Bystander in Time

by Richard Stockford

  BYSTANDER IN TIME

  By

  Richard Stockford

  Copyright 2018 Richard Stockford

  Thank you for purchasing this e-book

  This book is a throwback to the author’s early love of science fiction and is purely a work of fiction. The characters and events described herein exist only in the author’s mind and are not intended to represent real people, places or events.

  No part of this book may be copied or reproduced without the express written consent of the author.

  Thank you for reading and respecting the hard work of this author. If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to write a review at http://www.amazon.com/Bystander in Time-Richard-Stockford

  And check out my other stories here amazon.com/author/richardstockford

  Acknowledgements

  I offer my heartfelt and eternal thanks to the many people who have supported and assisted my humble writing efforts. Special appreciation goes to an encouraging family and fellow WGTW members Jenny Spekhardt and Darren Knapp without whose help this project would have stalled many times.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  About the author

  Bystander in time

  Chapter 1

  “Come on Dexie, shake a leg. The day’s half gone and there’s fish to be caught.”

  Dexter Stockford grinned to himself as he reached to snag his backpack out of the bed of his Uncle Walter’s battered old red pick-up truck. His father’s younger brother was always fun to hang out with and Dex had been looking forward to this fishing trip for weeks, ever since he had opened the birthday card containing a pair of charter-boat tickets and a picture of the sixty-five foot fishing boat now moored to the dock at the other end of the parking lot. Just turned fifteen and happy to be out of school on this first Saturday of the summer, Dex was tall for his age with wide shoulders, light brown hair and brown eyes that sparkled at the thought of adventure. Still grinning widely, Dex shrugged the backpack over one shoulder and trotted over to join his uncle on the dock. The early morning sun was low on the horizon at the harbor mouth and noisy seagulls wheeled and soared over the lobster boats already hard at work. The boat tied to the dock before them was gleaming white fiberglass with a narrow red stripe just below the deck; long, low and sleek with a big cabin towards the front and the large open area in back enclosed by three foot high sides. There was a big orange life raft lashed to the cabin roof and wispy antennas sprouted over the windshield at the front. From the cabin forward, the deck narrowed to a rakish up-swept bow enclosed with a gleaming steel railing. The sleek vessel moved slightly with the action of the harbor waves, as if anxious to shrug off the wooden gangplank that tied it to the dock. Dex saw a dozen or so people already on board and, despite his excitement, he yawned hugely as they followed another group onto the boat. Uncle Walter had spent the night in Bangor with Dex and his parents, and they had gotten up at 5:00 am so that they could make the drive from Bangor to this boat dock in the small town of Southwest Harbor on Maine’s Mount Desert Island in time for the 7:00 am departure time.

  “Welcome aboard,” said a tall smiling man wearing faded cut-off jeans and a yellow t-shirt that said ‘Gone Fishing Charters’ on the front. He was middle age with the squint lines around his eyes and leathery skin that told of years on the ocean. “I’m Zach. You can stow your ice chests out here on deck and your other gear in the bins inside and we’ll be getting underway shortly.”

  Stepping up into the cabin, Uncle Walter and Dex found an open room with benches along the sides with large windows over them and pull-out bins underneath. Through a doorway at the front Dex could see a smaller room where an older man with short cropped gray hair, also wearing a yellow t-shirt, stood in front of a console with gauges and a steering wheel. To the left of this doorway was another with a steep set of stairs, more like a ladder, leading down. The man glanced at his watch and turned to step through the doorway. “Good morning,” he said with a smile. “Come on out on deck, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

  Outside, the man stepped up onto a bench and called for attention. “Good morning and welcome aboard ‘Harbor Rose’,” he said. “I’m Captain Ralph Kenny and that other yahoo in the yellow shirt over there is my first mate, Zach Taylor.” He reached back and patted the cabin wall behind him. “The ‘Rose’ here is a sixty-five foot, slightly scaled-down fiberglass replica of a World War Two PT boat. She’s sixteen feet wide, weighs forty-two tons and has two twelve hundred horsepower Chrysler marine engines that’ll give us a top speed a little north of thirty-five knots. That’s just over forty miles per hour,” he grinned at the slightly apprehensive looks on some of the passengers’ faces, “but we won’t be going quite that fast today. We’ll take about an hour to motor ten or twelve miles out to the south or a little southeast and see if we can find some fish.” He gestured to the racks of heavy fishing poles stored against the inside of the gunwales. “Once we get out there, Zach will give you any assistance you need with the gear.” You’re welcome to explore the boat but, for safety reasons please don’t sit on the gunwales and do not smoke in the cabin or below decks. You’ll find the heads, that’s bathrooms for you landlubbers, below and aft and there’s coffee and soft drinks in the galley amidships. There are life-preservers and first-aid supplies in the cabin and I’ll ask you to follow our instructions to the letter in the unlikely event of an emergency.”

  A short time later Dex heard a low rumble and felt a vibration through the deck as Harbor Rose’s engines came to life. Zach ran from the bow to the stern pulling in the dock lines and the sleek vessel headed out into the harbor.

  Although used to lake fishing, Dex had never been on the ocean before, but he soon found his balance on the gently moving deck as they motored slowly past the many pleasure boats and fishing craft moored in the busy harbor. He watched as the mate went back to the dock lines and carefully shook them out and coiled them neatly out of the way. After about twenty minutes, the land on the right side of the boat dropped away and, the boat began a gentle up and down motion as Captain Kenny increased his speed and turned the bow to meet the long swells rolling in from the open Gulf of Maine.

  As the harbor dropped behind, Dex wandered into the cabin to get his knapsack. He brought it out on deck and rummaged for a bottle of water, a baloney, mustard and mayonnaise sandwich and a small bag of potato chips. Uncle Walter had brought lunch and drinks for them in a big ice chest but, always hungry, Dex had packed an emergency supply of his own. While he was eating, Zach Taylor walked by. “You want to be a little careful of how much you eat until you’re sure you won’t get seasick,” he said kindly.

  “I’ve been out in boats plenty of times and I’ve never been sick,” Dex said.

  Z
ach grinned. “OK,” he said, “just don’t you go puking all over my nice clean deck.”

  After wolfing his food, Dex decided to explore the boat. He walked around the deck and as far forward as he could, hanging onto the railing where the wind and salt spray gusted over the bow. As the boat got further from land, the chilly wind and waves increased so when he had seen all of the deck, Dex went into warm the cabin and peered into the cockpit area where Captain Kenny sat behind the windshield with one relaxed hand on the steering wheel.

  “Come on in,” the Captain said. “This is where all the action is until we get to where we’re going.”

  “How do you know where you’re going?” Dex asked looking out at the open sea.”

  “Well, I know these waters pretty well,” the captain said. In the daytime I can steer by the sun and those Islands over there to port,” He nodded at the windows at the left side of the cabin where Dex could see a couple of low islands in the near distance, “but at night or if I didn’t know my way, I’d use a compass and a chart, and maybe my sonar or radar if it was real dark or foggy. Now that we’re getting out of the channel, the only real danger is that ledge up ahead. At high tide, she's nearly covered and a man could run aground if he wasn't paying attention.” Dex looked out the windshield and saw waves splashing on barely covered rocks several hundred yards ahead. The Captain eased the wheel and the Harbor Rose turned gently to pass them on the right. “Once we get out to the fishing grounds, we’ll use the depth finder to fine-tune our position.” Captain Kenny reached into a rack on the wall at his side and pulled out a large folded sheet of heavy paper. This is a chart of this area. Why don’t you take it and this hand compass and see if you can work out where we are?”

  “Thanks!” Dex took the chart and small compass and went out onto the deck, but the wind was getting colder so he decided to explore below decks and study the chart where it was more comfortable. He climbed down the steep stairs to a warm open area. To the rear, there was a passageway with restrooms on either side that ended at a closed door with a sign that read ‘Engine Room – No Admittance’. Towards the bow, there was a large open galley with a table and seating, and beyond that, a passage with three small cabins on each side. In the very bow of the boat there was a hatch marked ‘Chain Locker’. Dex helped himself to a can of soda from the big refrigerator and sat at the galley table. He unfolded the chart and quickly realized that it was a map of the sea and shoreline that included all the nearby islands. A compass printed in one corner allowed him to orient the chart with north at the top, as he knew was the proper way to read a map, and he could quickly see that they were indeed headed south or southeast. Dex was wondering how he could figure out how far they had come when Zach Taylor came clambering down the ladder.

  “What've you got there, mate,” he asked spying Dex.

  “The Captain gave me this chart,” Dex said. “We're headed south and just passing Great Cranberry and Little Cranberry Islands.”

  “That's right,” Taylor said. “When we're coming in, we look for the Cranberries or the Treasure Islands as some call them, to tell us we're close to the harbor.”

  Dex's eyes widened. “Treasure Islands?” he repeated.

  Taylor chuckled. “There's an old legend about a pirate ship full of gold bullion that was wrecked in a big sea battle around here. Supposedly it sank somewhere off those islands, but nobody's ever found any proof. Still, it's a cool story for the tourists and, who knows, maybe it’s true and someday I’ll be the one to find it.”

  After Taylor left, Dex remained sitting, staring at the chart imagining navigating a pirate ship full of treasure in from the sea on a foggy night. Suddenly he realized that he was beginning to feel a little queasy. Within a very few minutes, it was a lot worse than queasy and he stuffed the chart and compass into his backpack and bolted for the ladder to the deck. With a muffled groan, Dex staggered out of the cabin and, pushing past people on the deck, rushed to the side of the boat and leaned far out over the low gunwale. Eyes closed, totally miserable and barely conscious of the deck’s increasing movement, he hung on weakly as his abused stomach rebelled at the sea’s unnatural motion. He hardly noticed as the ‘Rose’ powered up the face of a large wave and was nearly senseless when his grip slipped off the wet railing and he fell out into space…and landed on a hard wooden floor!

  Chapter 2

  Stunned and confused, the breath knocked out of him, Dex rolled weakly onto his side and tried to make some sense of what had just happened. A small part of his mind realized that the background rumble of the fishing boat’s big engines was gone, replaced with strange humming and creaking sounds. He was lying beside a low wooden wall so, putting his hand on a wooden wheel at his side, he struggled to a sitting position with his back against the wall and then froze, staggered at the view in front of him.

  Dex was not sitting on a floor. He saw at once that it was a wooden deck with two huge wooden masts growing out of it, and the wheel under his hand was attached to a huge black cannon, one of several he could see lashed against the wooden bulwark at his back. Snatching his hand off the cannon and shaking his head in stunned disbelief, Dex looked up to see dirty white sails billowing amid a confusing array of spars and ropes above him.

  “Hoy, you there!” Dex started at the loud, angry shout and looked around to see a man looking down at him from a raised deck towards the back of the boat. He was probably the ugliest man Dex had ever seen. Burly and unshaven with long black greasy hair sprouting from under a battered straw hat, he was dressed in shapeless rough canvas pants and a filthy cotton pullover shirt. Small eyes squinted past a potato-shaped nose as he shouted again. “What do you there, boy?”

  “I…I,” Before Dex could answer the man bounded down the short set of stairs to the deck, reached down and hauled him to his feet by the front of his sweatshirt.

  “Be ye stowaway?” he rumbled as if talking to himself, peering closely into Dex’s face. His voice grated deep and loud like a small avalanche from a large mouth full of rotted teeth. “Nay, no that; we’ve not touched land these last three weeks.”

  Dex squirmed to get away from the man’s foul breath. “Let go of me,” he cried, “I, I didn’t do anything.”

  Pushing Dex out to arm’s length, the man ignored his pleas. “Your dress is passing queer and uncommon clean to be that of a sailor.” The man’s eyes grew wider in sudden apprehension. “Be ye a wizard? Or demon? Must we burn ye?” he demanded thrusting Dex even further away then holding him straight-armed, pinned in the angle between the raised deck and gunwale with one huge hand while pulling a large knife from his belt with the other. He raised the knife and leered at Dex. “Methinks I’ll see the color of your blood, demon.” Terrified, Dex closed his eyes, but suddenly, there was another voice.

  “Hold, Mister Miller. What do you have there?” The calm, firm voice came again from the raised deck, and Dex looked up to see a man of average height dressed in clean trousers with a light blue jacket over a white open-neck shirt. Light blond hair fell to his shoulders and piercing blue eyes gleamed from a deeply tanned, clean shaven face.

  “‘Tis a foul wizard, sir. Or worse, a demon witch. It appeared from the very air, by my oath. We must not hesitate to send him back to his hellish realm.” Dex shrank back as the man raised his knife again.

  “Stay your hand, Mister Miller,” said the man stepping to the top of the steps. “I would speak with this wizard.”

  “Aye, Sir.” Plainly disappointed, the large man swung Dex around and held him at the base of the steps, knife still held at the ready.

  “Come here, Wizard,” said the man from the upper deck. “Tell me by what right you come to stand on my deck, Sir.”

  Dex edged away from the large seaman’s grasp and hesitantly climbed the stairs finally finding his voice. “I, I’m not a wizard, sir,” he stammered. “My name is Dex and I was on the fishing boat with my Uncle Walter and I fell overboard and, and I don’t understand…”

  “You’ve
not come from the water, nor are there any vessels within the horizon,” the man interrupted. “Do not lie if you would gain my good favor.”

  “I’m not lying,” Dex said. “I just don’t know what happened. I was on a boat and I got sick and fell over the rail and the next thing I knew I was on this boat and he was yelling at me.”

  The man stared intently at Dex for a long moment. “I am Captain Jacob Campbell. What would you be called again?”

  “I’m Dexter Stockford. I live in Bangor and I was on a fishing trip with my Uncle Wal…”

  Captain Campbell held up his hand. “We will go below and speak privately of these things,” he interrupted, “and if I cannot find the truth of your story, Mister Miller may yet have his way with you.”

  With Captain Campbell’s hand at his back, Dex went back down the stairs and stepped through a low door in the wall under the raised deck. They went down a second set of short, steep stairs to a dim below-deck passageway. Guided toward the rear of the ship, Dex saw three narrow doors on each side and a wider one at the end. They passed through the end door into a room that stretched across the width of the ship. There were large curved windows made up of many small panes of glass looking out over the ship’s creamy wake with two large black cannons placed one on either side of the windows. Although Dex could comfortably stand upright, he noticed that Captain Campbell had to duck under the thick deck beams that curved overhead. Several lanterns swung from the ceiling and there was a large desk in front of the windows as well as a built-in bunk and several drawers at the left side of the cabin.

  Captain Campbell took a seat behind his desk and motioned Dex to a stool in front of it. “Now, tell me again how you come to be on my ship.” His voice, thought still calm, held the commanding edge of a man used to obedience.

  Dex took a deep breath to try to control his mounting panic. His mind was whirling, but he knew he had to speak to this man. “I was on a fishing trip with my Uncle Walter. We were on a boat with a bunch of other people and I got seasick. I was throwing up over the side and I guess I fell overboard. Somehow I ended up on your ship; I don’t know how, but we’ve got to find the ‘Harbor Rose’.”