Timewalker

by Luke Norris

  Yarn didn’t realize, but Oliver was speeding up too, matching the second-stager as he augmented his body. It was the impossible, a slave able to stand in combat against a second-stager. Extraordinarily, this driver managed to meet him at every assault. It made no sense. To Yarn’s dismay, after pushing the driver back with a flurry of frantic swings and thrusts the man now responded with his own offensive onslaught. Terrifying lethal spear thrusts humming alarmingly close past Yarn’s ear. The two men went back across the pit to the other side. Then again Yarn drove forward. It was a deadly and complex dance happening at an impossible speed. A humming drone filled the air. That’s our spears cutting the air, realized Yarn.

  *

  Gasps came from the soldiers watching. None of them had ever witnessed anything remotely like what was taking place before them. A fight had begun between the prophet Yarn himself and a highlander. It was evident that this was no ordinary highlander, aside from his different appearance he had bested the prophet Riff, and he fought like one of them.

  The duel had evolved into something fantastical. Their eyes seemed to be betraying them. They were witnessing a tornado of spinning spears, fighters appearing to be multiple places at once. There was a loud and constant hum coming from the weapons, interspersed with the occasional deafening crack as a speartip created a sonic boom. Thunder was coming directly from the fighters, titans locked in an astral duel.

  No sooner had a spear shaft shattered, sending shrapnel wood splinters flying like bullets, than an onlooking soldier found a spear ripped from his hands by one of the fighters as a replacement. Impossible to tell who, it was all happening too rapidly.

  *

  “No! How is this possible? How are you matching my speed?” Yarn’s voice had no trace of arrogance left. Is he intergalactic police? Yarn tried to make sense of it. No, he can’t be, he has no weapons, amd he was definitely on our ship. This is not adding up. A driver able to do this. His thoughts distracted him for a split second.

  Oliver’s spear sliced Yarn’s thigh, it cut deep into the sinew. Yarn screamed out and swung recklessly. Oliver was already in the air as the shaft whizzed under his feet. He rammed his spearpoint into the foot of Yarn’s good leg while airborne. The second-stager went to his knees cursing.

  “You’re a slave! A first-stager!” Yarn used his spear for support. He winced in pain watching the man in front of him. No sooner was his spear stationary than he felt it smash into pieces in his hand. Excruciating pain shot through his hand, surely several fingers were broken. Yarn screamed out in anguish. Cold realization dawned, he couldn’t best this man. Not only was his opponent a driver with battle and combat training, a master of the spear, but he could do the impossible. He was boosting. Yarn was sure of it now.

  “How?” Yarn implored. “How are you doing it?” He kneeled prostrate before Oliver.

  Oliver placed the spear tip against Yarn’s chest. The second-stager’s leather jerkin had a deep vee cut, leaving bare skin exposed below the nape of his neck where the steel tip pressed.

  “Look at yourself!” Yarn growled, almost to himself rather than to Oliver. “You may kill me, but you will always be a driver! A first-stager! You think boosting makes you like me? We are nothing alike! I’m from society. It’s fitting that you live out the rest of your pitiful days here on this primitive rock.” He spat defiantly at Oliver’s feet. “Look around you! You deserve these people. And they deserve you! You’ll never be a second-stager. You are nothing but a slave.” Yarn searched Oliver’s eyes. “Yes driver, even now you don’t have a choice. A slave is who you are.” Yarn grasped the splintered wooden haft of Oliver’s spear above the iron point and pulled it towards his own chest. A dark trickle escaped where it pricked the skin.“Do it!” he screamed, “do what you were designed to do slave!”

  *

  Every instinct in Oliver screamed at him to finish this enemy. It was what he was programmed to do! He was Cougar, the unstoppable driver. Victory or death, the unspoken creed. He would plunge the spear through this pirate and watch his eyes glaze over, such hateful eyes. And this time he was justified, wasn’t he? This man was the last member of a crew of tyrants, committing unspeakable atrocities. I am doing the world a favor, he told himself.

  Oliver applied pressure to the point letting it bite deeper against flesh. Yes, this was what he lived for, this is what he died for. He felt the familiar rush of the endorphins that get released in a driver’s brain when they are victorious in battle for their masters. The biochemical programming giving him the sense of reward that he craved. The feeling washed over him making him shudder with anticipation. He had to finish this now.

  But then why was he hesitating? He felt like a starving man chewing a delicious mouthful but not swallowing. Cougar, the driver, was screaming to be fed, and only the death of this man would assuage his driver’s hunger. He was Cougar! Wasn’t he? Wouldn’t killing this tyrant, and finally fulfilling his revenge pact, free him? Or would it do what he feared most, confirm that he was, at his core, the driver Cougar. Cougar the slave. Oliver from Earth simply a hollow shell, a slave to the driver within. They had planted the true enemy, the true master, within Oliver’s mind. He lusted after the kill. It would be so easy. But something deeper stayed Oliver’s hands. He knew this kill would destroy the last vestiges of something deep in his soul. What was it? Oliver screamed aloud, betraying his inner battle. It was like a heroin addict’s withdrawals compounded into a single moment as he resisted the biological urges programmed into his mind.

  There was something precious that he would lose if he capitulated to the driver within himself. What did he hold so dear? He searched, and a memory formed. His first girlfriend, Gerry, lying with him under the stars in Otago, New Zealand. It was accompanied by a feeling of warmth. A light in the dark confines of his thoughts. He latched onto this. Suddenly memories poured through his mind. His parents, and their love for him. The light grew stronger. Ab-Jibil and his family, the compassion and love they had shown a stranger as they tended Oliver during months of infirmity. His friend Ponsy, and the deep bond they had developed. Hundreds of scenes flashed in his mind, scenes of love, of humanity. This was who he wanted to be. Cougar, the driver, represented death, just as the man kneeling before him only brought death and destruction. He would not be like Yarn. Oliver would choose Humanity. Love. Life!

  “What are you waiting for, slave!” Yarn screamed. He raised his head to the sky in anticipation of the drivers killing thrust.

  “You’re wrong, pirate!” Oliver growled, he lifted the spear off Yarn’s chest, “I’m not a slave!” Instead of plunging the spear into the second-stager, he turned the spear one eighty bringing the wooden butt of the spear across Yarn’s temple, knocking the man unconscious. Yarn’s head went limp, and he collapsed to the ground, laying motionless apart from the rise and fall of his chest.

  Oliver was heaving with exhaustion, it was an exhaustion like he had never felt before. He could hardly move his arms. It went even deeper than physical fatigue, a tirade of emotions were hitting him at once. The elation of finally defeating his oppressors, and overcoming biochemical imbuement they had implanted in him. Where was the feeling of fulfillment? It wasn’t meant to feel this way, he had dreamed of this moment for two years. It dawned on him he had not thought past this moment of defeating the slave drivers. He had known this moment would eventually arrive, he didn’t know exactly when but all his thoughts had been devoted to how this would play out. A future beyond this point had not occurred to him. What kind of future could there possibly be for me? I’m an alien here. An outsider. The people of this planet hold me in reverence. Even Ponsy is not like me, he didn’t wake on the ship, and was not augmented like I am. His eyes were misty and he couldn’t look up from the body of Yarn. That would mean facing what was to come next.

  Oliver’s metabolism was slowing fast. Sounds of the men around him were resuming a normal pitch. His body ached like he had just run two marathons back to back. He raised his h
ead to face the men that surrounded him, damnation, even that motion hurt. He turned and stopped short. The head of a crossbow bolt, less than two feet away, was pointed straight at his chest.

  Under normal circumstances Oliver was fast, but even in prime condition with his metabolism fully augmented he could not dodge a bolt fired from that range. This was the end.

  Oliver’s eyes focused on the executioner. It was the young brunette woman. Of course! He had forgotten about her in the action. Were those tears on her cheeks?

  Verity stared at him, crossbow shaking in her hands. “You didn’t kill him!” she said. “After what he did to you, you didn’t kill him! You spared the man who took everything from you. Why?”

  “You wouldn’t understand pirate!” Oliver replied tiredly. “But know that I died free! And not a slave to your programming, to the drugs. Not as a driver. I chose love and humanity.”

  So this is how it ends. I am to be executed by the pirate girl. So young. He looked into her eyes. Intense and brown. Brimming with tears. Surprising, he thought, she doesn’t have the eyes of a killer. Why is she crying?

  This was Oliver’s last confused thought as Verity raised the weapon hastily and pulled the trigger. He heard the twang of the crossbow string and, a split second later, the sickening thump of the bolt as it buried itself deep in human flesh.

  He still held her gaze. She can’t even look me in the eye when she does it, he thought, then looked down at his chest and to his surprise found no sign of the arrow or any wound.

  A voice spoke from behind Oliver. “You betrayed your own? For a first-stager?”

  Oliver spun at the sound of Yarn’s voice. The captain stood directly behind him, holding the tip of a broken spear in his good hand, ready to impale Oliver from behind. In his chest directly over his heart protruded the end of a crossbow bolt that Verity had fired. Yarn collapsed. And this time he did not rise again.

  Oliver spun back to Verity. Surprised. Confused.

  Verity stood there, holding the spent weapon with a dazed look of shock on her face. They looked at each other for what seemed an eternity before she spoke.

  “Now what?” she whispered finally, “what becomes of us now driver?” Slowly she lowered the weapon to let it hang at her side. She looked at Oliver beseechingly. “I am the last…” She stopped herself. “No. We are the last ones.” Verity felt nothing towards the death of Yarn, no anger toward Oliver for killing Riff. She felt free. She knew killing Yarn left her stranded on this planet, but she would be able to live with herself. “I know what they did to you!”

  “They?” Oliver’s voice was hoarse.

  “I’m not one of them! Well…” Her brown eyes sought Oliver’s, “I am, but I wanted no part in what they do… what they did to you. These people are pirates, criminals, in society.”

  Those eyes. She believes what she is saying, Oliver realized.

  Verity shook herself as if to bring her back to the present moment. “We have to stop this fighting. This meaningless war!” She looked around at the bodies surrounding them on the ground. “Driver, you have to stop this! … Please,” she added in a whisper.

  Oliver suddenly became aware of the men around him. She was right. He had to put an end to this madness. Every minute this went longer meant more death, just adding to the legacy of Yarn’s crew. The soldiers seemed paralyzed with awe. As he painfully stood, the men shuffled back in anticipation. Oliver was something beyond their comprehension. He could hear the sounds of battle, and was that Ponsy’s voice? He walked slowly toward the noise with Verity close behind. The wall of shields parted before him. Somehow the word of the duel had spread through the ranks and men came to get a glimpse of Oliver but didn’t hinder him as he walked toward the Highland frontline.

  “Ponsy!” Oliver called. He could see the big driver bellowing orders from behind the shield wall. “Ponsy, call the men back! It’s over.”

  “Cougar!” He pushed the shields aside and jogged to Oliver. The Naharainee men parted for him too. They seemed to be lost now that their leadership was gone and knew instinctively that whoever the two strange men and the woman were, they would determine the outcome of the day.

  “It is done.” Oliver tiredly gripped his friend’s wrist as they met on the field.

  “And her? She is one of the slave drivers Cougar!” Ponsy pointed his war hammer at Verity. Brown and red congealed blood shined on its iron head, and he could see it dripping inches from her face, omitting the distinctive metallic odor of blood mixed with sweat.

  “I still have to decide,” Oliver considered. He indicated to the front line, behind the clansmen, where Ab-Jibar’s flag fluttered ready to pass orders along the lines to all regiments. “Signal the men to move back. All of them. No more men will needlessly die today.”

  “Aye, Cougar.” Ponsy jogged back up the hill and was engulfed by the shield line of his men. Oliver saw the flags change to two white, ordering the lines to fall back to the ridgeline.

  “And you,” Oliver turned to Verity, “who is in command of the Lowland army? Who is giving them orders now?”

  “Yarn was taking command,” Verity replied, “now that he is gone, I’m not really sure there is anyone. There were never any succession plans, the thought of him not surviving never crossed his mind. Look at the men! They are directionless.”

  It was true, the Lowland soldiers appeared to be waiting for some instruction. They were watching Oliver and Verity as if awaiting their decision. Many eyewitnesses had seen Oliver best Yarn. News of his extraordinary abilities had spread like wildfire through the army. Now that their impervious leader was gone, they were waiting for Oliver to fill the role or provide their next instruction. There was no real fight in their eyes. Oliver could understand it, they were rudderless.

  “I will address the army!” Oliver turned to Verity, “I will need you beside me! They recognize you.”

  “I think your fame is already spreading,” Verity said, watching the soldiers crowd around to get a glimpse of Oliver. “You shouldn’t have trouble commanding these men. There is one other who the lowlanders see as their leader. Not one of us. It’s the Naharainee king. Yarn had used him as a pawn in his plans, always working from behind the scenes. Nevertheless, the king is still held in regard by the people as the rightful,” she paused, “and the last king of the lands across the rivers.” She hung her head in shame, the atrocities they had committed in disposing of the other families still fresh. “He is a good man. He will help if I ask him,” she searched Oliver’s eyes. “Please don’t use him as the others did,” she added.

  What was her relationship to the others? She genuinely appeared to detest them, yet she was one of them. Oliver could see the conflict in her, so much turmoil. He met her eyes, and she saw that he understood.

  “I’m relieved to hear there is still a leader in power,” Oliver said. He looked at her sincerely, “he will have to take up the mantle of leadership in its full capacity now.”

  36. Preparations

  SEVEN YEARS LATER

  “I can feel it, Ollie!” Verity was examining her hands. “The cold, it’s starting to have an effect. My metabolism is slowing down.”

  “I feel it too, Ver.” Oliver had noticed the change in his body. It was subtle, but sounds and movement around him were different. He had to fight the sluggish feeling when talking to Ponsy.

  Waves of deja vu hit Oliver. The feeling was familiar, he had experienced it all those years ago in deep space when first emerging from hibernation, woken by Lego and Toro. He found himself thinking more regularly about his time on the ship and his companions there. I will see you again soon my friends.

  Verity looked up into his eyes. She tried to hide it, but Oliver could see fear. He pulled her into his chest, she closed her eyes and buried her head under his chin. “What if we get forgotten up here in these cold mountains? A hundred and fifty years is a long time in a place like this. What if nobody comes to wake us and we simply fade from memory, to spend an eterni
ty here? These sarcophaguses will become our coffins.”

  “Verity, we will be okay,” he assured her. “Just think, we’ve had seven years of peace since the war. We’ve founded universities, factories. In two centuries we will wake to a planet with technology. They will have planes, vehicles, and god willing rockets able to leave the atmosphere. We will be able to get into orbit and back to the ship! This was the plan, and it’s a good one!”