Mikkelson drew his weapon on Jackal, “Freeze Prisoner!”, he shouted, his team followed suit. Jackal was groggy, mewling like a wounded kitten, he still had the knife sticking from the back of his neck.
With newfound strength Trencher stepped forward and pulled him up, using the knife handle to guide him forward. “Brig! We doing this?”, she shouted. Brig had the rip on hold, somewhere in the last few seconds she had decided not to close it. Trencher propelled Jackal toward the portal that started it all. The gateway that would lead to Mack.
At the threshold she spun him round and yanked the knife from his shoulder, he gasped in pain. Trencher had a double take when she saw the knife in her hand. It was the same as the one stuck in her left clavicle. She shrugged, “No matter.”
She reversed the blade and shoved it up under his rib cage, Jackal wheezed like a punctured football. “Made you famous”, she said, putting her hand on Mack’s badge and shoving Jackal into the rip.
The clock above her read 00:31 seconds when Jackal vanished.
“There won’t be time”, said Brig.
“There’s always time”, said Trencher.
“We have to hope Mack is still at the right spot to receive his badge and get back.”
“It’s too tight”, said Mikkelson.
Trencher shared a look with Brig, “Trencher”, said Brig as the Agent burst toward the rip herself.
Firm hands grabbed her and held her fast, “Not losing you too kid”, said the Chief holding the bucking Trencher tightly.
“No! Mack will be there; he can make it! We can make it!”, she was struggling futilely, Mikkelson held her tight as the Medics moved in around them.
The clock read 00:23 seconds, “Brig. Now, please”, commanded Mikkelson.
“Closing Wormhole, confirmed”, replied the hologram. The rip was powering down, and along with it any desperate opportunity for Mack to return. Trencher slumped in a chair as the Medics worked on her. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, the rip closed with a final snap.
Boiling amber clouds gave way to a mechanical array and sixty-five million years ago a meteor smashed into the Earth, bringing about the end of dinosaurs and the dawn of the Ice Age.
“We’re secure Chief”, said Brig.
“Oh, Mack”, whispered Trencher sadly.
One of the Medics looked to Mikkelson, “Smashed wrist, stab wound to the chest with some internal bleeding. She seems slightly malnourished and obviously needs psyche evaluation.”
“Okay, take her to hospital, let’s get her fixed up.”
Brig loomed over them as they spoke, “Please be careful with her, she’s pregnant.” Trencher locked her eyes onto Brig’s holographic face, the AI smiled and nodded confirmation. Trencher closed her eyes and laid back on her stretcher.
screw the paradox
London, 1888
Morning had moved toward lunchtime in Herbert’s drawing room, they had drunk the brandy and the magnificent handgun was now resting on a side table. “So, through all those secret trips, she was building her own machine?”, asked Herbert. Henry nodded, “Black-market equipment here, shrewd investments there.”
“Clever woman”, said Herbert, “She was a truly special lady, your mother.”
“Thanks”, Henry leant forward, “It took time, especially when they decommissioned Brig, the official version, and the enquiry slowed her down of course.”
Herbert stood and stretched, “My comprehension is straining, I have to admit.”
“Well, one day years later when I was old enough, she introduced me to Brig 2.0, the backup.”
“A duplicate?”
“Yes, duplicate, doppelgänger, Brig without the shackles of the Agency”, Henry shrugged, “With the A.I. clone and another machine she could travel again, and she so loved to travel.”
“Where did she go?”
“I believe she spent a lot of time trying to save Mack, until it just became obvious that she couldn’t”, he paused, turning over a happy memory, “Other places, some she’d talk about others…well, she always seemed more joyful when she came back. Occasionally she would take me, to experience key moments in history, quite the education.” Henry stood and retrieved the parcel from the table, “All those years out of sync, eventually caught up with her and crippled her, but she had lived”, he held up the package so Herbert could see it, “She lived how she wanted to. Here, this is for you, she made me promise to deliver it today.” Herbert took the parcel, the weight and shape suggested it was book through the brown paper.
“What is it?”, he asked.
“Open it and see, she was very specific about me hand delivering it.” Herbert turned the package over a few times, then ripped away the paper. It was indeed a book, he peered at the title, the author, he gasped.
“This is impossible, is it a jest?” Henry shook his head, smiling.
“Far from it, check for an inscription”, he tapped the cover with a finger.
Herbert looked wide eyed at the cover again and slowly opened the book, “There is”, he said, “A message from her.”
“Read it”, commanded Henry calmly.
Herbert took a breath and began reading, “For you, dearest Herbert, to give you a kick-start. And screw the paradox, you know history doesn’t remember good girls”, Herbert looked up at Henry with wet eyes, “Love, Trencher.” Henry stood silent, letting the moment settle, Herbert was both joyful and confused, but knew he needed time to process. His reverie was broken by a sudden, loud and insistent knocking at the front door. “What the Devil now?”, he looked at the book, at Henry, then at the gun, “It might be the Police.”
“I don’t think so”, said Henry.
Herbert put the book down on the table, “I’ll go.”
“And I’ll set three places for lunch”, said Henry.
“Pardon? What?”
Henry nodded toward the hallway. “The door Pops, she’ll be cold if she hasn’t got her coat.” The rapping on the door got louder and the knocker started playing a tune.
“She?”, like a penny slowly dropping, he was galvanised into movement, each step getting longer until he bolted. Henry smiled to himself and straightened the book on the table. His fingers lingered a moment, before following his father.
The title of the red leatherbound book caught a ray of sunlight, embossed in gold, it was “The Time Machine", by H.G. Wells
THE END
About The Author
Richard Armitt
A lifetime of consuming movies and literature brought him here, Richard has lived with an artist's heart, but had to survive on IT and Logistics skills to earn a crust.
A loving father of three and devoted husband, Richard has reached a point in his life where he wants to get back on the creative train. Having spent a few years crafting screenplays, he is breathing life into the stories he believed in by expanding them into novelisations. Adding depth and colour onto the framework and dialogue that already exists.
He also runs and regularly writes reviews for www.koru-cottage.com a respected NZ/AU gaming blog that has gathered valuable community credibility over the last decade.
His favourite saying is 'leap and the net will appear'.
Leap with him.
Books By This Author
taking chemo on the chin
Having survived stage 4 cancer in 2006 Richard felt he had stories to share, secrets to tell and a positive outlook to combat the seriousness of other books on the same shelf.
Part cathartic exercise and part for the hell of it, 'taking chemo on the chin' was born in 2009. It was very well received by Medical Staff, Support Workers and most importantly fellow survivors. Raising a smile with its brief and digestible observations.
taking chemo on the chin is available for Kindle on Amazon
Sparrow's Flight: the best bad movie never made
Sparrow's Flight was the first screenplay Richard ever wrote.
Ahead of its time for having a tough female protagonist, but a s
creenplay from a first-time writer has flaws.
In 2010, Richard started writing about the creative process for Sparrow's Flight. It turned into an extended essay about his love of movies, the medium and dallied with a fantasy cast list.
The book also included a 'warts and all' copy of the screenplay itself.
Not as popular as 'taking chemo', the book sold well on its first run and can still be found in libraries of New Zealand
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