The Time Stone (The Time Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by Robert F Hays

  “Does it do anything else?”

  “Yes, it’s connected to the bank. You use it to make account and credit purchases, also to transfer money to other people. It also connects with your house computer and your vehicle.”

  Jim chuckled. “My wife would like the bank function. She’s constantly losing her credit cards but never her cell phone. Jim swayed; the word wife struck him again. With the volumes of information he felt compelled to absorb, it was necessary to forcefully set that word aside for the time being. One thing the army had taught him was to control his emotions.

  “Are you all right?” Redmond asked with genuine concern in his voice.

  “Just peachy.”

  Levin hurriedly slid a chair behind Jim and helped him sit. To him, it was only two in the afternoon. He had planned to drive all that day. The energy he would have had for driving was now completely drained by emotional stress.

  “So, what do we need?” Jim said.

  Andy laughed. “Colin said he wanted an atomic blaster.”

  “Is there such a thing?” Jim replied with a smile.

  Redmond chuckled. “I have three children of my own. The youngest wants a patrol cruiser...” Redmond paused to see if Jim understood. Jim nodded. “...for his birthday.”

  “A toy one?” Jim asked.

  “No, he insists on the real thing, with a full crew. Now back to your needs, a legal representative.”

  “What’s that, a lawyer?”

  “Ah... someone who takes care of your legal position, contracts, suits, legal paperwork, they also defend people accused of crimes.”

  “A lawyer. How much does that cost?” Jim asked with a depressed sigh. He had experienced lawyers before. The one he had contacted over his proposed divorce was going to charge a small fortune.

  “Ah... nothing. They’re employed by an independent branch of the government.”

  Jim’s eyes opened wide. “No cost, eh? I’m starting to like this place already.”

  “You’ll reconsider when you see the taxes.”

  Jim’s face fell. “I guess you can’t have everything. They’ll probably take four point nine out of the five million I’ll get for the car.”

  “No,” Redmond said. “The sales of works of art are tax exempt and Old Earth artifacts are classified under that category.”

  Jim leaned back in his chair and burst out laughing. The thought of his old wreck described in terms that one would apply to a painting by Rembrandt amused him.

  “To handle that, may I recommend a financial manager,” Redmond said. “They do charge, usually on a commission basis. The one I have is about the best. My university salary has been turned into quite a packet.”

  “Now him I’d like to see.”

  “Her actually. Amy Harrington. Finally, would you mind if I brought in a member of the news media?”

  “No, I think the kids would like being on TV.”

  “It’s 3V now. I think your kids will like that better. A three dimensional display is more exciting than flat screen.”

  “My neighbor had one. You have to wear glasses.”

  “Why glasses? Does he have vision problems?”

  “No glasses?” Jim said. “Is it holographic?”

  “Yes it is.”

  Jim looked up. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Redmond wrested a hand on Jim’s shoulder and looked into his faceplate. “Knowledge Jim, knowledge. It’s the most powerful thing in the galaxy.”

  “My encyclopedia is buried deep in the truck. I’ll have to dig it out.”

  “No, let us do that. You just supervise.”

  “Wasn’t anything stored away on Earth, a time capsule or something? They could’ve put something away in a mine or a concrete block house?”

  Redmond lowered his head for a few seconds then looked up. “There were many such caches. When the first recorded expeditions returned to Earth eight hundred years ago, they found them all destroyed.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, history is a powerful weapon. It’s to the advantage of those who seek power to be able to write it, or should I say re-write it themselves. For example, who was the first human in space?”

  “Yuri Gagarin.”

  Redmond’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had obviously expected a different answer. “That sounds Russian.”

  “It is. The first man in space was a Russian, followed by Alan Shepard, an American.”

  “It was not a Frenchman by the name of Jean-Luc Picard De Poulet?”

  “Jean-Luc Picard is a fictional character on television.”

  A stunned silence fell over everyone. All Redmond could do was open his mouth and say “....ah.....”

  Andy picked up a pad and made an entry. After a couple of seconds he handed it to Jim. “Is this him?”

  Jim took it.

  “Ah, that’s a data pad,” Redmond said. “It’s connected to….”

  “I know what it is. I have one in my truck, probably not as good as this is.”

  “Really?”

  Jim looked down at a faded picture of Patrick Stewart in his Star Trek costume. “That’s him. He’s an actor on TV. He’s never been into space, except on a sound stage.”

  Andy started to laugh and the others joined in. Uncontrolled hilarity filled the room. Jim was the only one not laughing. He didn’t get the joke.

  “Well,” Redmond said finally. “That’ll take the starch out of De Poulet’s shorts.”

  “Who’s De Poulet?” Jim asked.

  Andy reached out, grasping Jim’s shoulder. “Napoleon De Poulet is the President of the Federation Planitaire de Francais, the French Confederation of Planets. He has a seat on the Commonwealth Council, which is the governing body of all inhabited planets.”

  “He’s an arrogant pig,” Redmond commented. “He claims to be a direct descendant of the first man in space.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to like me too much,” Jim said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Andy said. “It’s one of his family’s major claims to notability, and power. They use the fact occasionally in government debates and speeches.”

  Redmond wiped his face with a handkerchief. “Is there something else you want to know?”

  “Yes, when we first arrived, the truck looked like it was floating in space. What caused that?”

  “The walls and floors are covered in a material that acts as an energy sink. When activated, it absorbs all forms of energy including sound and light. As it does not reflect light, you can not see it. It’s a safety precaution. We had no idea what hazardous things would appear, maybe something that emitted some form of dangerous radiation. Is there anything else?”

  “Not right now.” Jim stood and thought of the supplies in the back of the truck that were better off unused. “I’m sure I’ll think of something later. Doc, do they still make beer?”

  “They do.”

  “Could you send in two cans?”

  “Ah.. What’s a can?”

  “Enough to properly relax for an evening, but not an amount that would have me fall flat on my face. I have a case of Budweiser somewhere in the truck. Under the circumstances, I think it’d be best to leave it alone.” Jim thought that a current member of the wealthy class would consider his two thousand year old beer in the same light as a bottle of rare Chateau Whatever wine. He had paid fifteen dollars and a few cents for it at the Post Exchange. He wondered what the increase would be on his initial investment.

  “I’ll do that,” Redmond said.

  Chapter 5

  “Jim... Jim...” Jim heard the voice echoing through the fog that was his brain. “I’m giving you a shot to wake you up.”

  He heard a hiss close to his right ear. His mind slowly initiated a chemically assisted unclouding procedure.

  “Who are you?” he asked the youthful blond bent over him.

  “I’m Angela, the wake up nurse. My job is to bring patients out from under an anesthe
tic and tell them that it all went well; and it did.”

  “How long did it taaake?” Jim inquired, unintentionally elongating the sound of the last word.

  “Nine days.”

  “They told me it would take six,” Jim said while reaching up and patting the young woman’s cheek. “You’re not in a suit.”

  Jim’s faculties were still racing away from him as he hurried in a desperate attempt to catch up. He had experienced general anesthetics before, but this one was quite dissimilar. There was a more agreeable feeling while regions of his mind slowly came back to life. It was comparable to waking up from a refreshing nap.

  Angela laughed. “We don’t need suits anymore.”

  “Don’t?” Jim said. “You don’t talk like Doc Redmond, you talk like Doris,” Jim commented, more thinking out loud than asking for information.

  “Yes, most of the staff here are city Batalivans. Dr. Heller and I are country girls. The Batalivan schooling is very...” She raised her right hand and crooked a pinky. “Joining words to make one like ‘won’t’ and ‘don’t’ is quite beneath their dignity. Nobody cares really; it’s just the way you’re taught. Also Dr. Redmond is from the planet Miramar, that’s why he has a funny accent.”

  “Oooooh, I’ve been wondering about that.” Jim’s voice was floating and dreamlike. His head had cleared a little, but his speech still refused to cooperate. He knew that questions were appropriate at this time but couldn’t figure out exactly what to ask. He deliberated for a moment. “My boys?” he asked, trying to forcibly regain control over his voice.

  “They were much easier to work on than you were; we woke them up four days ago. Dr. Heller took them to your new home.”

  “New home?” Jim searched his mind, but couldn’t come up with any reference to a new home. Through the fog, he could only think of Fort Lewis. It was only a flicker of a thought, but he had to convince himself that the last few weeks hadn’t been some sort of strange dream.

  He looked around at the cheerfully decorated walls covered with three dimensional pictures, similar to the ones at the lab. Strains of music filled the background. Very relaxing, but he couldn’t identify the tune. Nowhere could he see medical equipment. If there was any, they hid it well. Even Angela’s apparel looked nothing like a uniform. Mentally searching his body for pain, all he could locate were a few dull aches that were easily ignored.

  “Are we in a hospital?”

  “Yes we are.”

  Her voice had a musical tone that Jim found pleasant and comforting. There was a distinct difference between the word hospital and what he saw in the immediate vicinity.

  “It’s nothing like the ones I’m used to.”

  The nurse leaned over him and grinned. “What were they like, better than this?”

  “Had my appendix out. Woke up to plain white walls, white curtains, gray tile floo...” Jim hesitated. He rolled slightly and looked down at the plush light brown carpeting. “Floors?” He rolled back again. “And a fat ugly head nurse that told me if I vomited again I’d have to clean it up myself.”

  “Oh, how barbar...” She turned away looking embarrassed.

  “Yes. Looking back, it sounds barbaric to me too.”

  “I didn’t mean to be insulting.”

  Jim got the impression that she was genuinely upset over her minor slip. She was a perfectionist, dedicated to her work. “Go ahead, I’ve been insulted by experts.”

  “Here we find it therapeutic to wake up to surrounding as much like home as possible. We even try to match the styles of whatever planet the patient comes from.”

  “Thanks for not giving me the plain white walls.”

  A smile returned to her pretty face. “And the fat ugly nurse?”

  Jim looked at her with one eyebrow raised and gave an exaggerated wink.

  “Relax for a while. Tell me when you feel like getting up. Would you like me to change the music?”

  “How ‘bout a bit of Chopin?”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “How about Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Strauss or Tchaikovsky?”

  “I don’t know them. Are they new?”

  “No, but I have the CDs… uh…. music recordings in my truck.”

  “Old Earth Music?”

  “They’re part of a collection called ‘Best of the Classics’. Got them, and more, at a yard sale for five dollars.”

  “I… uh… look forward to hearing them.”

  Jim chuckled to himself, settled back and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Three weeks had passed since their arrival. The first two were spent almost entirely inside the lab. He could, in fact, have gone out for an unescorted wander whenever he wanted. The first couple of times after the initial outing he took the boys. Suits their sizes were specially brought in.

  These expeditions to the outside world were more problem than they were worth, enclosed in a suit with dozens of the curious crowding around. The second time they went to the park it was necessary for the lab staff to rescue them from the gathering throng. Mostly students assembled whenever they appeared. There seemed to be a developing practice for them to walk past the lab on the way to class, no matter how far away from the fastest route it took them.

  The media were strangely absent. Jim was told that this was due to strict privacy laws. It was illegal for them to work on university property without permission. Any of the media, who happened to be in the crowd of the curious, could not report anything they had seen. Jim and family were on a private trip to the park. No information could be published on something that was a personal outing.

  Unfortunately, those laws did not apply to others conveniently on their own private excursions. They just happened to catch Jim on pen phones for their own personal use because a friend was standing next to him at the time.

  The truck was now fully unloaded. Portable workbenches covered the floor of the isolation room. Piece by piece they removed Jim’s property. A full visual record with explanation of its function was logged for each item. Jim had never seen his property laid out in such an organized way down to the last empty peanut butter jar formerly bound for the recyclers. Watching the technicians arrange the scrap glass fascinated him, even more so when they seriously discussed the possibility of restoring the damaged label on a jar of Pace Salsa. The “I” had been partial scraped off the “Thick & Chunky”.

  Temporary living quarters were set up for them in a small room adjoining the large one. The boys had only a flat screen television and were eagerly awaiting the chance to watch the same shows in three dimensions. This required a separate viewing room. Even though considered primitive by the people of this time, Jim was fascinated by the resolution and clarity of the screen which approximated reality.

  * * *

  Angela aided Jim to a sitting position. He braced himself expecting an attack of dizziness and nausea, but none came.

  “Out for over a week?” Jim asked, stretching an arm. “Shouldn’t I be stiff? My muscles should’ve tightened after that much inactivity.”

  “No, you weren’t exactly inactive during that time. Nerve stimulation exercised some parts of the body while they worked on others. You probably did the equivalent of running twenty kilometers a day.”

  Jim stretched his back. The, now familiar swishing sound of a door opening made him look up. He recognized the man entering the room. The head of the medical team that had worked on him. He was a short, squat man of Chinese decent.

  Jim stretched his back. The door silently slid open. He recognized the man entering the room, the head of the medical team that had worked on him. He was a short, squat man of Chinese decent.

  Jim turned to Angela. “Aren’t future doors supposed to make some sort of swishing sound when they open?”

  “Why would they do that?” Angela replied.

  “Well, they did on Star Trek,” Jim chuckled.

  “Mr. Young,” the man said. “You took longer than we thought. More pollutants in your sys
tem than we had anticipated. We also had not anticipated repair to old injuries, your shoulder, left knee and spine.”

  “Figures,” Jim said, taking a deep breath to test his new, increased, lung capacity. He winced at full expansion. There was a sharp pain in his side.

  “Do not overdo it for a while. Areas still have to heal. Tell me Mr. Young, did you work in a smoky environment?”

  “No, why?” Jim said.

  “We found deposits of carbon and tar in your lungs”

  “Oh that. Cigarettes, in the hard pack.”

  The doctor dropped his hand and stared. “And they made you inhale smoke from this cigarettes thing? Was it some sort of punishment?”

  “Wasn’t made to Doc, did it myself. Seemed like a fun thing to do at the time.”

  Jim did up the front of his suit. He had mastered the new style of zipper in the lab over a week ago. He admired the attractive, bluish tinted outfit. It seemed brand new and fit better than the borrowed ones he had been wearing. His own clothing lay arranged on the same benches alongside everything else he owned.

  The doctor shrugged. “I’ll get Dr. Redmond to fill me in later. It’s probably in the Young Encyclopedia.”

  “The who?” Jim exclaimed, straightening and lowering the shoe he was in the process of putting on.

  “That’s what the media are calling it. Remember you’ve been unconscious for nine days, a lot has happened.”

  “It’s a Britannica!” Jim protested.

  The doctor beamed and waved an arm in excitement. “Whatever it is, the whole Commonwealth is going crazy over the new information. Not a single 3V news session goes by without some mention of it. Experts crowd the talk shows analyzing just about every word, and the Compton network is negotiating for a weekly show specifically devoted to the subject.”

  Jim tried to stand then sat back down again. It was not from a feeling of weakness, it was more a lack of coordination. Angela assisted him to a chair.

  “Any side effects from those bugs you put into me? I didn’t get a chance to ask before, just had to trust all of you.”

  “They’re called symbionts,” the doctor said, “genetically engineered microorganisms. They either eliminate or maintain healthy levels of targeted substances in your system. You can now handle moderate doses of toxic chemicals like cyanide. A specific bacteria sized organism feeds on it. The byproducts are then naturally eliminated from the body.”