Flight of the Gryphon

by Ann Durand

  "No, Askinadon is dead!"

  Evidently, the crowd had found Moreesha and Rinden on their way to the village. People cheered, still celebrating the news.

  "He's moving. Quick! Someone grab him!" a woman shouted.

  Some scuffling, and more shouts followed.

  "Leave me alone!" Morchison's voice rang out, surprised and threatening. "Don't touch me. I'll see you flogged if you touch me."

  "Yeah?" said a man's angry voice. "And who's going to do the flogging? You? Askinadon is dead, and you're a prisoner now…Morchison."

  He said Morchison's name loudly, as if to underscore the absence of his former title.

  "If I were you," said another man, "I'd start worrying about who exactly is going to get flogged."

  A nasty pause hung in the air. It seemed clear that Morchison was sizing up his sudden change of circumstance.

  "Wait. No, I had to do those things." Morchison's tone had shifted from harsh to ingratiating. "Please, I was forced. Askinadon…he forced me."

  "Did he force you stop by our hostel to steal our minola every time you had errands in the village?" a woman said. Mike heard a thud and a moan.

  "Did he force you to beat my son when he was eight years old because he didn't answer your question quickly enough?" another man cried.

  More thuds. Morchison yelped in pain.

  "Did he force you to rape my wife?" another man said in a low, dangerous tone.

  Mike heard a sickening thump and a crack, and then Morchison's sobs. An outbreak of voices filled the chamber, then scuffling, and the crowd began filtering out of the room amidst cries of protest from Morchison, who from the sound of it, was being dragged.

  "He'll be lucky if he get a simple flogging before he dies," a woman spat, but her voice was fading, but not because she was leaving the chamber…it was fading from the very ether itself.

  Mike peered up at the stalactites on the cave ceiling. They, too, were fading as something else, a soft and fleshy looking surface, materialized. He fell into the chair, pulling Katera on top of him. He snatched the security bar from above and lowered it over them. With a sudden jolt, Silver Gate lifted and turned onto its side. Mike looked up through the top in time to see it plummeting headlong down an organic looking tunnel, curving into unknown stretches ahead. It plunged and twisted at alarming speeds through the wormhole, rising and dipping in dizzying sequences. It seemed as if Katera might slip away from him with each startling jerk, and he tightened his embrace, though he knew the bar would hold them. His stomach jumped and dove with the lurching stargate.

  It was a phenomenal ride, yet he felt no reaction from Katera, who was sitting motionless on his lap, her head resting against his chest. He craned his neck to see her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips part way open. She had passed out again.

  Above him, the soft-walled texture of the tunnel faded away, replaced by a bright, crystal blue. He realized he was looking at the sky. They were landing on July 24, 2275, one day after Askins had escaped in Star Gate One with Tescali Lab. The coordinates had been set to return to the exact spot where the lab had disappeared. There'd be quite a turmoil when he opened the door to greet whomever may be on the other side. Even as he lifted the bar to stand up, he heard excited voices and the sound of feet running toward the stargate.

  "Look! Over there."

  "The stargate. It's back."

  "It could be Askins. Careful. Get the police!"

  "They see it. They're coming."

  Holding the listless body of Katera in both arms, Mike leaned into the door icon on the panel. As the door slid open, he spied four policemen standing like statues in their green uniforms, each with a Beam 4000 trained at his head. Mike shifted Katera's weight in his arms and stepped outside into the sunshine. An empty field of dirt and pebbles stretched before him, the field where Tescali Lab used to sit. He stared into the Beamers.

  "Hello," he said. "I'm Mike Leno, Director of Research at Tescali Lab, and this woman needs our help."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "My God, Leno, is that you?" a voice from behind the line of policemen called.

  Mike recognized Will Carlsen, CEO of Tescali Lab and Chairman of the Board. Beside him stood several other board members and a group of scientists, who had all turned and were staring at Mike. They looked as if they had gathered in the field and were trying to piece together the story about Askins and the missing lab.

  "Hello, Will," Mike called back. He realized that his long hair might be throwing everyone off, not to mention his face, which had aged ten years. "I have a woman here from six thousand years ago. She's dying, and she needs our help."

  Carlsen, a short man of fifty-something with a thick thatch of blond hair and smiling blue eyes, waved the policemen aside and rushed in to see for himself. Several other board members and scientists followed.

  "Wow," Carlsen said, staring at Katera. "She's a beauty. Is she really six thousand years old?"

  "Yes, she's from the past, and she's dying, Will. She needs Serulin, quickly. Do you have some nearby?"

  "There's always Serulin nearby. Thank God, we still have the Administration building. The health clinic is in there."

  Carlsen motioned for an attendant and instructed him to bring a batch of Serulin on the double. The young man took off toward the three-story building ahead, the only building left from the huge Tescali Lab complex. The emblem of three interlocking red circles, representing the unity of three global powers within the World Union Council, stretched across the façade.

  "How bad is she?" Carlsen asked, as Mike lowered Katera to the ground.

  "Pretty bad. It's her arm."

  A large group was forming around them. Mike recognized Rebecca Cohn and KeShawn Jackson, two scientists, who by pure luck of the draw, had not been in the lab when Askins had escaped. Other scientists surrounded them, but he didn't know their names. There had been hundreds of them working at the lab when he'd left. He spotted Nicole Rose and Paul Farley, two members of the board. Then his eyes fell on the figure of a short woman with a head of cropped dark hair framing her oval face. Felipa Kurtz. Greg Kurtz's widow. Mike looked away. Not yet-he didn't want to explain it now, here…in front of everyone.

  "Oh. I see what you mean," Carlsen commented, lifting Katera's arm. He whistled.

  "Yeah. You think the Serulin can turn this infection around?"

  "I don't know, Mike. It looks advanced. What happened to her finger?"

  Mike had forgotten. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out her bloody, deflated finger. A murmur floated up from the group.

  "Morchison and Tonelly did this," Mike said, holding the finger up and emphasizing each word like a well-flung dart.

  "Morchison? James Morchison and Tim…Tim Tonnelly, the technicians?"

  Mike looked into Carlsen's eyes. "The same."

  "My god. What happened? What would make them do that?"

  Mike sighed. "It's a long story, and a lot has changed."

  Carlsen looked intently into Mike's face. "Mike, Star Gate One has only been missing for one day. How long have you been gone?"

  "Ten years," he said, quietly. "And that's not Star Gate One behind me."

  Carlsen's eyes flew to Silver Gate. "Really? Where'd you get it?"

  Mike paused. "There is much to tell you, but first, let's take care of her."

  Mike wound his arm under Katera's head and lifted her onto his knee as Carlsen watched.

  "What's her name?" he asked.

  "Katera," Mike said. "Her name is Katera."

  "And her last name?"

  "She has none. There are no last names in Parallon."

  But I'd sure like to give her one , Mike thought. Carlsen nodded, studying Mike carefully as if he understood there was a bigger story. He pointed over Mike's shoulder at the attendant, who was running toward them.

  "Here's the Serulin," he said. "And while you're administering the dosage, I'll locate a Restortech, and we'll see what we can do about that finger."


  "Thanks," Mike said, feeling a rush of gratitude. "You'll need this, then."

  He handed the finger off to Carlsen, who pulled a square of cloth from his pocket to receive it, then got up and sprinted toward the admin building. The attendant kneeled next to Mike and held up a vial one half inch in diameter with a small insertion device on one end.

  "It's full," he said. "You have to release the serum at the line of infection, between the healthy tissue and the infected tissue right…there." His finger landed at a point on Katera's shoulder where the redness stopped.

  "Thanks. I'll do it," Mike said, taking the vial.

  He drew the instrument to the spot. It connected and penetrated her skin, reading the heat and extent of the infection before dispensing the appropriate amount of Serulin. Mike counted to five as the serum dispensed, then drew out the insertion device. There was nothing to do now but wait and see.

  The group surrounding Mike dispersed, running off in different directions to get various items to help. One man returned with a FloaterCot, a gurney that floated while suspended above the ground, designed to carry disabled people. Like so much other technology in this world, it was powered by a tiny EM Sphere. The man helped Mike lift Katera onto it and handed Mike the remote. He aimed the signal at the receptor on the gurney, which lifted it into the air. Mike guided it to the admin building as he walked behind it.

  Gazing at Katera, he noticed the redness and swelling on her arm had receded several inches from her shoulder, and his heart did a leap. Excellent. The Serulin was working and Katera was going to be all right. All he needed to do now was find Carlsen and the Restortech to reattach her finger.

  A feeling of relief flooded his body, pumping up his confidence. If Katera was okay, then the world was right again. He would appear before the board-they'd summon him in the next day or so, anyway-and he'd secure permission to return to Parallon where they could start their new life. Hopefully, as husband and wife. He couldn't wait to deliver the string of great news. First, that she was as good as new; second, that he'd be taking her back home; and third, that he wanted to stay with her in Parallon.

  The euphoria was not to last. Someone fell in step next to him, and when he turned his head, he cringed. Felipa Kurtz was staring at him with a furtive look in her eyes. No one had yet brought up the question as to why Mike had returned alone, but everyone needed to know…especially Felipa.

  "Mike."

  "Felipa, good to see you."

  "It's good to see you, too. I'm just wondering why Greg and the others aren't with you." Mike gulped and looked away. "Oh, Mike, I have to know."

  "It happened ten years ago, Felipa."

  "What happened?" She sounded forceful, though a trembling hand flew to her chest.

  "I'm so sorry."

  "He's not…"

  It took every ounce of Mike's strength to look at her, to allow his eyes to offer their compassion. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "He was injured in the initial blast when Askins destroyed Star Gate One. He had a serious leg wound. I was able to drag him into a supply closet, and I told him I'd come back for him. But Askins saw me leave the closet and went after me. He was intent on killing all the scientists. Only ten minutes after landing in Parallon, Askins was chasing me outside the lab. I had to play dead to get him off my tail. I wasn't able to sneak back right away. By the time I got back to the closet, Greg wasn't there."

  "Then he might still be alive."

  Mike took in a shaky breath. "He wasn't there, but I found…"

  Felipa froze. "Found what?"

  "Felipa…"

  "Found what? I must know."

  Mike hung his head, raised it again, looked into her eyes. "I found only part of him."

  "What part? An arm? A leg? An arm or leg could've been anybody's."

  Mike drew in a deep breath. "No. I found part of his head…his face. He's dead."

  A throaty groan, deep and low, dropped like an anchor out of Felipa's mouth. Staring open-mouthed, she crumpled to her knees. Mike immobilized the gurney and knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her slender frame as the first sob wracked her body.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Paul Farley slapped his palm onto the table. "We have a situation here, a serious one that has left seven of our finest scientists murdered, and thirty-nine technicians stranded in a dog-eat-dog environment existing six thousand years ago."

  Temperamental hothead . It was a mystery to Mike how Farley managed to hold his position on the Tescali Board of Directors. He opposed nearly every idea and presentation that the scientists placed before the board. It was known that no scientist or board member enjoyed his presence, let alone his ill-temper.

  "Thirty-eight," Mike said.

  "What?"

  "There were thirty-eight Kastaks, or technicians. In the ten years I lived there, I counted them many times. I'm sure of it."

  Farley shook his head, staring at his list. "No. You're wrong. Our list shows that thirty-nine technicians are missing."

  "I don't care if there are fifty names on your list. Thirty-eight technicians were left standing after Askins finished his dirty work. Several were killed in the years that followed, but there were never thirty-nine." Mike pressed an icon on a panel embedded in the table in front of him, and it lit up. "Send your list over here, and I'll see if I can figure it out. I know most of them by name."

  "Yeah. You do that." Farley pressed several icons on an identical panel, and a list of names appeared on Mike's panel.

  "Could you shoot us all a list, Paul?" Will Carlsen asked.

  Paul worked the icons until the other seven members of the board were leaning over their panels. A somber silence fell over the room as each man and woman searched the list for the names of friends and acquaintances.

  Mike scanned his list: Robert Bailey…that would be Kastak Bailenon, Randall Drake or Kastak Randrakin…his eyes fled down the list…Morchison, Lyndon March, Derek Mallard, Patrick O'Malley…O'Malley? He'd never seen O'Malley in Parallon.

  "I got it," Mike said, softly. The eight members of the board turned to stare at Mike. "Patrick O'Malley. Never saw him there."

  "Really?" Will Carlsen tilted his head in surprise. "He was scheduled to work in the lab on July 23rd, and he's been missing with everyone else. His wife confirmed that yesterday. I talked with her myself. Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure. I don't know what happened to him, but I never saw him. Maybe he got killed, and I missed it, though I know Askins kept all the technicians alive." Mike paused. "Maybe O'Malley got caught in the crossfire or something."

  The room fell hushed again as heads bowed. They're still absorbing this mess , Mike realized. He'd had ten years to adjust; they'd only had two days. So many people they'd just seen, had a drink with, enjoyed a conversation…gone from their lives.

  Or were they? Maybe this was the time to present his case for the missing technicians, as well as for Katera. Carlsen had prompted him last night to use this meeting to ask for permission to take Katera home, and permission for Mike to join her. The latter might be tricky, though, Carlsen had warned. Mike cleared his throat.

  "As you know, we cannot reverse a person's death. Once someone has been killed, whether in our time or in the distant past, his or her death is permanent. It's part of the Displacement Law established by Greg Kurtz." At the mention of his name, board members shook their heads, the shock showing in their eyes. No surprise. Greg had been well-liked. Mike continued. "The dead cannot be resurrected through the use of a time machine or anything else. Interference may cause them to die differently, but die they will, and at the same age…down to the moment. That, of course, means that even if Askins had not fled with Star Gate One, those scientists would have died by other means."

  "I don't think so." Nicole Rose, a junior board member, sounded irritated. "Askins would have killed them here instead of in the past, that's all. It's the obvious MLS." Everyone nodded. MLS, or Most Likely Scenario, carried the highest probability, and in thei
r minds, Askins would have killed the scientists no matter where they had been. "He returned after his first trip to Parallon a murderer, not the scientist we had entrusted to launch the world's first time machine. He was ready to kill here...there…it wouldn't have mattered to him."

  Sharp whispers and nods of agreement swelled around the table.

  "My point," Mike said, raising his voice, "is that there is nothing we can do for the dead. However…" He lifted his hand, signaling for conversation to stop, and when it did, he began again. "We cannot bring back the dead, but we can return to the past and bring the surviving technicians back to their own time. As I said, they've all changed for the worse. It's been a hard life, but at least we can bring them home and offer rehabilitation." And while we're on the way , he thought, we can just drop off a couple of extra passengers .

  "That's not going to happen, Mike." Will Carlsen said, his voice soft.

  What? What was Carlsen saying? Hadn't he just advised Mike…? A knot of foreboding rose from Mike's gut and lodged in his throat.

  "What do you mean? We have to restore everyone to his pre-travel locale, just like it says in our mission statement. We need to return the Parallonian woman, Katera, to her home. We have a duty to do that for her…"

  "Duty?" Farley stood up, and pounded the table again, the color rising to his cheeks. "Duty applies to a mission that hasn't been botched to Hell. We hardly have a situation here that can be restored to normal."

  Carlsen shot him a stern look, and Farley sat down, still fuming. Carlsen turned to Mike.

  "Look, Mike, it's out of our hands." Out of their hands? The only entity that had the authority to do that was… "We got the word from the President of the World Union Council this morning. I haven't had a chance to give you the news."

  Mike reeled back in his chair. President of the World Union Council? The council charged with the welfare of the entire planet?

  "What did they say?"

  "They've suspended time travel indefinitely." Carlsen placed both hands on the table, palms down. "I'm sorry. I know I told you last night your request would probably fly…"