The Cherubim
Shortly after the Lieutenant’s call, General Studemier himself arrived to reinforce the perimeters around Alternity Group Headquarters. Along with many tanks came flatbed trucks carrying Kennedy Class Missiles, ready to launch. The General took up residence in the mobile field office and listened over and over to the cryptic call made by Lieutenant Baxter. It said he was being held, along with his men, somewhere within the compound. The General had a simple plan‐ surround the facility with enough firepower to turn it into a day‐old campfire, and follow through if Senator Stilwell didn’t comply with an order for his immediate and unconditional surrender. The door to the mobile office opened and a guard shouted inside,
“General, it’s happening again.”
The General stepped from the trailer and looked in the direction the guard was pointing. The sky began to glow and a sound could be heard like that of distant thunder. The General retreated inside, and watched through an open trailer window as a line of large, yellow fireballs- apparently from space- began striking a sphere at the top of a tall white pole! One by one, these fireballs followed a wire down into a hole and disappeared beneath the planet’s surface. “Holy Jesus!” exclaimed the General, as the ground shook violently beneath him.
Deep inside the facility, Colonel Jaspar and an Alternity Alert Team worked beneath whirring yellow security lights, extracting the limp body of Special Agent Infinity Stairs from the Chrona’s receiving chamber.
“Get her up to the infirmary immediately. I want her pocket data unloaded, analyzed and in a report on the Senators desk in fifteen minutes!” barked Jaspar.
“Aye sir,” came the answer, as the team wheeled Infinity away on a gurney.
Up in the infirmary wing, Franz Graber and Special Agent Fulton, both now wide awake, sat up on their beds answering a nurse's questions.
“And what does this one say?” she asked.
“Beachwood four‐ wait a minute, that’s your phone number!” joked Fulton. “If not, then how about giving me your real number?”
The nurse looked toward Senator Stilwell and said “Get him out of here, he’s fine.” She threw the agent a ball of clothing and said, “Get dressed.”
“To my office for debriefing in five minutes,” ordered the Senator, “and welcome back, Photon.”
Graber was now dressed and writing furiously on a clipboard. He looked up and said, “Senator, according to my calculations, any data from recordings made during Chrona transit should theoretically‐“
“Yes Franz, good morning,” said the professor, handing him a bottle of water. “It’s no longer theoretical- you were right. Let’s get to my office.” On their way through the infirmary’s large double doors, they passed Infinity who was being wheeled in. Senator Stilwell noticed her pocket recorder had already been removed as they rolled her
by. That was good. It meant they were already analyzing its data, and time was running out for them to find Justin.
Back on the perimeter, General Studemier had decided tanks and rockets would not be enough. He sent a contingent of soldiers to Chronopolis Military Weapons Station to retrieve a tactical nuclear weapon. He also brought in a construction crew who used bulldozers to carve a huge hole in the ground where the nuke would be set off if things didn’t go well. Within two hours, a nuclear explosive device known as a ‘Cherubim’ was hoisted above the large crater and the image was beamed down to the Senator’s office below. As the men and women of Alternity Group arrived at Senator Stilwell’s office, General Studemier’s voice came across every two-way in the facility.
“Senator Stilwell and all employees of Alternity Corporation. This is General Robert Studemier of the United Military Forces of Chronopolis. You are hereby ordered to immediately cease any and all industrial scientific activity, release any military prisoners, and open your facility to our weapons inspectors. If you do not comply within what we deem to be a reasonable time, the thermo‐nuclear weapon you see on your screens will be detonated below ground, destroying your facility.”
After watching it on the hallway monitors, the Senator arrived at his office, where his secretary handed him a note as he walked by.
“Mrs. Raskins called again,” she said. “She says she's going to call the police.”
The Cherubim
Shortly after the Lieutenant’s call, General Studemier himself arrived to reinforce the perimeters around Alternity Group Headquarters. Along with many tanks came flatbed trucks carrying Kennedy Class Missiles, ready to launch. The General took up residence in the mobile field office and listened over and over to the cryptic call made by Lieutenant Baxter. It said he was being held, along with his men, somewhere within the compound. The General had a simple plan‐ surround the facility with enough firepower to turn it into a day‐old campfire, and follow through if Senator Stilwell didn’t comply with an order for his immediate and unconditional surrender. The door to the mobile office opened and a guard shouted inside,
“General, it’s happening again.”
The General stepped from the trailer and looked in the direction the guard was pointing. The sky began to glow and a sound could be heard like that of distant thunder. The General retreated inside, and watched through an open trailer window as a line of large, yellow fireballs- apparently from space- began striking a sphere at the top of a tall white pole! One by one, these fireballs followed a wire down into a hole and disappeared beneath the planet’s surface. “Holy Jesus!” exclaimed the General, as the ground shook violently beneath him.
Deep inside the facility, Colonel Jaspar and an Alternity Alert Team worked beneath whirring yellow security lights, extracting the limp body of Special Agent Infinity Stairs from the Chrona’s receiving chamber.
“Get her up to the infirmary immediately. I want her pocket data unloaded, analyzed and in a report on the Senators desk in fifteen minutes!” barked Jaspar.
“Aye sir,” came the answer, as the team wheeled Infinity away on a gurney.
Up in the infirmary wing, Franz Graber and Special Agent Fulton, both now wide awake, sat up on their beds answering a nurse's questions.
“And what does this one say?” she asked.
“Beachwood four‐ wait a minute, that’s your phone number!” joked Fulton. “If not, then how about giving me your real number?”
The nurse looked toward Senator Stilwell and said “Get him out of here, he’s fine.” She threw the agent a ball of clothing and said, “Get dressed.”
“To my office for debriefing in five minutes,” ordered the Senator, “and welcome back, Photon.”
Graber was now dressed and writing furiously on a clipboard. He looked up and said, “Senator, according to my calculations, any data from recordings made during Chrona transit should theoretically‐“
“Yes Franz, good morning,” said the professor, handing him a bottle of water. “It’s no longer theoretical- you were right. Let’s get to my office.” On their way through the infirmary’s large double doors, they passed Infinity who was being wheeled in. Senator Stilwell noticed her pocket recorder had already been removed as they rolled her
by. That was good. It meant they were already analyzing its data, and time was running out for them to find Justin.
Back on the perimeter, General Studemier had decided tanks and rockets would not be enough. He sent a contingent of soldiers to Chronopolis Military Weapons Station to retrieve a tactical nuclear weapon. He also brought in a construction crew who used bulldozers to carve a huge hole in the ground where the nuke would be set off if things didn’t go well. Within two hours, a nuclear explosive device known as a ‘Cherubim’ was hoisted above the large crater and the image was beamed down to the Senator’s office below. As the men and women of Alternity Group arrived at Senator Stilwell’s office, General Studemier’s voice came across every two-way in the facility.
“Senator Stilwell and all employees of Alternity Corporation. This is General Robert Studemier of the United Military Forces of Chronopolis. You are hereby ordered to immediately cease any and all industrial scientific activity, release any military prisoners, and open your facility to our weapons inspectors. If you do not comply within what we deem to be a reasonable time, the thermo‐nuclear weapon you see on your screens will be detonated below ground, destroying your facility.”
After watching it on the hallway monitors, the Senator arrived at his office, where his secretary handed him a note as he walked by.
“Mrs. Raskins called again,” she said. “She says she's going to call the police.”
Chapter Fifty Nine
Sleep Talking
Nikki stood face to face with Lieutenant Baxter, cold steel bars in between. With yellow warning lights spinning everywhere, she knew there was little time for conversation, but still lingered a moment to face the man.
“The lives of everyone in this facility- even yours‐ are in danger because of you, Lieutenant,” she said.
“Cry me a river,” he spat.
“But all that,"she continued unfazed, “pales compared to the lives that would be placed in jeopardy if your people ever got hold of this technology for military applications.”
“You people think you can run around doing whatever you like, with no oversight?” asked Baxter. “For all we know, you’ve already screwed up five billion years of planetary evolution. My question to your corporation is, who’s insuring you? How will you mitigate the damage if Abe Lincoln never existed because somebody stepped on an ant in ancient Rome? You’re a bunch of hypocrites, that’s what you are‐ at least we stand for something!”
“Stand for something?” she asked. “Stand for something?” she asked again.
“That’s right, we do” he fired back.
Special Agent Nikki Night Bird looked up at the spinning lights, now moving faster and faster. She walked away displaying the middle finger of her left hand, and said “Stand on this.”
“Fuck you!” he sneered.
When she reached the infirmary, it was empty, but for a skeleton crew and a sleeping Infinity Stairs. Nikki sat on the edge of her hospital bed and brushed back her curls, weeping. “C’mon girl, wake up‐ we need ya,” she whispered. Nikki’s chronophone sounded, and up popped a hologram of Senator Stilwell.
“Nikki, what’s your twenty?” he asked.
“The infirmary,” she answered.
“Is she awake yet?” he asked.
“She’s just mumbling‐ starting to come out of it though,” she said.
“Both of you in my office asap, you’re on your way back out,” he ordered.
“She hasn’t even regained consciousness from her last vacation, Morgan!” she snipped.
“I need‐ we need her on this,” he said.
Infinity floated on an unknown sea, waiting at the surface for a friend far below. In the sky above her, she saw the faces of Indians, some smiling, others twisted with pain. They were calling out to her; “Infinity!” they said in far away voices, “Infinity!” Their calls grew closer and closer until she suddenly awoke. Infinity sat straight up on the hospital bed and found herself looking into the eyes of her best friend.
“Infinity!” called Nikki, “Infinity!”
They embraced for a long while, Nikki stroking Infinity’s hair and telling her everything was alright. It took ten minutes for Special Agent Stairs to be up, dressed, and on her way to the Senator’s office.
“How’d it go?” asked Nikki.
“Like it was supposed to, pretty much,” Infinity answered.
“Then why are you shaking your head?” asked Nikki.
Infinity smiled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Just‐ it was just half an hour ago‐“ Infinity looked Nikki in the eyes and finished, “‐and now they’re all…dead... five hundred years.”
“You made a difference ‘Fin,” Nikki told her.
“Yeah? Guess I’ll have to look that up in the history books,” said Infinity.
As they walked briskly to the Senator’s office downstairs, Nikki brought up Google‐plex on her chronometer. The hologram popped up quickly, resplendent in the darkness of the corridor. “Google‐plex search,” said a woman’s voice, accompanied in the background by a three‐second musical composition.
“Corte’s landing at La Paz, fifteen thirty-three,” Nikki spoke into her wrist. The music played again, along with random computer beeps and buzzes.
The woman’s voice said: “Two ships landed at La Paz on the southern tip of Baja. Twenty of his crew were killed by the local Indians, causing the ships to turn back. Cortes tried again in 1535, but the settlements failed.”
Nikki flipped the chronophone closed, and looked over at Infinity, who was wiping away tears.
“You were right,” said Infinity, her eyes suddenly brighter. “But what?” she asked. “What else?”
Nikki looked up and asked, “So, who’s Zabaña?”
Infinity looked shocked.
”You talk in your sleep,” Nikki said, as they stepped into the Senator’s office.
Chapter Sixty
The Coming Storm
With picture playtime over, Justin resumed striking the Time Indicator Beacon with his large knife. In the distance, he heard the rumble of thunder coming from a storm somewhere out over the endless bogs.
Detective Raskins stashed the camera into his clothing after taking a last photo of the centipede prowling below. The creature struggled with a swirling cloud of red and blue dragonflies, but continued making progress in its climb toward the men. Justin waited until the centipede was almost upon them before halting his work with the beacon. He reached over his shoulder, took a swig from the water jug and passed it over to Raskins. The detective was too nervous to swallow, spitting instead. It landed on the centipede’s head, causing its mandibles to snap like a mousetrap.
Justin reached behind his back for the second jug dangling below, this one full of centipede juice. Moving slowly, he lowered it and swung it by the huge bug, then tied it off. Almost immediately, the creature turned to follow the invisible trail of scent it left behind. At the bottom of the tree, several Archosaurs milled around, looking up hungrily at the centipede. After having watched them eat the others, it was obvious to Justin this last centipede wasn’t going to leave the tree without some encouragement. Justin released the jug, splashing the back of an Archosaur with the come-hither scent of a female centipede. The bug let go its many‐fingered grip on the Cypress bark, and fell onto the Archosaur. The giant lizard bucked like a wild Mustang, but was unable to shake its amorous rider. Soon, every Archosaur in the area turned on them in a prehistoric melee that ended with both being torn to pieces.
Far above, the detective hooted in celebration and Justin returned to his work as a short‐wave ham operator. The celebration was short‐lived, as the tree began to sway from a cold wind. Now much closer on the horizon, clouds of inky black were unleashing torrential monsoons on the bog.
The detective closed one eye, held a finger in front of the other, and said, “Looks like it’s coming this way.”
Justin looked up and nodded his head in agreement. The tree swayed again, more violently this time, and the wind began to whistle in their ears. Down below, the feast had ended and the animals were all gone. Only scuffle marks and stains in the sand remained to tell the tale of the day’s bloody events.
“They’re all gone,” said Detective Raskins.
“So are the dragonflies,” noted Thyme. “It’s gonna be a bad storm.”
The Coming Storm
With picture playtime over, Justin resumed striking the Time Indicator Beacon with his large knife. In the distance, he heard the rumble of thunder coming from a storm somewhere out over the endless bogs.
Detective Raskins stashed the camera into his clothing after taking a last photo of the centipede prowling below. The creature struggled with a swirling cloud of red and blue dragonflies, but continued making progress in its climb toward the men. Justin waited until the centipede was almost upon them before halting his work with the beacon. He reached over his shoulder, took a swig from the water jug and passed it over to Raskins. The detective was too nervous to swallow, spitting instead. It landed on the centipede’s head, causing its mandibles to snap like a mousetrap.
Justin reached behind his back for the second jug dangling below, this one full of centipede juice. Moving slowly, he lowered it and swung it by the huge bug, then tied it off. Almost immediately, the creature turned to follow the invisible trail of scent it left behind. At the bottom of the tree, several Archosaurs milled around, looking up hungrily at the centipede. After having watched them eat the others, it was obvious to Justin this last centipede wasn’t going to leave the tree without some encouragement. Justin released the jug, splashing the back of an Archosaur with the come-hither scent of a female centipede. The bug let go its many‐fingered grip on the Cypress bark, and fell onto the Archosaur. The giant lizard bucked like a wild Mustang, but was unable to shake its amorous rider. Soon, every Archosaur in the area turned on them in a prehistoric melee that ended with both being torn to pieces.
Far above, the detective hooted in celebration and Justin returned to his work as a short‐wave ham operator. The celebration was short‐lived, as the tree began to sway from a cold wind. Now much closer on the horizon, clouds of inky black were unleashing torrential monsoons on the bog.
The detective closed one eye, held a finger in front of the other, and said, “Looks like it’s coming this way.”
Justin looked up and nodded his head in agreement. The tree swayed again, more violently this time, and the wind began to whistle in their ears. Down below, the feast had ended and the animals were all gone. Only scuffle marks and stains in the sand remained to tell the tale of the day’s bloody events.
“They’re all gone,” said Detective Raskins.
“So are the dragonflies,” noted Thyme. “It’s gonna be a bad storm.”
Chapter Sixty One
Permission to Detonate
After seeing those fireballs, there was no doubt in General Studemier’s mind that this facility was dangerous. Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter had made the military equivalent of a 9‐1‐1 emergency call, and though not a high ranking officer, he was someone the General trusted. Like all military men, the Lieutenant himself knew his own life came second to the safety and security of Chronopolis. If he didn’t find a way out soon, he risked being vaporized in a thermonuclear explosion. With the perimeter secured and the Cherubim in place, the General now only needed permission from the President to initiate the fail safe sequence.
Before making any big decision, the General liked to sit in a comfortable chair, smoke his pipe and give it a second thought. He had to hand it to the Lieutenant; he knew good tobacco, and his chair couldn’t have been more comfortable. It gave the General great pleasure to lean back, raise his legs and take a good long puff.
Again the door opened, and a guard reported that police were outside the gate.
“Tell them this is a military matter,” answered the General.
“General Studemier, sir, they say they are here to investigate the possible kidnapping of a Detective John Raskins, and they are requesting our cooperation to resolve the matter, sir,” said the guard.
“John Raskins?” asked the General. “I know John from the hovercraft club‐ nice guy. Small place, Chronopolis. “Alright, tell them to send in a report and I’ll have a look. But this mission is top secret and they don’t have the clearance. They’re endangering lives just by being here.”
“Aye sir,” the guard replied, as he ducked out of the trailer.
The General grabbed his two‐way, and ordered the perimeter moved back four miles. He also ordered all residents within that radius to be evacuated immediately. Then he grabbed the red phone and pressed it to his ear.
“Yes General?” came the voice on the line.
“Mr. President, I regret to inform you that I may need to exercise the nuclear option, and it may be necessary to implement a full scale evacuation in the vicinity of the Alternity Corporation complex,” he said.
The President thought a while, and then asked, “How long has it been since your last contact with Lieutenant Baxter, Richard?”
“He made an S.O.S. call from inside the facility four hours ago. It didn’t sound good, Mr. President,” the General replied.
“And what exactly are we dealing with?” asked the President.
“Unknown, sir, but their capability is enormous. In fact, it seems to know no bounds, Mr. President. We’re talking giant bolts of ball lightning from space, that kind of thing,” the General answered, matter of factly.
“Have you considered sending in our best agents for a rescue attempt?” asked the President.
“Mr. President, how do I put this- the people running interference for this corporation basically are our best agents, and it’d be a bloodbath. I suggest we simply nuke the facility from outside, and sustain a minimum amount of casualties‐ on our side, anyway,” said the General.
On the line was only silence.
“Mr. President, I request permission to detonate the device,” said the General, “while the choice is still our own.”
Permission to Detonate
After seeing those fireballs, there was no doubt in General Studemier’s mind that this facility was dangerous. Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter had made the military equivalent of a 9‐1‐1 emergency call, and though not a high ranking officer, he was someone the General trusted. Like all military men, the Lieutenant himself knew his own life came second to the safety and security of Chronopolis. If he didn’t find a way out soon, he risked being vaporized in a thermonuclear explosion. With the perimeter secured and the Cherubim in place, the General now only needed permission from the President to initiate the fail safe sequence.
Before making any big decision, the General liked to sit in a comfortable chair, smoke his pipe and give it a second thought. He had to hand it to the Lieutenant; he knew good tobacco, and his chair couldn’t have been more comfortable. It gave the General great pleasure to lean back, raise his legs and take a good long puff.
Again the door opened, and a guard reported that police were outside the gate.
“Tell them this is a military matter,” answered the General.
“General Studemier, sir, they say they are here to investigate the possible kidnapping of a Detective John Raskins, and they are requesting our cooperation to resolve the matter, sir,” said the guard.
“John Raskins?” asked the General. “I know John from the hovercraft club‐ nice guy. Small place, Chronopolis. “Alright, tell them to send in a report and I’ll have a look. But this mission is top secret and they don’t have the clearance. They’re endangering lives just by being here.”
“Aye sir,” the guard replied, as he ducked out of the trailer.
The General grabbed his two‐way, and ordered the perimeter moved back four miles. He also ordered all residents within that radius to be evacuated immediately. Then he grabbed the red phone and pressed it to his ear.
“Yes General?” came the voice on the line.
“Mr. President, I regret to inform you that I may need to exercise the nuclear option, and it may be necessary to implement a full scale evacuation in the vicinity of the Alternity Corporation complex,” he said.
The President thought a while, and then asked, “How long has it been since your last contact with Lieutenant Baxter, Richard?”
“He made an S.O.S. call from inside the facility four hours ago. It didn’t sound good, Mr. President,” the General replied.
“And what exactly are we dealing with?” asked the President.
“Unknown, sir, but their capability is enormous. In fact, it seems to know no bounds, Mr. President. We’re talking giant bolts of ball lightning from space, that kind of thing,” the General answered, matter of factly.
“Have you considered sending in our best agents for a rescue attempt?” asked the President.
“Mr. President, how do I put this- the people running interference for this corporation basically are our best agents, and it’d be a bloodbath. I suggest we simply nuke the facility from outside, and sustain a minimum amount of casualties‐ on our side, anyway,” said the General.
On the line was only silence.
“Mr. President, I request permission to detonate the device,” said the General, “while the choice is still our own.”
Chapter Sixty Two
Violet Visions
Special Agents Infinity Stairs and Nikki Night Bird quietly entered the Senator’s office, where the professor was about to play a recording compiled from the incoming data of all recent Chrona operations. When all were seated at the long wooden table, the office fell dark and a hologram appeared above them. The professor waved
his hand over a nearby control panel, and the shimmering bands of bending violet light began to rotate. It became obvious to those in the room that they were watching a dramatic depiction of an energized Chrona.
Special Agent Jefferson Fulton heard his own voice say, “Nobody lives forever,” on the accompanying recording. He remembered the moment well‐ it was the audio file of his first Chrona mission. He had chosen to use a phrase made famous by his hero Special Agent Justin Nicholas Thyme. Franz Graber stood and pointed to several blurry images swirling on the walls of the office.
“What is the significance of those?” he asked the professor, and, “Is it possible to bring them into better focus?”
“Patience, Mr. Graber” answered the professor, as he worked diligently over the multi‐colored lights of the console. He soon brought the images into sharp clarity.
“Does anyone recognize anything?” asked Senator Stilwell.
“I do,” Fulton chimed in. “That’s my dog, Masher! I had him when I was a boy living in the hills above Chronopolis!”
“And there’s the Eiffel Tower!” added Infinity.
“That one is a dinosaur, surrounded by volcanic activity,” said Graber. The images continued to swirl around the room, in synch with the rotating hologram.
“There’s not much by way of background audio on this one,” said the professor. The points of interest begin with Infinity’s trip, and continue until her arrival back in the Chrona portal.”
The audible points of interest mentioned by the professor began as soon as the Chrona became fully energized for Infinity’s trip to La Paz.
It was Graber who first shouted “Morse code!”
Infinity agreed. “It’s got to be Justin. He’s telling us something.” The violet hologram turned slowly in the darkness, hovering several feet above the old oak table, The audio crackled against a backdrop of white noise. The walls were festooned with impossibly diverse and vivid images somehow collected by the Chrona from every walk of time and space. Climbing one wall was a snapshot of ancient Rome, while a group of Neanderthals
hunted on another. Throughout the scene of swirling images from forgotten eons, the white noise in the background was continuously chopped into careful, measured bits. Perhaps it was Justin sending Morse code,
or maybe the group was seeing a pattern where none existed. When the last hologram flickered out of existence, the lights came back on and the audio automatically kicked into a repetitive loop.
“Get me some blank paper,” requested Franz Graber.
The professor nodded and paper was made available by the secretary, who also set a bowl of pencils in the center of the table where the hologram had danced.
“It’s not making any sense” said the professor. “These words don’t make sense as Morse code.”
“Yes, you’re right” Graber agreed. “Justin, Justin, what are you telling us, Justin?” he mumbled to himself as he scribbled feverishly.
Infinity slapped her hands down on the table and shouted, “The professor’s right. The words don’t make sense‐ because they’re not words. Try them as coordinates, instead.”
Graber nodded as he began converting the dots and dashes into a map. But something still wasn’t right. “The maps too big,” he said, "It’s bigger than the Earth.”
Infinity called for tape, and began taping the papers together into a template that soon covered the whole tabletop. Senator Stilwell puffed on his pipe, scratched his chin and looked toward the professor.
“What do you make of this?” he asked.
The professor bit his lip and shook his head.
Nikki slapped Infinity on the arm, and looked around the room with a smile. “This isn’t a map,” she said. “It’s a chart of the heavens. There’s the big dipper,” she said, pointing.
The professor shook his head in disagreement. “The big dipper is part of Ursa Major, which should be over there.”
“Yes professor, it should be, if you were in modern times!” exclaimed Franz Graber. “But they aren’t in modern times- Justin is using the position of the constellations to tell us where he is!”
The Senator pumped his fist in the air and began barking orders. “Nikki, Infinity, report to Colonel Jaspar for briefing, you’re going out. He can energize as soon as the charts are computed. I want this as close as possible. Everybody to the lab- now!”
Violet Visions
Special Agents Infinity Stairs and Nikki Night Bird quietly entered the Senator’s office, where the professor was about to play a recording compiled from the incoming data of all recent Chrona operations. When all were seated at the long wooden table, the office fell dark and a hologram appeared above them. The professor waved
his hand over a nearby control panel, and the shimmering bands of bending violet light began to rotate. It became obvious to those in the room that they were watching a dramatic depiction of an energized Chrona.
Special Agent Jefferson Fulton heard his own voice say, “Nobody lives forever,” on the accompanying recording. He remembered the moment well‐ it was the audio file of his first Chrona mission. He had chosen to use a phrase made famous by his hero Special Agent Justin Nicholas Thyme. Franz Graber stood and pointed to several blurry images swirling on the walls of the office.
“What is the significance of those?” he asked the professor, and, “Is it possible to bring them into better focus?”
“Patience, Mr. Graber” answered the professor, as he worked diligently over the multi‐colored lights of the console. He soon brought the images into sharp clarity.
“Does anyone recognize anything?” asked Senator Stilwell.
“I do,” Fulton chimed in. “That’s my dog, Masher! I had him when I was a boy living in the hills above Chronopolis!”
“And there’s the Eiffel Tower!” added Infinity.
“That one is a dinosaur, surrounded by volcanic activity,” said Graber. The images continued to swirl around the room, in synch with the rotating hologram.
“There’s not much by way of background audio on this one,” said the professor. The points of interest begin with Infinity’s trip, and continue until her arrival back in the Chrona portal.”
The audible points of interest mentioned by the professor began as soon as the Chrona became fully energized for Infinity’s trip to La Paz.
It was Graber who first shouted “Morse code!”
Infinity agreed. “It’s got to be Justin. He’s telling us something.” The violet hologram turned slowly in the darkness, hovering several feet above the old oak table, The audio crackled against a backdrop of white noise. The walls were festooned with impossibly diverse and vivid images somehow collected by the Chrona from every walk of time and space. Climbing one wall was a snapshot of ancient Rome, while a group of Neanderthals
hunted on another. Throughout the scene of swirling images from forgotten eons, the white noise in the background was continuously chopped into careful, measured bits. Perhaps it was Justin sending Morse code,
or maybe the group was seeing a pattern where none existed. When the last hologram flickered out of existence, the lights came back on and the audio automatically kicked into a repetitive loop.
“Get me some blank paper,” requested Franz Graber.
The professor nodded and paper was made available by the secretary, who also set a bowl of pencils in the center of the table where the hologram had danced.
“It’s not making any sense” said the professor. “These words don’t make sense as Morse code.”
“Yes, you’re right” Graber agreed. “Justin, Justin, what are you telling us, Justin?” he mumbled to himself as he scribbled feverishly.
Infinity slapped her hands down on the table and shouted, “The professor’s right. The words don’t make sense‐ because they’re not words. Try them as coordinates, instead.”
Graber nodded as he began converting the dots and dashes into a map. But something still wasn’t right. “The maps too big,” he said, "It’s bigger than the Earth.”
Infinity called for tape, and began taping the papers together into a template that soon covered the whole tabletop. Senator Stilwell puffed on his pipe, scratched his chin and looked toward the professor.
“What do you make of this?” he asked.
The professor bit his lip and shook his head.
Nikki slapped Infinity on the arm, and looked around the room with a smile. “This isn’t a map,” she said. “It’s a chart of the heavens. There’s the big dipper,” she said, pointing.
The professor shook his head in disagreement. “The big dipper is part of Ursa Major, which should be over there.”
“Yes professor, it should be, if you were in modern times!” exclaimed Franz Graber. “But they aren’t in modern times- Justin is using the position of the constellations to tell us where he is!”
The Senator pumped his fist in the air and began barking orders. “Nikki, Infinity, report to Colonel Jaspar for briefing, you’re going out. He can energize as soon as the charts are computed. I want this as close as possible. Everybody to the lab- now!”
Chapter Sixty Three
The Mighty Din
Justin searched his utility belt for a roll of zylex, another peripheral discovery by the Alternity Group made while
conquering the space‐time continuum. A thin, strong cord, zylex was made by positively charging the electrons of a cobalt wire, then braiding it with nylon cord. Electrons in the materials composing nylon are repelled by the positrons in cobalt. So much torque is created when the two are braided together that a zylex clothesline could support a battleship. Alternity scientists had created something akin to the web of a giant spider by utilizing the principles of antimatter.
“Throw your hands around the trunk of the tree!” Justin shouted over the wind.
“What?” answered Detective Raskins, unable to hear even his own words.
“Never mind!” said Justin, shaking his head. A freezing horizontal rain had begun its ferocious assault. Justin
leaned forward, grabbed the detective’s hands, and pulled him close to the tree. He covered his wrists with palm fronds to protect against the bite of zylex, then tied his hands together around the trunk.
“What about you?” Raskins croaked futilely into the gale.
Justin smiled, pointing to the top of the tree, where the Time Indicator Beacon still clung snugly to a wildly bending branch. Justin unraveled another length of zylex and threw one end into the wind. It bounced down to the sandy dunes below. Justin struck the beacon one last time, dots and dashes spelling out the positions of Ursa Major and the North Star, Polaris. Then, he used the other end to lash his knife to the top of the tree, with its blade pointing to the sky. Far below, the rain had brought out large amphibians, probably ravenous after a long period of dry weather. Justin knew there would be no surviving a night on the ground. He climbed down to the detective, covered them both with an aluminized emergency blanket, and lashed himself to the tree as well.
There was nothing to do but ride out the storm. From the look of the black Triassic sky, the worst was now upon them. Thunder boomed like a thousand‐cannon salute and cloud bursts dropped enough water to create another shallow global ocean.
“How ya doin’, buddy?” Justin asked beneath the aluminum sheet. Raskins smiled, his teeth chattering like an antique typewriter. Justin unzipped a pocket hidden beneath his arm and produced a small flask of scotch whiskey. “Cheers,” he said, taking a healthy shot.
“Cheers,” Raskins answered through his shivers. “Any left?”
Justin held the flask to the detectives purple lips until it was empty. They rested their foreheads on the tree and fell asleep amid the mighty din.
The Mighty Din
Justin searched his utility belt for a roll of zylex, another peripheral discovery by the Alternity Group made while
conquering the space‐time continuum. A thin, strong cord, zylex was made by positively charging the electrons of a cobalt wire, then braiding it with nylon cord. Electrons in the materials composing nylon are repelled by the positrons in cobalt. So much torque is created when the two are braided together that a zylex clothesline could support a battleship. Alternity scientists had created something akin to the web of a giant spider by utilizing the principles of antimatter.
“Throw your hands around the trunk of the tree!” Justin shouted over the wind.
“What?” answered Detective Raskins, unable to hear even his own words.
“Never mind!” said Justin, shaking his head. A freezing horizontal rain had begun its ferocious assault. Justin
leaned forward, grabbed the detective’s hands, and pulled him close to the tree. He covered his wrists with palm fronds to protect against the bite of zylex, then tied his hands together around the trunk.
“What about you?” Raskins croaked futilely into the gale.
Justin smiled, pointing to the top of the tree, where the Time Indicator Beacon still clung snugly to a wildly bending branch. Justin unraveled another length of zylex and threw one end into the wind. It bounced down to the sandy dunes below. Justin struck the beacon one last time, dots and dashes spelling out the positions of Ursa Major and the North Star, Polaris. Then, he used the other end to lash his knife to the top of the tree, with its blade pointing to the sky. Far below, the rain had brought out large amphibians, probably ravenous after a long period of dry weather. Justin knew there would be no surviving a night on the ground. He climbed down to the detective, covered them both with an aluminized emergency blanket, and lashed himself to the tree as well.
There was nothing to do but ride out the storm. From the look of the black Triassic sky, the worst was now upon them. Thunder boomed like a thousand‐cannon salute and cloud bursts dropped enough water to create another shallow global ocean.
“How ya doin’, buddy?” Justin asked beneath the aluminum sheet. Raskins smiled, his teeth chattering like an antique typewriter. Justin unzipped a pocket hidden beneath his arm and produced a small flask of scotch whiskey. “Cheers,” he said, taking a healthy shot.
“Cheers,” Raskins answered through his shivers. “Any left?”
Justin held the flask to the detectives purple lips until it was empty. They rested their foreheads on the tree and fell asleep amid the mighty din.
Chapter Sixty Four
The Presidential Chopper
General Studemier held the red phone to his ear, while the President went over the situation in his mind. On the one hand, it was wrong to use nukes, especially on corporations, which militaries were created to protect. On the other hand, there was an enormous advantage in being the first to strike.
“Stand down, General,” said the President. “Clear the area for my chopper. We’ll rendezvous in one hour. I want a look from the air first.”
“Yes sir,” answered the General, “Studemier out.” The General again used the two‐way, on the chance Alternity
would make an effort to respond. “Senator Morgan Stilwell, this is General Studemier, do you copy? Morgan Stilwell, General Studemier, do you read, over?”
“This is Senator Stilwell. Wait one”, said the Senator. He silently motioned to the professor at the same time, whispering, “Get ready.”
Both men hated the military, and enjoyed playing mischief on them, even under these circumstances. The Senator pressed the transmitter button and asked, “Are you still there, General?”
“Still here,” the General answered, rolling his eyes to several commanders now in the mobile office with him.
“Listen carefully,” said the Senator. He pressed the transmitter button and turned the two‐way toward the professor, who held a powerful air horn. Laughter erupted throughout the laboratory as they gave the General
a prolonged, ear‐splitting blast. Growling, the General threw his two‐way into the wall, smashing it to pieces. He scowled at the commanders, daring them to laugh, and stormed out of the trailer. In less than an hour, the Presidential helicopter had broken the horizon, and was being guided to Earth by two soldiers who comprised the ground crew. The President exited the chopper, holding his hat with one hand and shaking the General’s hand with the other. They disappeared into the mobile office, where the General geared up for the flight.
“What happened there?” asked the President, pointing to the remnants of the broken radio.
“Practice,” answered General Studemier.
The General reached into the desk for another two‐way, and called AlternityCorp again.
“Senator Morgan Stilwell, this is General Studemier, do you read, over?”
“This is Senator Stillwell, go ahead” came the crackly reply.
The General said, “Please hold the line for the President.”
In the lab, the professor gestured toward the two‐way with the air horn, but the Senator waved him off and shook his head.
“Mr. President,” he said, “what a pleasure sir.”
The President was in no mood for pleasantries. “You are holding members of Chron Ops illegally and against their will. What recourse do I have but to declare this a terrorist installation and bomb you into the Stone Age?” asked the President.
“You’re too late, Mr. President. Detective Raskins of the Chronopolis Police Department beat you to it,” answered the Senator.
The President looked at Studemier with furrowed brows, then said into the two‐way, “What the hell does that mean, Morgan?”
“Mr. President, what if I told you AlternityCorp was engaged in an unprecedented rescue mission with the lives of public safety officials in the balance?”
“Senator, I’d be more apt to listen if you were to tell me face to face. We can make that happen in a few minutes. Otherwise, I must treat this facility as a threat, and that threat will be met with force.”
“Sounds to me like you’re the one doing the threatening,” said Stillwell.
“You’re out of time,” answered the President. They left the trailer and boarded the chopper, returning salutes as
they ducked beneath the whirling blades. When the President was strapped in, General Studemier barked to the pilot, “Take this thing up!”
The Presidential Chopper
General Studemier held the red phone to his ear, while the President went over the situation in his mind. On the one hand, it was wrong to use nukes, especially on corporations, which militaries were created to protect. On the other hand, there was an enormous advantage in being the first to strike.
“Stand down, General,” said the President. “Clear the area for my chopper. We’ll rendezvous in one hour. I want a look from the air first.”
“Yes sir,” answered the General, “Studemier out.” The General again used the two‐way, on the chance Alternity
would make an effort to respond. “Senator Morgan Stilwell, this is General Studemier, do you copy? Morgan Stilwell, General Studemier, do you read, over?”
“This is Senator Stilwell. Wait one”, said the Senator. He silently motioned to the professor at the same time, whispering, “Get ready.”
Both men hated the military, and enjoyed playing mischief on them, even under these circumstances. The Senator pressed the transmitter button and asked, “Are you still there, General?”
“Still here,” the General answered, rolling his eyes to several commanders now in the mobile office with him.
“Listen carefully,” said the Senator. He pressed the transmitter button and turned the two‐way toward the professor, who held a powerful air horn. Laughter erupted throughout the laboratory as they gave the General
a prolonged, ear‐splitting blast. Growling, the General threw his two‐way into the wall, smashing it to pieces. He scowled at the commanders, daring them to laugh, and stormed out of the trailer. In less than an hour, the Presidential helicopter had broken the horizon, and was being guided to Earth by two soldiers who comprised the ground crew. The President exited the chopper, holding his hat with one hand and shaking the General’s hand with the other. They disappeared into the mobile office, where the General geared up for the flight.
“What happened there?” asked the President, pointing to the remnants of the broken radio.
“Practice,” answered General Studemier.
The General reached into the desk for another two‐way, and called AlternityCorp again.
“Senator Morgan Stilwell, this is General Studemier, do you read, over?”
“This is Senator Stillwell, go ahead” came the crackly reply.
The General said, “Please hold the line for the President.”
In the lab, the professor gestured toward the two‐way with the air horn, but the Senator waved him off and shook his head.
“Mr. President,” he said, “what a pleasure sir.”
The President was in no mood for pleasantries. “You are holding members of Chron Ops illegally and against their will. What recourse do I have but to declare this a terrorist installation and bomb you into the Stone Age?” asked the President.
“You’re too late, Mr. President. Detective Raskins of the Chronopolis Police Department beat you to it,” answered the Senator.
The President looked at Studemier with furrowed brows, then said into the two‐way, “What the hell does that mean, Morgan?”
“Mr. President, what if I told you AlternityCorp was engaged in an unprecedented rescue mission with the lives of public safety officials in the balance?”
“Senator, I’d be more apt to listen if you were to tell me face to face. We can make that happen in a few minutes. Otherwise, I must treat this facility as a threat, and that threat will be met with force.”
“Sounds to me like you’re the one doing the threatening,” said Stillwell.
“You’re out of time,” answered the President. They left the trailer and boarded the chopper, returning salutes as
they ducked beneath the whirling blades. When the President was strapped in, General Studemier barked to the pilot, “Take this thing up!”
Chapter Sixty Five
Highway to Yesterday
The Alternity Group and staff raced to the lab, causing a logjam at the retina scanners. Senator Stilwell and the professor were in the last hallway, bringing up the rear when they passed the brig. Lieutenant Baxter lunged at them through the bars, but was unable to grab anyone.
“What’s going on, Stilwell?” he hollered.
The Senator stopped for a moment to face the man. “General Studemier is outside with the cavalry, that’s what’s
going on, Lieutenant,” he answered.
“Tell him about the cherubim,” said the professor.
Lieutenant Baxter’s face grew suddenly pale. “They’re gonna nuke you?” he asked, incredulously.
“No, Lieutenant, they’re going to nuke us” answered the Senator.
“Get us out of here Morgan!” pleaded Baxter. “Let us out, for Christ sakes!”
“You can’t be trusted, Bob, you’ve proven that” said the Senator.
“The ability to play god doesn’t belong in the hands of one man” said the Lieutenant.
“Senator, we have to go!” shouted the professor.
“You’re right,” said Stilwell to the Lieutenant. “It doesn’t. And it probably doesn’t belong in the hands of man at all- but it sure doesn’t belong in the hands of the military.” He turned away and continued down the hall, leaving the Lieutenant screaming with rage.
The hatch opened as they reached the lab and they entered into a chaotic scene inside. Several Alternity scientists stood in the darkness, reviewing the colored points of light on a transparent floor chart.
“Fill me in, Colonel,” ordered Senator Stilwell.
Colonel Jaspar used a long wooden pointer to trace out the current configuration of the local group of galaxies. “Leo One is here, and that one is Ursa Major,” said the Colonel.
“What’s this?” asked the professor.
“The Small Magellanic Cloud,” answered Jaspar. And this is Polaris, the North Star. This is where it is in 2067. Now we play it all backwards, like a movie- send it back!” he yelled to his technicians across the lab. Suddenly, in a flash of golden light, the chart of stars, solar systems and galaxies was set into motion.
“It reminds me,” said Franz Graber, “of a precision watch.”
“Speed it up,” shouted Colonel Jaspar, spinning his finger in the air like a cowboy. The galaxies moved faster and faster, making it suddenly easy to see the fluidity of the cosmos.
“According to the computer model…” began Graber.
“Which computer?” the Senator interrupted.
“All of them,” he answered. “According to the model, the Chrona trip by Agent Thyme moved backward through time at this speed,” he said, tapping an equation on the chalkboard that meant absolutely nothing to anyone else in the room. By now, the galaxies were just a blur and the constellations no longer visible.
There was a commotion near the Chrona area. Bright lights had come on, revealing the two super agents in full regalia, preparing to be launched on the biggest search and rescue mission in the history of many worlds. Technicians attended to Special Agent Nikki Night Bird until she entered the Chrona portal, where Infinity Stairs was already waiting. It was all in the hands of the scientists now, who stood around the floor chart watching it spin like a loaded roulette table. Using the loudspeaker, the Colonel ordered everyone to take their positions and strap in.
Then Franz Graber shouted “That’s it! We’re locked onto the Triassic period of the Mesozoic era. Justin’s gone back two hundred million years, if you can believe that!”
Infinity could believe it, and pumped her fist in the air. Nikki, on the other hand, felt her knees buckle when she heard it. Infinity put an arm around her and asked, “You in or you out?”
Nikki shook it off and said, “I’m in.”
The stars began a familiar assault on the facility, their raucous pulses of fire riding the wire down into the heart of the machinery.
“Everybody strapped in?” shouted the Colonel over the din. “Safety glasses on? OK -let’s energize this toaster oven!”
The two agents locked arms, the Chrona began to spin, and technology opened up a dangerous highway to yesterday.
Highway to Yesterday
The Alternity Group and staff raced to the lab, causing a logjam at the retina scanners. Senator Stilwell and the professor were in the last hallway, bringing up the rear when they passed the brig. Lieutenant Baxter lunged at them through the bars, but was unable to grab anyone.
“What’s going on, Stilwell?” he hollered.
The Senator stopped for a moment to face the man. “General Studemier is outside with the cavalry, that’s what’s
going on, Lieutenant,” he answered.
“Tell him about the cherubim,” said the professor.
Lieutenant Baxter’s face grew suddenly pale. “They’re gonna nuke you?” he asked, incredulously.
“No, Lieutenant, they’re going to nuke us” answered the Senator.
“Get us out of here Morgan!” pleaded Baxter. “Let us out, for Christ sakes!”
“You can’t be trusted, Bob, you’ve proven that” said the Senator.
“The ability to play god doesn’t belong in the hands of one man” said the Lieutenant.
“Senator, we have to go!” shouted the professor.
“You’re right,” said Stilwell to the Lieutenant. “It doesn’t. And it probably doesn’t belong in the hands of man at all- but it sure doesn’t belong in the hands of the military.” He turned away and continued down the hall, leaving the Lieutenant screaming with rage.
The hatch opened as they reached the lab and they entered into a chaotic scene inside. Several Alternity scientists stood in the darkness, reviewing the colored points of light on a transparent floor chart.
“Fill me in, Colonel,” ordered Senator Stilwell.
Colonel Jaspar used a long wooden pointer to trace out the current configuration of the local group of galaxies. “Leo One is here, and that one is Ursa Major,” said the Colonel.
“What’s this?” asked the professor.
“The Small Magellanic Cloud,” answered Jaspar. And this is Polaris, the North Star. This is where it is in 2067. Now we play it all backwards, like a movie- send it back!” he yelled to his technicians across the lab. Suddenly, in a flash of golden light, the chart of stars, solar systems and galaxies was set into motion.
“It reminds me,” said Franz Graber, “of a precision watch.”
“Speed it up,” shouted Colonel Jaspar, spinning his finger in the air like a cowboy. The galaxies moved faster and faster, making it suddenly easy to see the fluidity of the cosmos.
“According to the computer model…” began Graber.
“Which computer?” the Senator interrupted.
“All of them,” he answered. “According to the model, the Chrona trip by Agent Thyme moved backward through time at this speed,” he said, tapping an equation on the chalkboard that meant absolutely nothing to anyone else in the room. By now, the galaxies were just a blur and the constellations no longer visible.
There was a commotion near the Chrona area. Bright lights had come on, revealing the two super agents in full regalia, preparing to be launched on the biggest search and rescue mission in the history of many worlds. Technicians attended to Special Agent Nikki Night Bird until she entered the Chrona portal, where Infinity Stairs was already waiting. It was all in the hands of the scientists now, who stood around the floor chart watching it spin like a loaded roulette table. Using the loudspeaker, the Colonel ordered everyone to take their positions and strap in.
Then Franz Graber shouted “That’s it! We’re locked onto the Triassic period of the Mesozoic era. Justin’s gone back two hundred million years, if you can believe that!”
Infinity could believe it, and pumped her fist in the air. Nikki, on the other hand, felt her knees buckle when she heard it. Infinity put an arm around her and asked, “You in or you out?”
Nikki shook it off and said, “I’m in.”
The stars began a familiar assault on the facility, their raucous pulses of fire riding the wire down into the heart of the machinery.
“Everybody strapped in?” shouted the Colonel over the din. “Safety glasses on? OK -let’s energize this toaster oven!”
The two agents locked arms, the Chrona began to spin, and technology opened up a dangerous highway to yesterday.
Chapter Sixty Six
Signal Flares
Throughout the night, Justin slept with one eye open, watching the fireworks in the sky for any bolt of lightning that was unlike the others. Every so often, the wind calmed and the rain would tail off to a patter, allowing the men brief moments of slumber. Then Rumplestilskin would fire a perfect strike, smashing the heavenly pins and all hope for rest, to smithereens.
During such a lull, Justin heard a distant crack, and immediately recognized it as a breach in the fabric of time. “They’re here!” he shouted, throwing the aluminum sheet off his head. Detective Raskins didn’t respond. He was exhausted enough to be sleeping in a tree during a Triassic rainstorm, and not lightning, thunder nor Justin Thyme could wake him.
Justin opened his utility belt and produced a pair of night‐vision goggles for a look at the ground. The amphibians were gone. Justin thought the lightning may have frightened them. He wondered if Triassic weather was always so intense. He wasn’t sure if help had really arrived, but had to assume so and he acted accordingly. He unsnapped a flare gun from his belt just as the patter of rain started up again. It became a torrential
downpour seconds later. Wind squalls erupted like Vesuvius, and whipped the agent with his own rigging. With his eyes closed and head down, Justin twisted off the tip of the flare and pointed it in the direction from which they had come. As the rain began to soften once again, he raised the flare and fired. The sparks woke the detective, who looked at Justin with hope in his eyes.
“They’re here,” Justin repeated.
“Who’s here?” asked Raskins.
“Infinity Stairs, I think,” answered Justin.
“You think?” asked the detective, wrinkling his nose.
The wind ripped through the aluminum sheet like a puma through fawn skin, and cold rain turned to sleet. Justin flailed an arm in the drenched darkness, trying desperately to get them both under the covers again. The temperature was dropping rapidly. Suddenly, Justin felt a tingling sensation on his neck and saw the detective’s hair stand on end. “Get down!” he yelled.
The men crouched against the tree trunk as an enormous bolt of lightning exploded from the darkness above. It carved a wicked path through the air and straight toward them. They felt their bodies vibrate with a static hum as the main bolt struck Justin’s bowie knife and followed the zylex wire to the ground far below. Smoke rose from their charred eyebrows, but they were alive.
“Look at that!” Justin shouted, pointing away at the distant horizon.
Far across the bog, a signal flare climbed up into the storm, right where the Chrona first spit them out. Detective Raskins threw his head back into the rain and yelled, “They found us!”
Signal Flares
Throughout the night, Justin slept with one eye open, watching the fireworks in the sky for any bolt of lightning that was unlike the others. Every so often, the wind calmed and the rain would tail off to a patter, allowing the men brief moments of slumber. Then Rumplestilskin would fire a perfect strike, smashing the heavenly pins and all hope for rest, to smithereens.
During such a lull, Justin heard a distant crack, and immediately recognized it as a breach in the fabric of time. “They’re here!” he shouted, throwing the aluminum sheet off his head. Detective Raskins didn’t respond. He was exhausted enough to be sleeping in a tree during a Triassic rainstorm, and not lightning, thunder nor Justin Thyme could wake him.
Justin opened his utility belt and produced a pair of night‐vision goggles for a look at the ground. The amphibians were gone. Justin thought the lightning may have frightened them. He wondered if Triassic weather was always so intense. He wasn’t sure if help had really arrived, but had to assume so and he acted accordingly. He unsnapped a flare gun from his belt just as the patter of rain started up again. It became a torrential
downpour seconds later. Wind squalls erupted like Vesuvius, and whipped the agent with his own rigging. With his eyes closed and head down, Justin twisted off the tip of the flare and pointed it in the direction from which they had come. As the rain began to soften once again, he raised the flare and fired. The sparks woke the detective, who looked at Justin with hope in his eyes.
“They’re here,” Justin repeated.
“Who’s here?” asked Raskins.
“Infinity Stairs, I think,” answered Justin.
“You think?” asked the detective, wrinkling his nose.
The wind ripped through the aluminum sheet like a puma through fawn skin, and cold rain turned to sleet. Justin flailed an arm in the drenched darkness, trying desperately to get them both under the covers again. The temperature was dropping rapidly. Suddenly, Justin felt a tingling sensation on his neck and saw the detective’s hair stand on end. “Get down!” he yelled.
The men crouched against the tree trunk as an enormous bolt of lightning exploded from the darkness above. It carved a wicked path through the air and straight toward them. They felt their bodies vibrate with a static hum as the main bolt struck Justin’s bowie knife and followed the zylex wire to the ground far below. Smoke rose from their charred eyebrows, but they were alive.
“Look at that!” Justin shouted, pointing away at the distant horizon.
Far across the bog, a signal flare climbed up into the storm, right where the Chrona first spit them out. Detective Raskins threw his head back into the rain and yelled, “They found us!”
Chapter Sixty Seven
Imminent Destruction
Colonel Jaspar unstrapped himself, jumped from his chair, and shouted, “They’re on the ground!”
At the sound of a buzzer, numbers began running backward on the laboratory oscillator and emergency lights spun on the ceiling. Special Agent’s Stairs and Night Bird had one hour to complete their mission before they would be returned to the Chrona’s receiving portal.
With the exception of essential personnel and door guards, all employees of AlternityCorp had gathered around the floor chart to watch a drama that had unfolded before the time of the dinosaurs.
With an interface between eons, team members were now able to monitor Justin’s whereabouts as well as those of the recent arrivals. Colonel Jaspar slapped open his chronophone and established voice contact.
“Agent Thyme is one mile east of your present position, at an elevation of one hundred feet,” he said.
“Can’t see much,” answered Infinity. She looked at a readout on her forearm and added, “There’s a fifty knot wind blowing ice at us.”
The Senator leaned over the colonels shoulder and said, “Infinity, this is Morgan. Stay low and head east when safe to do so. It will be light in twenty minutes.”
“Roger that,” she answered. “Wait one‐ Nikki, did you see that?”
Nikki Night Bird could be heard chattering excitedly over the wind in the background.
“Agent Stairs, report!” shouted the Colonel.
“Flare!” responded Infinity. “Due east! We’re on the move!”
“Proceed with caution, Agent Stairs. We have detected biological entities in your immediate vicinity,” the professor warned. At that, the agents unstrapped their polasers, fired a flare of their own, and headed into the maelstrom.
The Colonel ordered the lights back on in the facility, and said, “Everybody listen up!” He turned to his friend Morgan and said, “Senator?” Senator Stilwell thanked the colonel and addressed the team members.
“Destruction of this facility is imminent. Before I go any further, I want to thank all of you for your hard work and your loyalty to AlternityCorp. Now it is time for those of you with families to turn in your access cards and report to my office for debriefing.”
A dozen of the staff removed their white smocks, tearfully hugged the rest goodbye, and left single file through the laboratory hatchway. Once in the office, they changed into civilian clothes, got paid, and were sent to a secret underground transit facility to await evacuation.
Back in the lab, the Senator now continued. “The destruction of this facility may be imminent, but ours
doesn’t have to be. Colonel Jaspar is handing out a list of everything we will need to complete the mission of AlternityCorp. That is, to secure a better future by creating a different past. We have one hour to gather all of the items listed, place them in front of the portal, and report to the Chrona in full survival gear. Are
there any questions?” The lab was silent. The Senator said simply, “Godspeed.”
Chapter Sixty Eight
Shock Waves
Since his first ride in a plane, it had always impressed General Studemier how the world shrank during takeoff. Roads, bridges and buildings that were life‐size one minute, looked like toys the next. Even now, he found himself looking away for a moment, then turning back to see how small everything had gotten. The President’s chopper lifted straight up from the lawn of AlternityCorp headquarters and began to circle around at three
thousand feet.
“Swing it around,” the General ordered the pilot. The President sat up in his seat, taking in the whole property.
“The place is huge,” he said.
“And dangerous,” replied the General, “especially when they fire it up down there.”
“You mean the balls of fire you were telling me about?”
“That is correct, Mr. President,” answered the General.
“Tell me, General, whatever actions they may be engaged in, do you think the technology is something we can use, perhaps for military or security applications?” asked the President.
“You can be the judge of that, sir,” said Studemier. “I’m concerned they might be up to something that I don’t understand, they can’t control, and we can’t undo.” The pilot maneuvered the helicopter in a wide circle, giving the brass a look at the facility from every possible angle.
“I understand you’ve got friends down there,” said the President.
“Yes sir, Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter, and his men. He’s one of our very best, Mr. President” the General answered.
“And you think we should move ahead with neutralizing the site?”
As the words left the Presidents mouth, a sound like sizzling bacon again sliced through the air. The pilot took wild evasive action as the men watched a chain of fireballs enter the atmosphere, pass by at blinding speed and disappear into a large hole in the Earth. The pilot pulled up the helicopter’s nose, and climbed toward safer air space. Behind them came the report of a sonic boom with shock waves powerful enough to send the chopper spiraling toward the ground. The experienced pilot wrestled the aircraft back into control, and headed away from the area, leaving the sound of grinding subterranean machinery behind them.
“Well, Mr. President?” asked the General.
“How long will it take to start the evacuation?” asked the President.
“It started two hours ago,” answered the General.
“Nuke ‘em!” the President ordered.
Shock Waves
Since his first ride in a plane, it had always impressed General Studemier how the world shrank during takeoff. Roads, bridges and buildings that were life‐size one minute, looked like toys the next. Even now, he found himself looking away for a moment, then turning back to see how small everything had gotten. The President’s chopper lifted straight up from the lawn of AlternityCorp headquarters and began to circle around at three
thousand feet.
“Swing it around,” the General ordered the pilot. The President sat up in his seat, taking in the whole property.
“The place is huge,” he said.
“And dangerous,” replied the General, “especially when they fire it up down there.”
“You mean the balls of fire you were telling me about?”
“That is correct, Mr. President,” answered the General.
“Tell me, General, whatever actions they may be engaged in, do you think the technology is something we can use, perhaps for military or security applications?” asked the President.
“You can be the judge of that, sir,” said Studemier. “I’m concerned they might be up to something that I don’t understand, they can’t control, and we can’t undo.” The pilot maneuvered the helicopter in a wide circle, giving the brass a look at the facility from every possible angle.
“I understand you’ve got friends down there,” said the President.
“Yes sir, Lieutenant Junior Grade Baxter, and his men. He’s one of our very best, Mr. President” the General answered.
“And you think we should move ahead with neutralizing the site?”
As the words left the Presidents mouth, a sound like sizzling bacon again sliced through the air. The pilot took wild evasive action as the men watched a chain of fireballs enter the atmosphere, pass by at blinding speed and disappear into a large hole in the Earth. The pilot pulled up the helicopter’s nose, and climbed toward safer air space. Behind them came the report of a sonic boom with shock waves powerful enough to send the chopper spiraling toward the ground. The experienced pilot wrestled the aircraft back into control, and headed away from the area, leaving the sound of grinding subterranean machinery behind them.
“Well, Mr. President?” asked the General.
“How long will it take to start the evacuation?” asked the President.
“It started two hours ago,” answered the General.
“Nuke ‘em!” the President ordered.
Chapter Sixty Nine
The Rescue
Through a trick of geography, the wind and rain eased with the Triassic sunrise. Infinity had her eyes locked on a tall tree and marched toward it as Nikki guarded the rear with both polasers drawn. Long wispy clouds streaked the sky as the black thunderheads left the area. The agents walked through knee high muddy water, recoiling every time something moved beneath their feet.
“There it is again,” said Infinity. “At the top of that tree, it’s something shiny.”
The sun reflected off Justin’s aluminized sheet, allowing Infinity to pinpoint his position. About halfway across the bog, they saw an Archosaur, and were amazed by its size. It was busy eating the carcass of a large insect, and paid no attention to the agents as they passed. They quickened their pace, putting some distance between themselves and the creature, lest they be next on its menu.
“What is that horrible smell?” asked Nikki.
Infinity held up a hand and said, “Listen!” As they paused in silence, they heard the sound of a human voice in the distance. Infinity looked down at her wrist oscillator again and it read 0:14. “Let’s go!” she said. When they finally reached the tree, the stench was overpowering and animal parts were strewn everywhere. High in the branches, they saw Justin and the detective, both smiling broadly.
“C’mon down!” Nikki yelled up to them.
“Negative, Agent Night Bird,” Justin called down. “Get up here on the double!” he added, pointing to a large pile of boulders. They didn’t need convincing. Nikki climbed first, followed by Infinity, who was now followed by a giant Triassic centipede. With the creature below them, the agents understood where the stench had come from and they retched as they climbed. Infinity checked her oscillator, it read 0:04.
“Commodore Thyme, fancy meeting you here,” said Nikki as she ascended the tree.
“Keep climbing!” he responded.
Now more centipedes began to appear, crawling from beneath boulders around the site. The detective foolishly decided to play secret agent himself, and grabbed the remaining coconut filled with centipede juice.
“No!” shouted Justin, but it was too late. Detective Raskins had poured the contents from the tree, covering both the centipede and Infinity. Now, centipedes were gathering by the hundreds, and the largest among them began to climb.
“Shit!” yelled Infinity, “What the hell is this stuff?”
“Agent Stairs, I need an oscillator readout” ordered Justin.
She looked again at her wrist and answered, “0:01!”
“Son of a bitch!” shouted Justin. “Throw that thing away, John!”
The detective threw the coconut as far as he could. It caused some of the centipedes to jump off the tree. They piled on top of it and each other, but most kept climbing. They quickly devoured the small centipede and continued up after Infinity.
“Agents listen up!” shouted Justin. “Open your emergency fire sheets and cover Raskins!”
Justin grabbed Infinity by the wrist and looked at her oscillator- they had fifteen seconds. Nikki produced an aluminized sheet with one hand and fired her polaser with the other. It killed the closest insect but he was instantly replaced by three more.
“Five seconds!” shouted Thyme.
They huddled together beneath the aluminized sheets and let the clock run out. Powerful mandibles bit deeply into the heel of Infinity’s boot, and they all disappeared in a fiery conflagration.
The Rescue
Through a trick of geography, the wind and rain eased with the Triassic sunrise. Infinity had her eyes locked on a tall tree and marched toward it as Nikki guarded the rear with both polasers drawn. Long wispy clouds streaked the sky as the black thunderheads left the area. The agents walked through knee high muddy water, recoiling every time something moved beneath their feet.
“There it is again,” said Infinity. “At the top of that tree, it’s something shiny.”
The sun reflected off Justin’s aluminized sheet, allowing Infinity to pinpoint his position. About halfway across the bog, they saw an Archosaur, and were amazed by its size. It was busy eating the carcass of a large insect, and paid no attention to the agents as they passed. They quickened their pace, putting some distance between themselves and the creature, lest they be next on its menu.
“What is that horrible smell?” asked Nikki.
Infinity held up a hand and said, “Listen!” As they paused in silence, they heard the sound of a human voice in the distance. Infinity looked down at her wrist oscillator again and it read 0:14. “Let’s go!” she said. When they finally reached the tree, the stench was overpowering and animal parts were strewn everywhere. High in the branches, they saw Justin and the detective, both smiling broadly.
“C’mon down!” Nikki yelled up to them.
“Negative, Agent Night Bird,” Justin called down. “Get up here on the double!” he added, pointing to a large pile of boulders. They didn’t need convincing. Nikki climbed first, followed by Infinity, who was now followed by a giant Triassic centipede. With the creature below them, the agents understood where the stench had come from and they retched as they climbed. Infinity checked her oscillator, it read 0:04.
“Commodore Thyme, fancy meeting you here,” said Nikki as she ascended the tree.
“Keep climbing!” he responded.
Now more centipedes began to appear, crawling from beneath boulders around the site. The detective foolishly decided to play secret agent himself, and grabbed the remaining coconut filled with centipede juice.
“No!” shouted Justin, but it was too late. Detective Raskins had poured the contents from the tree, covering both the centipede and Infinity. Now, centipedes were gathering by the hundreds, and the largest among them began to climb.
“Shit!” yelled Infinity, “What the hell is this stuff?”
“Agent Stairs, I need an oscillator readout” ordered Justin.
She looked again at her wrist and answered, “0:01!”
“Son of a bitch!” shouted Justin. “Throw that thing away, John!”
The detective threw the coconut as far as he could. It caused some of the centipedes to jump off the tree. They piled on top of it and each other, but most kept climbing. They quickly devoured the small centipede and continued up after Infinity.
“Agents listen up!” shouted Justin. “Open your emergency fire sheets and cover Raskins!”
Justin grabbed Infinity by the wrist and looked at her oscillator- they had fifteen seconds. Nikki produced an aluminized sheet with one hand and fired her polaser with the other. It killed the closest insect but he was instantly replaced by three more.
“Five seconds!” shouted Thyme.
They huddled together beneath the aluminized sheets and let the clock run out. Powerful mandibles bit deeply into the heel of Infinity’s boot, and they all disappeared in a fiery conflagration.
Chapter Seventy
Launch Sequence
Robert Terco was envious. His best friend ‘Photon’ Fulton already wore a winged medal over his breast pocket that signified a completed mission. Terco had yet to perform a mission- but that was about to change. As he and Fulton walked through a corridor, they heard every agent’s dream- they were being paged to the Senator’s office for a briefing, which could only mean one thing.
‘Agent Robert Terco, please report to the Senator’s office’ crackled the loudspeaker, immediately followed by ‘Agent Jefferson Fulton, please report to the Senator’s office’. The excited agents soon burst through the office door, out of breath. The secretary never looked up from her work, and simply pointed to the back room. There they found Senator Stilwell clearing out his desk. He dropped some things into a shopping bag, and piled the rest on the floor.
“Gentleman, there’s no time to take a seat, so I won’t ask you to do so,” he began. “You are beginning your careers during a period of transition. This is the end of AlternityCorp headquarters, but not the end of Alternity Group. To put it simply, gentleman, we will be leaving.”
The young agents looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then back to the Senator. Senator Stilwell glanced at his wrist oscillator and said, “The show starts in fifteen minutes, and you are the only two agents within two hundred million years.”
About the same time, the President and General Studemier were a mile above, being shuttled out of the area by presidential chopper. One ordered a nuclear strike and the other a large‐scale evacuation as they left.
Back in the laboratory, all remaining employees worked like ants, crossing items off their list as they were piled in front of the Chrona portal. Even a jeep and trailer now sat within the receiving area. When oscillators wound down to four minutes, Colonel Jaspar gave the order for everyone to stop working. They were soon dressed in protective gear, strapped into chairs, and ready for the Chrona to be energized.
The agents left the office, and Fulton escorted the Senator to the lab, where they put on protective suits and strapped into their seats. Terco went in a different direction, moving as fast as his protective suit would allow. The facility started to shake from bursts of Chrona energy, but Terco grabbed a handrail and kept moving down the corridor.
Back at the lab, the gargantuan machinery came to a grinding halt, and the receiving portal spat a geyser of steam like hot breath from the mouth of a dragon. Team members unstrapped and left their seats even before the cloud of vapor dissipated. Some raced to administer first aid to the incoming agents while others frantically loaded supplies into the Chrona.
On a military base at the far end of Chronopolis, elite soldiers were undergoing rigid fail‐safe procedures as they had done many times in the past. They were expecting to be called back at any moment, but that moment never came.
“Insert secure key,” said one soldier.
“Secure key inserted, sir” answered two others, one at sea on an aircraft carrier, and the other at a desert facility twelve stories underground. The General and President listened intently on the helicopter’s red phone.
“By your order, Mr. President” came the final voice.
“Begin launch sequence,” ordered the President.
Launch Sequence
Robert Terco was envious. His best friend ‘Photon’ Fulton already wore a winged medal over his breast pocket that signified a completed mission. Terco had yet to perform a mission- but that was about to change. As he and Fulton walked through a corridor, they heard every agent’s dream- they were being paged to the Senator’s office for a briefing, which could only mean one thing.
‘Agent Robert Terco, please report to the Senator’s office’ crackled the loudspeaker, immediately followed by ‘Agent Jefferson Fulton, please report to the Senator’s office’. The excited agents soon burst through the office door, out of breath. The secretary never looked up from her work, and simply pointed to the back room. There they found Senator Stilwell clearing out his desk. He dropped some things into a shopping bag, and piled the rest on the floor.
“Gentleman, there’s no time to take a seat, so I won’t ask you to do so,” he began. “You are beginning your careers during a period of transition. This is the end of AlternityCorp headquarters, but not the end of Alternity Group. To put it simply, gentleman, we will be leaving.”
The young agents looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then back to the Senator. Senator Stilwell glanced at his wrist oscillator and said, “The show starts in fifteen minutes, and you are the only two agents within two hundred million years.”
About the same time, the President and General Studemier were a mile above, being shuttled out of the area by presidential chopper. One ordered a nuclear strike and the other a large‐scale evacuation as they left.
Back in the laboratory, all remaining employees worked like ants, crossing items off their list as they were piled in front of the Chrona portal. Even a jeep and trailer now sat within the receiving area. When oscillators wound down to four minutes, Colonel Jaspar gave the order for everyone to stop working. They were soon dressed in protective gear, strapped into chairs, and ready for the Chrona to be energized.
The agents left the office, and Fulton escorted the Senator to the lab, where they put on protective suits and strapped into their seats. Terco went in a different direction, moving as fast as his protective suit would allow. The facility started to shake from bursts of Chrona energy, but Terco grabbed a handrail and kept moving down the corridor.
Back at the lab, the gargantuan machinery came to a grinding halt, and the receiving portal spat a geyser of steam like hot breath from the mouth of a dragon. Team members unstrapped and left their seats even before the cloud of vapor dissipated. Some raced to administer first aid to the incoming agents while others frantically loaded supplies into the Chrona.
On a military base at the far end of Chronopolis, elite soldiers were undergoing rigid fail‐safe procedures as they had done many times in the past. They were expecting to be called back at any moment, but that moment never came.
“Insert secure key,” said one soldier.
“Secure key inserted, sir” answered two others, one at sea on an aircraft carrier, and the other at a desert facility twelve stories underground. The General and President listened intently on the helicopter’s red phone.
“By your order, Mr. President” came the final voice.
“Begin launch sequence,” ordered the President.
Chapter Seventy One
The Escape
Agents lay sprawled and blackened on the floor of the Chrona’s receiving portal, as a team worked to salve their wounds and wrap their bodies in strips of gauze. Their suits still smoldered as electrolytes were intravenously administered for dehydration. Staff and corporate brass alike loaded supplies into the Chrona, arranging it in a large enough semi circle to accommodate thirtypeople in its center. At a mobile console nearby, employees in headsets stood crying as they said their final goodbyes to friends and lovers. Inside the dormant Chrona, Agent Fulton strapped the unconscious detective to a gurney and said, “Detective Raskins, you’re going
home.”
Senator Stilwell stopped the gurney as it wheeled passed, leaned over the detective and pinned a winged clock to his chest above the breast pocket. “Get him out of here,” he said, saluting as they left.
When Agent Terco reached the corridor leading to the brig, spinning lights on the ceiling made it look like a discotheque, but the cell itself was dark and quiet.
“Lieutenant Baxter?” called Terco. At once, six pairs of hands grabbed the bars. Agent Terco slipped his all‐access card through the lock, and the door popped open with an electric hum. Six desperate men stood mouths agape, as Fulton turned and began to run. “Follow me!” he yelled, “We don’t have a lot of time!”
They followed wordlessly.
Many miles away, a large red helicopter landed in a cloud of dust, beyond the minimum safe distance from the coming blast. Soldiers lined both sides of the tarmac as the President and his General made their way from the helio‐pad to one of several bunkers. Sirens blared from atop tall poles, making it hard to hear the shrinking countdown. As they entered the bunker and descended its endless stairs, the sirens fell into background noise,
allowing the countdown to ring out clearly.
‘T‐minus one minute and forty seven,’ came the robotic monotone.
It droned on, ‘T‐minus one minute and forty six.’
When they reached the lowest level they took their positions in the war room.
“What’s the status on the evacuation?” asked the President.
“Complete,” came the reply.
“Very well,” said the President.
Back at Alternity Group Headquarters, Agent Terco ordered the Lieutenant and his men to stop at the landing above the secret transit facility. “We wait here,” he said.
“”I thought you said there was no time?” shouted the Lieutenant, prompting Terco to point a polaser at him and repeat himself. In less than a minute, the door behind them banged open. It was Agent Fulton pushing the gurney.
“Help me!” he said.
The Lieutenant looked at the charred figure on the gurney and asked, “Who’s that?”
“John Raskins, Chronopolis Police Department,” Photon answered.
“Raskins?” asked the Lieutenant incredulously. “What the hell happened to him?”
“Hurt himself trying to make a collar- his timing was off,” answered Fulton.
“About two hundred million years off,” Terco added.
“Christ!” said Baxter.
They carried the gurney down the flight of stairs and through the double doors leading into the transit station. The shuttle cars sat full of people anxiously waiting to depart.
“That’s your ticket out,” said Fulton. “Good luck Lieutenant. Take care of Justin’s friend, will you? Get him home to his wife.”
They loaded Raskins aboard, took their seats, and Terco hit a large black button on the bulkhead, sending them on their way. The Lieutenant turned back and saluted. The agents returned salute, and scrambled up the stairs.
As they raced through the corridors, the ground shook from pulses of star power. They reached the lab as the Chrona began to rotate, and ran straight through the permaglass hatch the Senator had ordered left open. The lab was filled with a fire they set to burn the last notes, papers and manuals on time travel. Hands from inside the spinning Chrona reached out to grab Fulton, and pulled him inside. Right behind him, Agent Terco reached into his belt and pulled out a small thermonuclear bomb of his own. He twisted the cap, set it on two seconds, and tossed it out as he dove into the Chrona.
The Escape
Agents lay sprawled and blackened on the floor of the Chrona’s receiving portal, as a team worked to salve their wounds and wrap their bodies in strips of gauze. Their suits still smoldered as electrolytes were intravenously administered for dehydration. Staff and corporate brass alike loaded supplies into the Chrona, arranging it in a large enough semi circle to accommodate thirtypeople in its center. At a mobile console nearby, employees in headsets stood crying as they said their final goodbyes to friends and lovers. Inside the dormant Chrona, Agent Fulton strapped the unconscious detective to a gurney and said, “Detective Raskins, you’re going
home.”
Senator Stilwell stopped the gurney as it wheeled passed, leaned over the detective and pinned a winged clock to his chest above the breast pocket. “Get him out of here,” he said, saluting as they left.
When Agent Terco reached the corridor leading to the brig, spinning lights on the ceiling made it look like a discotheque, but the cell itself was dark and quiet.
“Lieutenant Baxter?” called Terco. At once, six pairs of hands grabbed the bars. Agent Terco slipped his all‐access card through the lock, and the door popped open with an electric hum. Six desperate men stood mouths agape, as Fulton turned and began to run. “Follow me!” he yelled, “We don’t have a lot of time!”
They followed wordlessly.
Many miles away, a large red helicopter landed in a cloud of dust, beyond the minimum safe distance from the coming blast. Soldiers lined both sides of the tarmac as the President and his General made their way from the helio‐pad to one of several bunkers. Sirens blared from atop tall poles, making it hard to hear the shrinking countdown. As they entered the bunker and descended its endless stairs, the sirens fell into background noise,
allowing the countdown to ring out clearly.
‘T‐minus one minute and forty seven,’ came the robotic monotone.
It droned on, ‘T‐minus one minute and forty six.’
When they reached the lowest level they took their positions in the war room.
“What’s the status on the evacuation?” asked the President.
“Complete,” came the reply.
“Very well,” said the President.
Back at Alternity Group Headquarters, Agent Terco ordered the Lieutenant and his men to stop at the landing above the secret transit facility. “We wait here,” he said.
“”I thought you said there was no time?” shouted the Lieutenant, prompting Terco to point a polaser at him and repeat himself. In less than a minute, the door behind them banged open. It was Agent Fulton pushing the gurney.
“Help me!” he said.
The Lieutenant looked at the charred figure on the gurney and asked, “Who’s that?”
“John Raskins, Chronopolis Police Department,” Photon answered.
“Raskins?” asked the Lieutenant incredulously. “What the hell happened to him?”
“Hurt himself trying to make a collar- his timing was off,” answered Fulton.
“About two hundred million years off,” Terco added.
“Christ!” said Baxter.
They carried the gurney down the flight of stairs and through the double doors leading into the transit station. The shuttle cars sat full of people anxiously waiting to depart.
“That’s your ticket out,” said Fulton. “Good luck Lieutenant. Take care of Justin’s friend, will you? Get him home to his wife.”
They loaded Raskins aboard, took their seats, and Terco hit a large black button on the bulkhead, sending them on their way. The Lieutenant turned back and saluted. The agents returned salute, and scrambled up the stairs.
As they raced through the corridors, the ground shook from pulses of star power. They reached the lab as the Chrona began to rotate, and ran straight through the permaglass hatch the Senator had ordered left open. The lab was filled with a fire they set to burn the last notes, papers and manuals on time travel. Hands from inside the spinning Chrona reached out to grab Fulton, and pulled him inside. Right behind him, Agent Terco reached into his belt and pulled out a small thermonuclear bomb of his own. He twisted the cap, set it on two seconds, and tossed it out as he dove into the Chrona.
Chronopolis, Epilogue
Detective Raskins lay in the sun, reading the morning paper as his young daughter sat on the edge of his chair, making it difficult to do.
“Tell me again, daddy,” she begged.
“Tell you what, baby?” he asked.
“About the centipedes and the dinosaurs! Please? I wanna hear more about the dinosaurs.”
His wife joined them, carrying a tray of coffee and snacks and said, “Honey, leave your father alone, he’s trying to rest.” The girl reluctantly went inside. “Mr. Kurchfield is here to see you dear,” said Mrs. Raskins.
“Who?” asked the detective.
“The psychiatrist, dear‐ it’s Tuesday.”
A handsome gray‐haired gentleman entered the yard and sat in a chair facing the water.
“How do you feel today, Mr. Raskins?” he asked.
“Just fine, thanks,” answered the detective.
“So, no more dreams keeping you awake at night?” asked the doctor.
“Nope‐ not in a long time,” Raskins answered.
“And what about your ‘experience’ -do you still think it was real?” asked Kurchfield.
“You mean going back in time to see monsters?” asked the detective. “Nah.”
“Good,” said the doctor. “I see no reason why you couldn’t go back to work for the department –at a desk, of course‐ as soon as your burns finish healing.”
“That’s good news, doc. I’m looking forward to it,” said Raskins.
“Alright then, I’m closing the case and recommending that you be reinstated for desk work. In the meantime, get some more rest- doctor’s orders.”
“Thanks for coming doc, and thanks for everything,” said the detective.
Alone again, Detective Raskins thought back to his friend Justin Thyme, where he was, what he was working on, and whose future he might be saving. He looked to see if anyone was watching, reached under the recliner and pulled out his pipe box. Inside the tobacco pouch, he kept three small medals. One from General Studemier, one from the Police department‐ and one small, winged clock. He took out his watch, flipped open the top, and up popped a brilliant hologram, in vivid color. He snapped it shut and put it away‐ for now.
The End
Detective Raskins lay in the sun, reading the morning paper as his young daughter sat on the edge of his chair, making it difficult to do.
“Tell me again, daddy,” she begged.
“Tell you what, baby?” he asked.
“About the centipedes and the dinosaurs! Please? I wanna hear more about the dinosaurs.”
His wife joined them, carrying a tray of coffee and snacks and said, “Honey, leave your father alone, he’s trying to rest.” The girl reluctantly went inside. “Mr. Kurchfield is here to see you dear,” said Mrs. Raskins.
“Who?” asked the detective.
“The psychiatrist, dear‐ it’s Tuesday.”
A handsome gray‐haired gentleman entered the yard and sat in a chair facing the water.
“How do you feel today, Mr. Raskins?” he asked.
“Just fine, thanks,” answered the detective.
“So, no more dreams keeping you awake at night?” asked the doctor.
“Nope‐ not in a long time,” Raskins answered.
“And what about your ‘experience’ -do you still think it was real?” asked Kurchfield.
“You mean going back in time to see monsters?” asked the detective. “Nah.”
“Good,” said the doctor. “I see no reason why you couldn’t go back to work for the department –at a desk, of course‐ as soon as your burns finish healing.”
“That’s good news, doc. I’m looking forward to it,” said Raskins.
“Alright then, I’m closing the case and recommending that you be reinstated for desk work. In the meantime, get some more rest- doctor’s orders.”
“Thanks for coming doc, and thanks for everything,” said the detective.
Alone again, Detective Raskins thought back to his friend Justin Thyme, where he was, what he was working on, and whose future he might be saving. He looked to see if anyone was watching, reached under the recliner and pulled out his pipe box. Inside the tobacco pouch, he kept three small medals. One from General Studemier, one from the Police department‐ and one small, winged clock. He took out his watch, flipped open the top, and up popped a brilliant hologram, in vivid color. He snapped it shut and put it away‐ for now.
The End
Joseph John Racano - 'Spiritpen'