The Time Stone (The Time Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by Robert F Hays

  Carol remained in the lounge and continued to read as she had a distinct feeling that Jim wanted to be alone. At around 1 a.m., motivated by concern, she opened the 3V room door and found Jim sitting, surrounded by empty cans, watching a show.

  The image of a man in a stylish suit waved a hand in the direction of a brightly lit control panel. Beyond, a large window displayed stars so clearly that they were obviously viewed from space. “We can only surmise by the broken bank lever that the murder was committed in this control room.”

  “But how did the murderer get in?” asked the image of a second man. “The corridors were flooded with radiation from the explosion.”

  “Hi there,” Jim said, waving a can in Carol’s direction. “Buck Sherlock Holmes Rogers here is about to solve the crime.”

  The first image continued. “Not all of them at once. Remember, there must have been at least a thirty second delay between the warning alarm and the flooding of the third corridor.”

  “Buck who?” Carol said. “That’s a detective named John Clagbourne.”

  “Sound off,” Jim commanded. The images continued their investigation in silence. “I think it was the butler what done it.”

  “Really? I don’t want to ruin it for you but I’ve seen this one before. I can’t remember a butler.”

  “Bull,” Jim said throwing an empty can at the famous detective. It passed directly through the man’s head and disappeared into the background. “There’s got to be a butler or it ain’t a murder mystery.”

  “Well, in this one there’s no butler,” Carol said, sitting in the second chair. “And you’re slightly intoxicated.”

  “Ah, you noticed. I thought I was covering it up pretty well,” Jim said, reaching for another beer then straightening up. “Yes officer, it was then that the suicidal lamp post leaped into the road and in front of my car.”

  Carol broke into a broad smirk. “I’ve seen you drinking many times but this is the first time I’ve seen you drunk. Is that how you had the courage to drive that death trap of a vehicle of yours?”

  “You should’ve seen me the day I got back from the war in Afghanistan. Spent the night with my arms around the maple tree in the back yard. As for driving drunk, I gave that up when I was young and stupid.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you, thoughts of Earth?”

  “Yep, I’ve been thinking about my wife, or I should say my soon to have been ex-wife. The marriage was over, but I would have still liked to see her again.” Jim took a sip from his full can. “When you walked in I was trying to remember something else. A movie I like. Its name was Casablanca. If it’s not in my collection then it’s gone forever.”

  “You can’t remember watching it?”

  “On television, yes, but not a recording. It could be at the bottom of one of the boxes of video tapes I was given by my movie collector friend. I only looked at the ones on top. I remember seeing Cagney, Errol Flynn and Edward G Robinson. There was even an Andy Hardy movie. If they are there then there must be a couple of Bogart films.”

  “So, it could be there.”

  “Even if it is, the film had a lot more to it than the actual thing. The emotions and ideas behind it, as well as small anecdotes I’ve heard about its production. Am I going to spend the rest of my life talking to a recorder to get everything down before I die, and when will that be? Someone wants to cook my brains before I can say anything.”

  “You’re thinking too much Jim,” Carol said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What’s gone is gone, nothing you can do about it. Record your memories as best as you can but don’t let it interfere with your life.”

  “Yep, I want this thing over with so I can do things like ask you out on a proper date as Jim Young and not someone else.” Jim stood and wandered over to the image of the detective.

  “Well, I’ll have to consult my calendar on that but I think I’ll be free.”

  “Hey!” Jim said to the image while raising a finger in the direction of the background. “You haven’t investigated that locker yet!”

  Moments later, the silent man with a very animated mouth turned to walk in the direction of the indicated locker and opened it.

  “Sherlock must have heard me,” Jim said.

  Carol picked up an empty can from the floor and threw it, intentionally missing Jim. “Would you stop making me laugh? We’re supposed to be a married couple with problems.”

  Chapter 18

  Wearing a casual suit of moderate quality, which he purchased on the liner, Jim returned to Gato. The streets were alive with cheerful people taking in the spectacles of the famed city. Leaving his ‘wife’ at the hotel, Jim took a walk by himself.

  He tried his bad luck at the Diablo Casino. The rustle of fine clothes and glitter of jewelry welcomed him as he entered. The establishment was luxurious and in a style that had no counterpart on Earth. Autoserves were everywhere and courteous red jacketed human attendants catered to patron’s needs.

  The first game he selected was a variation of roulette. They used a computer to generate the numbers instead of a wheel. He had played the original game on a small plastic toy wheel Colin owned. Within minutes he used to lose all the plastic chips he started with, but with this game he was unlucky, he kept winning.

  The second game he tried was Blackjack. The game had come through the Exodus unchanged. Jim concluded that it was due to the size of a deck of cards. Easily carried in the pocket of a colonist, and the rules of the game were uncomplicated enough to be passed down by word of mouth.

  During the course of the afternoon he lost thousands by taking wild risks with every second hand. Availing himself of the free alcoholic beverages, by nightfall he was quite intoxicated.

  When he lost his final hand he threw his cards at the dealer accusing the house of cheating. The action got him promptly, and very roughly, thrown out. The spur of the moment final touch pleased him.

  The rest of the night he wandered the streets eventually falling asleep on a park bench.

  * * *

  “Sir, what are you doing here?”

  Jim opened an eye and saw the standard gray uniform of a police officer.

  “Sleeping, what does it look like?” Jim had to think fast. Being arrested would seriously inhibit his plans.

  “Your identification sir.”

  The officer waved a hand held instrument over him. Jim reached in his pocket and handed over the fake I.D. the Montoyas had given him. The officer momentarily put the disk into a slot at the base of a pad he held then returned it.

  “Mr. Dollison. The casino where you caused trouble earlier tonight has entered a complaint. Also your wife has reported you missing.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry, and she can go take a flying leap. In that order,” Jim said, wiping his face with the back of one hand.

  “I’m placing you under arrest for disturbing the peace Mr. Dollison.”

  “Damn,” Jim muttered to himself. “Can’t you do this electronically or something? Give me a fine and let me go?”

  “Not this time. You have to be identified personally. We do not want to fine the wrong man by mistake.”

  The officer waved the instrument over Jim a second time.

  “I don’t care. Make a mistake, just fine me and let me go.”

  “Mr. Dollison. You have a metallic object in your jacket. Would you take it out and place it on the bench,” the officer demanded as his hand hovered near his sidearm.

  Jim carefully removed the Colt and placed it on the bench. He then looked up at the officer who had relaxed considerably. Jim was struck by a moderate feeling of anxiety. The situation of having a loaded pistol well within reach and an armed police officer present was unnerving. He froze with both hands well in sight.

  “Ah,” the officer said with a smile, “one of those Colt 38s. My kids have one each. Supposed to be exact replicas of the one Jim Young owns. They like playing: ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’. Is that for your kids?” he asked while picking
it up and looking it over.

  Jim held his breath. The officer’s finger came close to the trigger then he exhaled as the man handed it back to him. “Ah..., no..., nephew.” He put it back in his inside pocket.

  A police utility arrived and the officer escorted Jim to the door. The inside was plain and worn. The door closed and the vehicle started to move.

  “Damn,” Jim muttered to himself, “well, only a slight crimp in the plans. At least it’ll get me a police record.”

  “No talking while in custody,” the vehicles computer demanded.

  Jim’s mood had soured. A combination of sleeping on a park bench and alcohol had made him short tempered. “Up yours!”

  A sudden mild pain affected his entire body. He looked around for the source. “What the...?” A second pain, stronger this time, nearly caused him to fall from his seat.

  The computer gave him another warning. “The punishment increases with each infraction of the rules.”

  Jim kept his mouth shut for the rest of the trip.

  * * *

  The utility entered a building through a large gate. It stopped and the door opened. “Exit the vehicle and go through the door in front of you.”

  Jim complied with the computer’s order. On the surface, there seemed to be many avenues of escape. But whatever security was in force, he didn’t want to find out.

  On entering a small room another computer took over giving the orders. “Sit in the chair and face the screen in front of you.”

  Jim sat in the single chair in the plain three meter square room and faced the screen on the wall. It was blank. He closed his eyes, hoping that a retinal scan was not required.

  “Voice print for identification.”

  “Frank Dollison.”

  Five minutes later the case was heard by another computer.

  “Do you require a legal representative?”

  “No.”

  “Do you wish to have a human judge?”

  “No.”

  “You have been charged with disturbing the peace and have been visually identified. Do you wish to review the evidence?”

  “No.”

  “How do you plead?”

  “Guilty.”

  “You are hereby given a warning, which will remain on your record for fifty standard weeks. Do you wish to change your plea or appeal the decision to a higher court?”

  “No.”

  “You are free to go. Exit by the door to your rear. You have twenty weeks in which to change your plea, or challenge the court’s decision. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Jim stood and exited. He found himself outside in a vacant street. Looking left, right then back at the closing door he scratched his head and went over in his mind what had just happened.

  “Huh?”

  * * *

  After two days of drunken wandering he considered himself degenerate enough to enter the mission.

  “And what has brought you to your present state brother?” a smiling staff member asked.

  “I’m broke. My business is down...” Jim caught himself before saying ‘down the chute’; he hadn’t heard that expression since Earth. “....Ah... almost gone. I suspect my wife of being unfaithful with my brother. I just want to get away from things.”

  The staff member’s facial expression turned to one of concern. “You do not have anyone that you can go to, anyone that will assist you in working out your problems?”

  “No one I would want to go to. I don’t get along with my parents and have no other family members I trust.”

  The staff member picked up a pad from a nearby table. “The Church can help you find employment if you wish.”

  “I doubt that I could hold down a job right now. I’m too edgy. I’d probably hit the boss over nothing.”

  “You’re welcome to take advantage of our services. We do not push religion, but if you want to attend our evening meetings you may find them helpful. My name is Brother Ed.”

  “Thank you, I might do that.”

  Brother Ed was a tall brown haired man in his late thirties. His smile and pleasant voice, possibly contrived, did not have their intended effect of putting Jim at ease. He sat at dinner considering which frame of mind would be best to display. He decided on up-tight and jumpy, mainly because that was his present mood.

  Jim attended the meeting finding it a standard, generic Christian bible class followed by discussion. He sat at the back looking as miserable as he could.

  So far the only difference he could find to similar organizations on Old Earth was the voices. Until ten o’clock pleasant sounding voices told him he was loved, he could recover his life and he had friends. If there was some indoctrination it would come later.

  * * *

  For three days he walked the streets drinking during daylight hours and stayed in the mission at night.

  On the third night brother Ed approached. “Brother Frank, your wife’s here. She’s been looking for you.”

  “I don’t want to see her.”

  The brother paused, exhibiting the standard look of concern. “She’s very insistent,” he said.

  “I don’t want to see her!” Jim yelled, picking up the corner of his bed, he turned it over. Another staff member appeared at his side when he punched a wall, an action which he soon regretted as he nursed his aching hand. “I just want to go somewhere I can think. Sorry, I shouldn’t lose my temper like that.”

  “Brother Frank, I’ll tell her that you’re well, but you do not wish to see her at this time. Then we need to have a talk.” He turned and left.

  The second staff member assisted Jim in righting the bed. Twenty minutes later, Brother Ed reappeared and asked Jim to accompany him into the office. They sat facing each other in an unadorned room with two simple seats and no windows.

  “Brother Frank, the church does have facilities you could use, a retreat on the planet Tranquility, but that’s reserved for those with the greatest needs.”

  “I really need to get away.”

  The brother hesitated for a moment, looking down then said. “I really do not think that at this time your need puts you in that priority situation.”

  ‘Damn’ Jim thought to himself. ‘Losing it’. Jim glanced at the brother’s face and caught sight of an earplug in his left ear. ‘Why?’ he asked himself. ‘Voice stress analyzer. Someone is analyzing my voice to see if I’m ready for conditioning.’

  He thought of Doris incinerated in her transit. He thought of Jason shot down at his office. He thought of Earth and long dead friends. With tears welling in his eyes, he said slowly. “I really need to get away.”

  The brother hesitated a second time then said, “I’ll see what I can do. In the mean time, would you like to do a little charity collection?”

  “I would, very much.”

  Jim breathed a heavy sigh of relief and satisfaction.

  * * *

  The next morning Jim and eight others collected input only pen phones and permits. They were then provided with transportation into the city. Jim, being new at the game, was given a place in the poorest part of the city. He stood at the entrance of a public transport station. The morning rush brought crowds of commuters past his post. He recognized the uniforms and the styles of casino staff workers from the hotels and bars. Holding out the pen phone, he tried to catch the attention of each passer by. Most looked straight ahead. A few smiled and shook their heads and some were annoyed. The station was the service entrance to the city. Its style was plain and in marked contrast to the elegance of the tourist sections.

  “Praise the lord sir. Give for the good work of the church.”

  Occasionally a passer-by produced his or her own pen phone. Connecting end to end, they transferred anything from ten MG to two G. “Bless you sir,” Jim said to their backs whether they did or didn’t give.

  The task soon became a game as he tried to pick those who would give, from those who wouldn’t. He tried various facial expressions and appr
oaches. Once he stepped out in front of a man and refused to let him by until he donated. This method only brought a police officer around to check his permit.

  One little old lady stopped and blessed him, a process which took twenty minutes and seriously hampered his duty.

  At the end of the day, he waited for the ride which would return him to the mission.

  “Darn great this is,” he said to himself, “a billionaire begging.” He looked down at the balance read out on his pen phone, “one hundred and thirteen G? Multiply that by eight. Then multiply that by the number of cities in the galaxy. Oh my, no wonder they’re wealthy. And their collectors do it for bed and breakfast.”

  Evening approached. The ride picked him up, dropping off a replacement for his post and returned him to the mission. He was greeted by Brother Ed as he entered.

  “Good news for you Brother Frank,” the brother said with a lighthearted smile. “I have found a place for you on a cargo ship going to the planet Farshom. It’ll connect with the liner to Tranquility.”

  “Praise the Lord Brother Ed. I believe this’ll help me get back on my feet. When am I to go?” Jim asked, suppressing an urge to dance across the floor.

  “The cargo ship passes here the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  The next day Jim went out collecting again. He was getting the hang of it and did better than the day before. Jim was in a good mood which he had to cover up. Things were going as planned. The only thing bugging him was the complete lack of any form of indoctrination, coercion or even mild suggestion. He thought that they’d start with their conditioning at the get go. Returning to his post, he continued to collect for the church.

  * * *

  The day of his departure came. He recorded a voice mail to Carol with carefully planted, prearranged code words to tell her everything was going well. Brother Ed sent it.

  Travel to Farshom took two weeks. The freighter made one more pickup en route. His accommodation was more primitive than on the other trips. The shuttle to Tranquility was worse. Four were crowded into the same space as two on previous journeys.