The Time Stone (The Time Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by Robert F Hays

  “Look what’s coming,” Celia said.

  All three turned to see a uniformed ship’s officer slowly approach. He was walking between the wall and the row of seats, briefly stopping to exchange a word with a passenger.

  Celia adjusted her chair almost upright. “First time I’ve seen one of them up here.”

  Jim adjusted his chair to the fully upright position. “Public relations probably.”

  A couple standing behind him were also curious about the officer. Jim strained to hear their conversation.

  “It is, I tell you,” he heard one say.

  “With all the security we went through, how could someone bring a laser pistol aboard?”

  “I’ve been in the security business twelve years and I say that’s a Bright scanner.”

  Jim looked up at the officer. In his hand was a small instrument which he casually swung near everyone he passed, smiling and talking, he was obviously trying to cover up what he was doing.

  “There are laser pistols aboard,” the security man continued, “in the ship’s arms locker. Someone must have broken in. It’s the only explanation.”

  Jim jumped to his feet and hurried in the direction of the lift tubes.

  Carol got up. “Mick, don’t go now, you’ll miss the Jump.”

  “See it next time,” Jim called over his shoulder.

  Jim stood waiting for the lift tube door to open. A hand grasped him by the shoulder causing him to swing around fists down but clenched. It was the ship’s officer.

  “Anything wrong sir?” he asked.

  “No, nothing’s wrong.”

  The man held the scanner close to Jim at waist level. “The way you jumped up and ran out, I thought you might be sick or something.”

  “No, just remembered something I forgot.”

  “Enjoy your trip sir.”

  The door opened just as the officer released his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim caught sight of the beeping man and jumped into the lift tube.

  * * *

  Jim entered his cabin. His roommate turned his head and nodded a greeting. “Ah ha. You found out it was nothing more than a bunch of idiots getting drunk and making fools of themselves.”

  Jim opened his bag and grabbed the Colt.

  “If you had listened to me in the first place...”

  “Just yack off would you!”

  “You don’t have to be...”

  The voice faded again as the door shut behind him. He walked quickly toward the lift tubes. There were people waiting as the door opened. Inside was the beeping man. A second man with him pointed in Jim’s direction. Jim turned and ran. There were too many passengers in the corridor to get into a gun battle here so he made for another lift tube.

  Minutes later, he slapped the control marked Cargo Deck and listened to the running footsteps behind him as the door closed.

  “Stupid,” he said to himself “should’ve picked another floor first. They’ll know where I’ve gone.”

  He tapped three other controls but it was too late. The door opened at the cargo deck.

  A hundred meters down a corridor a sign above a closed door read ‘Cargo Crew Quarters’. A computer voice asked. “Passengers are unauthorized beyond this point. State your business.”

  “The cargo master, Chris something, it’s Mick Jagger.”

  The door opened. “First turn to the right, then third door on the left. He is being notified.”

  Jim reached the third door, it opened. The cargo master was in his underwear and smiled when he saw Jim. “Mr. Jagger. What brings you down here?”

  “They’re after me.”

  “What? Admiring females wanting to rip your cloths off? Tell you what, I’ll go tell them I’m you and maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  “No, they’re trying to kill me.”

  “That bad huh,” Chris laughed.

  Jim spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “No, no, laser pistols. As in kill dead.”

  A computer voice from behind the cargo master warned. “Attempted unauthorized entry to crew quarters. Heat damage detected.”

  “They’re cutting through the door,” Jim said, waving his arms. “Will the computer notify security?”

  “Oh hell,” Chris said, reaching back and grabbing a set of coveralls from his bed. “Warnings down here are only local. We usually handle our own problems. Head that way into the cargo bay.”

  “Couldn’t I just hide in your room?”

  “These doors won’t lock, better off that way.”

  Jim started off down the corridor then stopped. “You coming?”

  “No gotta call for security which is going to be difficult. Just before a Jump they’re usually wandering around the passenger areas. Get going!”

  “Listen, too many people have died because of me...”

  They heard footsteps coming in their direction. “Go!” Chris yelled.

  Jim turned and broke into a run. Down the corridor through an open door and he was into the cargo bay. “Hell, where now?” he said.

  He wandered between the stacks of light blue cases. The subdued lighting from multiple sources made weird shadows on the roughened metal deck. The hold was very large with the cargo stacked in blocks. Passageways between the stacks crisscrossed in a regular pattern. Along one he could see the far wall two hundred meters away. Slowing the pace, he broke into a wander. The regular pattern of the hold’s layout frustrated his mind as it searched for the irregular into which his body could blend. He made several turns each time consciously calculating his orientation to the entrance. In his current position, walking in a circle may have fatal results. After a few minutes he sat to rest next to a cross-corner so that he could lean to the right and monitor two directions at once.

  Minutes passed, he listened, trying to hear above his own breathing. Faint footsteps and whispers were coming from somewhere softly echoing through the passages confusing the direction of the source. He leaned right to take another peek.

  The flash temporarily blinded him. He felt the heat of the beam centimeters from his cheek and heard the low sizzle as it melted a hole in the case next to him. Sparks of molten plastic showered his shoulder and burnt his face. Frantically brushing at the still glowing droplets he made a quick roll to the left then was up and off at a run.

  Blinking his eyes and trying to see through the fuzz, he almost ran into a stack of cargo before making a quick left. Stopping for a moment he yelled. “Hey, what are you assholes on about anyway?” Then sprinting, he made a left then a right turn. He was hoping to give them a false target. Another flash passed behind him along a corridor at right angles to the one he was using.

  Two more turns and he returned to wandering. Orientation now completely gone, he paused at an intersection to decide which of the three directions to take. To the right was an open door in the bay wall. After a quick sprint, he dove through and looked around for some way to close it.

  Next to the door was a set of controls, one was conveniently marked ‘Close’. He touched it; the door closed. Touching a second marked ‘Lock’ he heard a click.

  He found himself in a six meter square room. At the other end a door marked Maintenance Airlock was closed. Along the wall, helmeted suits and equipment hung in a row.

  “Oh shit. Just cornered myself,” he told the walls. “What now? Can’t go shoot it out with them. They outnumber and outgun me.”

  He flipped out the cylinder of the revolver. “Four rounds left. Shit!” He closed it again and walked around in circles, scratching his head with the butt.

  A faint hissing sound came from the door. He felt it. It was getting hot. Jim dove for the suits searching frantically for anything that could help.

  In the center of the opposite wall there was a small pad. He tugged at it and found it to be magnetically attached and easily came away in his hand.

  “Ok. In this situation the best thing to do is clear my mind and think... think shit head think. Ah... Computer?” he pleaded. “Open a dir
ect line to security.”

  Moments passed and no reply. “Shit, when I said computer it sounded like a question and not an imperative. Computer, open a direct line to security!”

  With silence as the only reply he forcefully calmed himself and looked around for something else. The pad was now in his hand so he placed the Colt under his arm and tapped the controls. Text appeared.

  “Let’s see,” he read out loud. “Cromwell Corporation Mark 72 all purpose vacuum suit,” flipping further. “...hope this product gives you many years of... ah... Limited Warranty, thirty ye... Thirty Years? Hey! Index, index.. ah...”

  Jim walked back to the suits and looked them up and down. Then he glanced back to the pad. “Now, what would putting the thing on be called in the index? Wearing? No. Donning? No. Attiring oneself? No. Here it is: Putting on the suit.”

  Jim placed the Colt on the floor and pulled down a suit. Flipping back and forth between text and diagram he read. “Put right foot through panel opening marked C... Make sure left rench tab... What the hell’s a rench tab? Oh, here it is... The arm of the suit... facing... Turn lock ring on neck opening in a clockwise direction. Would that be clockwise looking at it from the top or the bottom? Try both I guess.”

  Jim looked at the door. A section was glowing red. “Helmet.” He put it on and peered through the visor at the pad. “Index again, testing... here: Testing Suit Integrity.” He glanced at the diagram then looked down at his left forearm and found a control panel.

  “While holding down the red safety button, touch the green control section...”

  The suit inflated. He heard it pop, then a crackle from the door. It was now slowly opening.

  While touching the open control on the airlock door, he happened to glance back. A piece still hung from the wall where the suit had been. He grabbed it, scooped up his revolver then jumped through the door, striking the close control with his elbow.

  He hesitated, hands full, with an elbow almost on the control marked ‘Purge Air’ and looked down at the leftover piece. “Hope it’s not important.” Jim found a dangling cord on the piece and quickly tied it to a strap on the suit.

  He returned to the panel. A tap of the control with the barrel of the Colt had no result. He put the gun under his arm then tapped the control with a gloved finger, again nothing happened.

  Below the control panel he noticed a slot that looked like it took a disk of some sort. “That’s probably some sort of airlock security lock. I need a key. Wouldn’t be in a suit manual, but it’s the only thing I got.”

  He clumsily tapped at the pad again. “Index. Airlock starts with an A: ....Air, Air boot, Air hinge, Air hose, Air intake valve, Airlock key compartment.”

  Following the diagram he found the compartment on his right sleeve. Inside was a disk on a long metal cord. He inserted it into the slot and touched the control. His suit crackled and popped as the difference between inside and outside air pressure increased.

  A red light over the exit door lit. Moments later the green one next to it came on as the red went out. The door slid open. Jim stood facing open space.

  Looking over the suit, Jim found a narrow loose strap which he used to tie on the Colt through the trigger guard. Two deep breaths and all was ready.

  “Here I go, first kid on my block to walk in space.”

  Walking slowly toward the door, he floated off the deck as the artificial gravity decreased. A sudden panic sent arms and legs flailing until he caught hold of a handrail just inside the door. He pulled himself forward until his head protruded outside.

  Jim had only seen photographs and television documentaries of the scenes of space. He froze, awestruck by the panorama. The stars were clearer than on the observation deck, interior lights and crowds of people detracted from the spectacle. The system’s sun, Pollux, was low on the liner’s horizon casting pure black shadows from protrusions on its surface. There was, to him, a surreal contrast between dark and light. Clouds of stars filled every part of the sky. His breathing rate increased as he fought down another urge to panic.

  The outer surface of the liner was smooth, nothing to hold on to. A nudge in the back indicated that the door was closing. One quick move and he was outside.

  Jim held on to the handrail as long as he could to stabilize himself, then pulled his hand out. The door shut.

  “Well, looks like I stepped in the cow pie now. Must think. They have to use these things to walk around out here.”

  He noticed that he was slowly drifting away from the surface and out into space. “Magnet! The pad!”

  Carefully moving the pad toward the surface, he felt it almost jerk out of his hand. Not a strong anchor but at least it gave him time to think. Cautiously moving himself up so he could view the pad, he tapped the base.

  “Magnetic Boots... damn nothing. How ‘bout Boots Magnetic. Ah ha... red safety button yellow control.”

  His body pivoted. His boots struck the surface of the ship. A slight push and he swung up into a standing position.

  Looking about, there were a number of fins with bulbous tips some fifty meters away. “I could wait ‘till they open the airlock and shoot ‘em,” he paused to think. “In a vacuum? The propellant won’t burn.”

  He started out for the fins. Walking was difficult. As in the games room his feet kept getting away from his body. Several times he bent down to grab his knees and launched himself forward. Once he achieved a forward momentum, traveling became easier, so long as he walked in a straight line.

  Halfway to the fins, he glanced back. The door was opening again. He quickened the pace. A few more paces and a thought occurred to him. “Hey! It could be Chris. Security might have got there.” A wild shot from a laser pistol passed overhead and burned a hole in the nearest fin. “Then again...”

  Taking cover behind the first fin, he rested for a couple of seconds. The act of walking on the exterior of a spaceship turned out to be quite tiring. A quick look located the two men twenty meters away, walking slightly slower than he did.

  Jim worked his way from cover to cover, progress was slow.

  “Just a moment, the gun does have air, inside the bullet.” His instant idea quickly faded as he realized another fact. “The bullet is probably frozen by now.”

  He walked a few meters away from the fins keeping in the shadow. In the military this had been one of his favorite methods of camouflage, using shadow to hide in plain sight.

  “Weapon, weapon, I need a weapon.” Jim desperately searched his suit for something, anything. He noticed the cord attached to the extra piece he had tied to a strap. “If we weren’t wearing spacesuits I could use that as a garrote.”

  Jim returned his attention to the instruction pad. “Here it is. Ultrasound heating pad. Purpose: Thawing frozen controls in a vacuum. Holy hell!”

  Jim quickly undid the strap on his pistol and wrapped it in the pad. Following instructions, he attached the cord on the pad to his suit and tapped a couple of controls. A read out suddenly appeared on the pad with rapidly changing numbers in the negative.

  A voice echoed through his helmet. “Would the unauthorized personnel get off channel thirty four? We need it for the Jump.”

  “Don’t do the Jump, I’m outside the ship,” Jim snapped.

  “All crew are accounted for except one. Is that Cargo Master Brevis?”

  “No, it’s passenger Mick Jagger.”

  Jim crouched in the shadow, almost invisible and glanced at the pad. The changing numbers had stopped at 30.

  “Brevis get off the air and stop clowning around.”

  “This isn’t Chris Brevis, this is Mick Jagger. Do you want me to sing something to prove it?” Jim glanced at the read out again. It read 30. “Still below freezing.”

  The voice of the crewman returned. “Mr. Jagger, we just found Chris, are you all right?”

  “I’m still alive, but that may change any second now.”

  Jim looked at the heating pad again. “Shit, stupid, that would be thir
ty degrees Celsius, not Fahrenheit.” He slipped his hand inside the pad and gripped the pistol. He leveled the weapon just as the first man appeared around the side of the fin.

  Jim squeezed the trigger. The shot could not be heard in the vacuum of space, but he knew it had gone off. The gun leaped in his hand and a small spray of sparks momentarily lit the blackness of his hiding place in the open. It was near point blank range, the man’s helmet shattered.

  “Mr. Jagger. I just got a report from security. They are headed for the cargo hold, stay there.”

  “I’m not in the cargo hold. I’m outside in space. Is Chris all right?”

  “Just a bump on the head, Mr. Jagger, what are you doing outside?”

  “Taking a stroll, didn’t Chris tell you?”

  The second man came into view. They had split up and gone around different sides of the fin. Jim leveled the pistol again.

  “Mr. Jagger, I have just been informed of the position you are in. Where are the men pursuing you?”

  “Out here too. I got one of them.”

  He heard a voice which was a cross between a scream and a howl. “Satan’s spawn, where are you?”

  “Right next to you asshole.”

  The gun leapt in his hand a second time.

  “What the hell was that?” asked the startled voice of the crewman.

  Jim took off at a fast walk toward the airlock. Minutes later he heard the suit rustle as air filled the lock. When the inner door opened, he sat and removed the helmet.

  “Mr. Young... ah... Jagger, are you all right?”

  Jim looked up at the Cargo Master. “Call me Jim, and I feel like I’ve been shot at and missed, shit at and hit.”

  “Who taught you how to use a pressure suit?”

  “Nobody, I just read the instructions.”

  Chapter 13