by J.P Jackson
Yellow Jack stood behind General Apophis in the bleak interrogation room, studying Hamilton Taylor seated at the table.
"General Apophis,” Jack translated, “insists you are a trickster and conjuror of lies. He demands that you reveal your magic. I strongly advise you to give me any information that might save your life."
Yellow Jack covered his eyes as Taylor refused his advice, losing a pinkie in the process.
Jack watched the horror from inside himself, Taylor's earlier warning repeating in his head. "You will not show me any sympathy. None whatsoever.”
Jack stepped towards Taylor as he writhed on the floor. The Jackanine briefly hesitated, before forcefully kicking Taylor in the ribs, flipping him over and knocking the air out of his lungs.
Jack then walked out of the hatch without looking back, passing a pleased Apophis and a pair of Jackanine carrying a heavy metal bucket.
The mesomite was placed on Taylor's head and it wrapped its slimy arms over his throat and face. Once the egg was cut from the mite and dropped into the bucket, the mite was discarded in the corner of the room. The pair of Jackanine each took hold of the bucket and left the room, where Yellow Jack was waiting for them. He promptly clicked and ushered them to follow him down a maze-like corridor.
Several twists and turns later, Yellow Jack entered a shadowy chamber containing a shimmering black monolith, a towering block of stone with coils and vents emitting steam. The Jackanine' carrying the bucket tipped it's contents into an open slot on the face of the column, leaving Yellow Jack to dust off his palms and take a seat at the centre of the monolith.
When left alone, Jack placed his hand into a panel before the monolith. The action caused a network of translucent veins to descend from the rafters and slide down over Jack's head. Wormy tendrils draped around his head, into his ears and created a connection with his brain. He twitched during the process but nothing that would suggest pain.
When the process was over, Jack closed his eyes and the monolith disappeared. He was suddenly transported to a surreal, and serene locale in his own mind. It was his favourite beach on Planet Nido, pink sands and a calm lime-green sea. Jack smiled, enjoying the breeze through his feathers and the sand between his webbed feet. When the monolith was ready, an image stretched across the horizon.
Ham Taylor was 18 years old, scrawny yet nimble. He had a mop full of auburn hair and boyish ginger stubble. He was in white shorts, a blue Scotland jersey and studded boots.
Ibrox stadium held a capacity of 50,000. Today's crowd was a paltry yet rambunctious 2,000 for this under 19s match, Scotland Vs Germany. Sporadically seated spectators roared as Taylor dribbled the ball down the touchline like greased lightning, showing off all the tricks in his locker. A German sweeper attempted a tackle but Taylor flicked the ball over his sliding body and bore down on the goal. The home crowd, including Taylor's mother, father, and brother Donald, rose to their feet.
Taylor glanced at the goal, picked his spot then drew back his foot. Before driving his boot through the ball and rippling the back of the net, a sliding defender cut the legs out from beneath him. Upended, Taylor's head hit the grass and the referee blew his whistle: Foul, yellow card, free kick.
The German defender bent over Taylor with a revolted grimace, yelling to the touchline, manager and medics. Taylor lay flat on his back, confused yet smiling. It was a good tackle.
The defender ran for the sidelines as Taylor stood up. The instant weight went onto his foot, the shin snapped in his sock and he collapsed.
Concerned team mates surrounded him, only to turn away in disgust when they spotted the break. Taylor's eyes filled with tears as he clutched the Scotland badge on his jersey.
Heavy clouds gathered over Nido and when they clashed, the image of Taylor's broken leg and dreams disappeared. Not long after, the burbling clouds parted and the sky revealed more.
Yellow Jack observed Taylor mature through his teens, abandoning his passion for sport and discovering another in science. Taylor excelled, he was a natural, a prodigy even. At 19 years old, he moved to England to study applied mathematics and theoretical physics at the University of Cambridge. There he met Penelope, and as Yellow Jack watched their story unfold over the ensuing years, he mentally attended their marriage and smiled as Penelope wiped away best man Donald's tears. Jack witnessed their late night discussions about children and the names they would chose when the time came, a time that always seemed to take a back seat to work.
Jack gazed intensely when, at 30 years old, Taylor and Penelope immigrated to the United States to further their careers. Taylor advanced faster than expected to everyone but himself. He was the youngest person to receive the national medal of science for his groundbreaking work in physics, consequently becoming an Institute Professor, the highest title awarded to any faculty member at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Taylor's incredible record did not impress Yellow Jack, and neither did his maturing character. Taylor's arrogance seemed to grow with his genius, cocksure as he conquered his field. Penelope saw it too, but convinced herself that this was the reason she loved him.
The clouds clashed then parted, and the lights of a television studio burned brightly over two men seated before the skyline of Los Angeles. The live audience applauded when a prompt demanded it. Cameras rolled, and a refined middle aged man continued his discussion with tonight's guest: Dr. Hamilton Taylor.
The desk in front had two coffee mugs with no coffee, and a hardback with Taylor's face on the cover.
"In your new book, Dr. Taylor, can I...call you Ham?”
"Only my wife and brother call me H...”
"In the book,” the presenter interrupted: “Unlocking the Fourth Dimension, you go into depth about your theories on time travel. They say you're a shoe in for a Nobel Prize. When, Ham, do you get past theory and into practice?”
Taylor folded his legs and crossed his hands over his lap. “An excellent question, Ron. The practice part needs a staggering amount of investment. Times are tough right now with the war, but if there are any billionaires out there who fancy a trip to the Texas School Book Depository in 1963, I'd be happy to discuss a field trip. The idea behind it -”
"Moving away from the book,” Ron interrupted.
Taylor nodded, playing the game. “Can you tell us about another kind of science, chemistry in particular? Specifically, the sparks between you and Melissa Godright during last seasons Jungle Fever. Have you seen her since the competition? There's been a lot of rumours, Ham.”
The audience whooped and Taylor shook his head, doing his best to mask his discomfort.
"I haven't seen Melissa since the wrap party. She's a nice girl but I'm a happily married man, Ron.”
Ron winked as he pretended to slurp from his coffee mug. “Back to Jungle Fever, what about the rumors of you appearing as a judge next season? Gallup Poll says 95% of Americans would love to see you in the chair. Ratings have taken a big hit since your exit, and I'm sure the producers would love to have you on board.”
The predominantly female audience giggled and murmured. Taylor blushed. “There has been talk. I loved being on the show Ron, so I would certainly entertain any offers.”
Ron slapped Taylor's knee. “We'll be back after these brief messages.”