The Time Stone (The Time Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by Robert F Hays

  Ouimet took a couple of paces toward the door. “Have to go, much to do before the end of the day. If you come up with anything else, let me know.”

  He exited the room followed by Amy.

  Redmond had spent the last few minutes deep in thought. He sat down and caught Jim’s attention. “Jim, who ever they are, they want to prevent something from being made public, something from your own memory. From the sound of their ability at forging security passes they could have attacked the encyclopedia at any time. Let’s go through different fields of endeavor to see what we come up with. First, business?”

  Jim thought for a moment. “No. Blank. They seem to be doing the same thing now as they did then. No change.”

  “Political?”

  “Nothing I haven’t already told you. I was not at all active in that. Soldiers don’t get into politics until they retire, unless they’re generals that is.”

  Redmond smiled. “I think we have already made enough disclosures in that area.” After a short pause he continued. “Religion? The fanaticism behind that suicide attack seems to indicate something of that nature.”

  “No, same old thing going on then. They knocked on your door, tried to convert you, then asked for money. Ah.....” Jim looked up. “There was quite a confrontation between Christian, Muslim and Jewish in the middle east back then.”

  “That problem was solved at the time of the Exodus. They sent Muslims in one direction and the Jewish colonists in the other.”

  Doris had been quietly sitting. She suddenly broke her silence. “If Jim had come from a time of religious significance such as during the life of Muhammad, Buddha or Jesus, I could understand some concern. Jim, I could put you under drug induced hypnosis, but without knowing the questions to ask it would be useless.”

  “No, no, no! I’ve had enough drug experiences to last me a while.”

  “The only other thing I can think of is organized crime,” Redmond’s voice had a despondent sound, as if he was grasping at straws. “Maybe the crime families, Gutierrez, Hernandez, Montoya and Cabrillo.”

  “None of them are Italian?” Jim asked finding himself quite amused at the idea of Juan replacing Vinny as the movie hit man. “Montoya rings a bell, but not in association with crime, probably from television or something. I think there was some sort of series with a family by that name. Are all the crime families Hispanic?”

  “Most of the organized crime families are Hispanic. They were not originally. It started during the empire’s occupation of the Aldebaran system, planet la Raza. The families formed close ties and became freedom fighters. After the empire dissolved, the system was left poverty stricken; crime was a natural result of an organized group under those conditions. Before the empire, the Montoya family was famous for manufacturing fine china.”

  Jim looked up. “China? I took a trip to Mexico last year, bought some souvenirs, a couple of really good quality ornamental china plates. I’m sure the maker’s name was Montoya.”

  “Montoya isn’t a common name,” Doris said.

  “I’ll check it out,” Redmond said.

  “I doubt very much that a family involved in organized crime would be in the least bit concerned about skeletons in their closet,” Doris said thoughtfully.

  “So where does that leave us?” Jim said. “Nowhere.”

  Redmond took a seat. “The only thing we can do is to get your personal affairs wound up quickly. Then you move to some obscure part of an obscure planet until the police can come up with something.”

  “Hide?”

  “For the time being.”

  Doris leaned in Jim’s direction. Her expression turned serious. “Jim, I suggest getting your children out of danger for now. They can stay with an old school friend of mine on Ploshchard in a small farming community. The police can probably arrange to cover up the move.”

  “Not the police,” Redmond said. “My wife can take them. Her sister lives on Ploshchard and she visits frequently. We usually go on a family discount ticket. All children under twelve are free. No one will notice if she goes with five and comes back with three, they do not list the children.”

  “What about identification?” Jim asked. “Don’t they check?”

  “Voice prints and retinal scans are not registered until a child turns eighteen. While growing up, they change too much. Children are identified by genetic patterns which are never used for simple travel.”

  “Ok, I do agree to move the kids, but I ain’t running. I may walk quickly, but I refuse to run for it.”

  “In that case be ready to walk very quickly,” Redmond said.

  Chapter 10

  The number of technicians working in direct contact with Jim dropped to ten. Extensive security checks had removed many, mostly due to obscure connections with radical political groups. One tech was quite irate when they removed him from the project because his father went to school with a distant relative of the De Poulets. Psychological profiles were covered and recovered.

  They were down to the last few boxes. The things Jim wanted to keep. The car was on loan to the university museum and in the process of careful restoration. It was due to go on display in about a month. The truck was sold for a whopping thirty two million Gs. Not just a record for artifacts from Old Earth, it was a record covering any work of art or collectable sold in history. It was purchased by a multi billionaire who owned a small planet.

  Jim himself was rapidly approaching the ranks of the super wealthy. All over the galaxy people watched videos and ate the food of their ancestors. He couldn’t buy a planet yet, but a down payment on a moon was not out of the question.

  It was five weeks since the attempt on Jim’s life. The two boys were already on Ploshchard. Ralph was assigned to his quite lucrative duties at a bio lab. The lap of canine luxury was no replacement for his family. The Ralph and Company employee in charge of his care reported him miserable, but surviving.

  Dozens of little Ralphs and Ralphettes were newborns. A full time animal psychologist was employed to monitor them for disposition and prepared them, using the latest techniques, for their role as pets.

  No result was forthcoming from the massive police investigation. No further incidents had occurred, so Jim was beginning to relax a little.

  Even though the kids had departed, he still saw Doris. She was a great comfort and usually knew exactly the right thing to say, no matter what the situation.

  Jim’s attacks of depression continued. They were due to the situation and not to any drug aftereffects. He had a desire to go out and meet people, eat at restaurants and shop in person at the mall. The only humans he now had direct contact with were the lab staff and security men who escorted him back and forth from his fortified home.

  “Where should I put this case Jim?” Andy Eastman asked, holding a case containing carefully packed wall hangings and pictures.

  “In the back of my transit Andy.”

  Jim was busy organizing other small ornamental objects. Transferring them piece by piece from a cardboard box, which had already been sold to a collector, into a plastic case with a built in inventory read out. The cases were quite expensive. They were made from a virtually indestructible carbon composite with voice activated locks and radio beacon. If stolen, they could be easily located.

  Andy retrieved a watch from his pocket and handed it to Jim. “Before I forget, here’s your wristwatch. The outside is the same, but we had to replace the interior. It now adjusts to the different planetary ranges.”

  “That midnight adjust is going to confuse me the most if I go traveling.”

  “It was necessary to keep the units of time standard,” Andy said while inspecting several pieces of ornamental china. “Adjusting midnight was the only way they could do it. If we divided each planetary day by exactly twenty four it would make the hour different on each planet.”

  Jim chuckled to himself. “It’s going to be amusing for me to watch this as twenty three seventeen hours, twelve point four seconds, c
hanges to all zeros.”

  “Try setting it to New Hope. They have a twenty eight hour day. Just remember, there’s no such thing as the Old Earth twelve am, it’s now zero am. There are no planets where the difference between eleven pm and midnight is exactly an hour.”

  Andy was noticeably amused every time he had to explain simple facts regarding contemporary life. Common knowledge, innate to modern man, was not in Jim’s inventory of experience. Some elementary explanations required explanations of their own, then to explanations of the explanations. On occasion a discussion became so bogged in the detail necessary for understanding, that the original question was forgotten.

  “So, if I’m calling another planet, I have to state their local time?” Jim inquired, looking at his converted wristwatch.

  “No, standard time. It’s based on a geographical location on Old Earth at a place in what used to be England.”

  “How about days? In five days time means something different on each planet?”

  “In that case quote standard days. Here you would quote local days. People are used to adjusting. For longer periods, quote standard weeks.”

  “How about months?”

  “No, there’s no such thing as a standard month, that is purely local.” Andy studied Jim’s face for any sign of understanding. “Confused?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let me see if I can explain it this way. First standard, the date is now eighteen ninety eight, thirty two, four. A.E.. The fourth day of the thirty second week of the year eighteen ninety eight. Understand?”

  “Yes, it’s based on Old Earth.”

  “Right. Now the local date is May the fourteenth and no year. On this planet May has thirty two days. Months are mainly used to associate with seasons for agriculture and local vacationing. Seven day weeks are also used to regulate work, but they’re separate from the months.”

  “But, weeks are different lengths on other planets and different from standard weeks.”

  “Yes, that’s why we have a twenty eight hour work week here; while on New Hope it’s thirty three. It all evens out in the long run.”

  “So what about birthdays and lengths of holidays?”

  “All quoted in standard dates. One’s birthday is in a different season from year to year. I was born in winter, but this year my birthday is in fall.”

  “It looks like I need a lot of practice.”

  “You’ll eventually catch on. We grew up with the system, it’s easier for us. One interesting thing just discovered about the standard week is that the pattern has not changed in over six thousand years. We found that out from the encyclopedia.”

  “Thank you very much for not calling it the Young Encyclopedia.”

  Andy laughed. “It was intentional; I’ve seen the look you get when someone says that.”

  “Andy, you’re black....”

  Andy smiled. “You only just noticed that?”

  “Strange as it may seem, I think I did the first time I met you. The thing I’m curious about is that the races have remained separate all these years. I mean, why haven’t people blended into one neutral color.”

  “Hey, you know that a guy always looks for someone that reminds him of his mother. My mother was black, so’s my wife.”

  Jim was amused by the simple but accurate logic.

  “I’ve been looking up facts and figures on the inhabited planets,” Jim said while positioning the last of his German beer steins. “How come there are so few black guys in the galaxy?”

  “We’ve wondered about that for a thousand years, then you came along. The encyclopedia gave us the answer, poverty in Africa, they didn’t have the resources to leave Earth.”

  Jim shut the lid of the case and put it aside. “So, the American, French and British black guys are the majority of the ones left.”

  “That’s why us black guys are so thankful for French and British colonialism and American cotton fields.”

  Jim shut another case and laughed. “The black guys where I came from weren’t.” He lifted the case and stacked it on the first. “I’m amazed that the data from the encyclopedia is coming out so fast.”

  “Just for us at the university. I’ve spend eight hours a day reading, sometimes ten. Over a hundred historians are analyzing the facts before it goes to the public. We do not want to confuse people with a deluge.”

  “Does that bother you, the slavery thing I mean?”

  Andy shrugged. “No, why should it? That happened over two thousand years ago. From what I’ve read, two thousand years before you were born the Romans were carrying your ancestors off in chains. Does that bother you? Make you mad at all Italians?”

  “I see what you mean. But has there been no racial conflict since?”

  “A little, very little. In the days of the first colonies survival meant cooperation. This involved getting along in a mixed up society. Those who did not get along, did not cooperate, hence did not survive.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Jim noticed one of the techs opening a previously packed case. “Carson, that one’s already been packed.”

  “I know Mr. Young. I picked it up and heard something rattle inside. Thought I’d better check to see if something was broken.”

  “Ok, tell me if there is.”

  Jim turned back to Andy. “So all the bigots croaked eh!”

  “They croaked?”

  “Sorry, old slang expression, they died.”

  “Muffed out is the appropriate term now, and I suppose they did, both the white and the black bigots.”

  “Can’t say that fact upsets me.” Jim reached into the cardboard box and pulled out the last piece, an ornamental china plate. “Here it is,” he said and turned it over. “Hey, Andy look,” he said and pointed to the hallmark on the bottom. “I searched the net and found information on that Mafia family on La Raza, the Montoyas.”

  “The what family?” Andy said.

  “Maf… uh… crime family. Before turning to crime they used to make china. This was their hallmark, it’s exactly the same.”

  “Where’d you get the plate?”

  “Mexico. The company that made this must have been their ancestors back on Earth.”

  Andy laughed. “I’d keep quiet about that. You have enough problems without the infamous Montoyas after you for that plate.”

  Jim looked around. Carson still had the case open. Its lid was hinged and raised so he couldn’t see what the man was doing. “Did you find something broken?” Jim started to walk toward Carson. “Carson, what on earth are you...” He stopped dead as he was looking down the barrel of his own Colt 38 revolver.

  “Sending you back to hell where you belong!”

  The weapon went off just as Jim tried to duck to one side. The bullet hit him in the shoulder. The impact sent him flying backward, spinning as he fell. Before striking the ground he heard himself say, “Oh shit!”

  From his position on the ground he could see two techs running for cover behind the transit. Using his uninjured arm, he lifted himself up to looked around. Andy ran past in the direction of Carson, a fireplace poker raised in his hand.

  “Andy stay back!” Jim yelled from the floor.

  “He has fired the shot,” Andy yelled. “He has to reload!”

  “No Andy, no! The thing fires six shots!”

  There was a second report from the weapon. Jim saw the bullet exit Andy’s back. A third shot was fired. He knew that its aim was in a different direction by the muffled sound. He heard the crack of a laser pistol before drifting into blackness.

  * * *

  Jim heard a hiss close to his ear, he recognized the sound. Time to wake up. With both eyes closed, he moved himself slightly. A mildly uncomfortable feeling in his shoulder stopped him. Both eyes opened and he saw the uniform of a nurse on the young woman leaning over him. He thought for a moment. She was not a wake up nurse, they wore regular cloths. This was a uniformed general nurse.

  “He’s awake,” she said, disappearing from vi
ew.

  ‘Strange,’ Jim thought to himself, ‘this time no reassuring words.’ “Bed head up... stop,” he said.

  Jim looked around. The nurse departed through a door to the left of his bed. Redmond and Inspector Ouimet stood at his bedside. “They tried again huh? How’s Andy?”

  Redmond lowered his head. By the look on his face Jim already knew the answer. “They revived him on a bypass heart. The projectile had gone through his. But he had massive brain damage from the length of time it was without a blood supply. The fight in the lab lasted a while before security got Carson.”

  “But Carson passed the security check,” Jim said.

  “Yes,” Ouimet said, stepping forward and clasping his hands behind his back. “We’ve been over his records many times since, but nothing came up. The only thing we could find was in his psychological records from years ago. Post adolescent depression. Searching for an identity. Minor brushes with the law, but that appears in four out of five profiles. He settled down and seemed to find a purpose in life.”

  “What was that? To kill me?”

  Redmond straightened. “I have some bad news Jim,”

  “Oh hell, what now?”

  “Doris is dead.”

  Jim felt as if a second bullet had just struck him. His mind was struggling with the question of belief or disbelief. “What happened?”

  Ouimet turned to Redmond and raised a hand. The report was obviously a police matter, best told by a policeman. His voice had an official ring to it. “There was a bomb in her transit. Mr. Cobb is dead too. Hit by a laser pistol as he entered his office.”

  “They’re killing all my friends.” Jim turned his head away from the two men and covered his tearful eyes with his hand.

  Ouimet took a deep breath. “Not only that, they’re trying to eliminate anyone who had more than a passing private conversation with you. The nurse who woke you up from your medical procedure, Miss Harris.”

  “Angela? But I only talked to her for a few minutes.”

  “One thing we can not figure out about her murder is the timing,” Ouimet said. “She was shot from a moving transit. It’s impossible to have one pass an exact place at a specific time unless they have someone in the city traffic department in control.”