30th Century: Escape (30th Century Trilogy Book 1)

by Mark Kingston Levin

  “Kylie! We don’t have much longer.”

  Without a word, Kylie reprogrammed the robotic system to increase its speed. This robotic system automatically placed the sub-caps into the temporal field platform. Jennifer moved faster and faster to maintain control over each team’s sub-cap in the temporal field, not letting her task be distracted by the bombardment. Ten, Nine, Eight, all the way down to Team Two, Trans-Time One did its job. At last, only Kylie’s team was left. Team One sub-cap assembled and moving into position Kylie signaled, bracing herself for the journey into the past.

  “Captain, we’re ready. Set the system on autodrive and let’s go!”

  This is the moment that decides my fate. Jennifer’s heart drummed in her chest as she looked at the console. It was already set—the perfect temporal field and the perfect trans-time delay to get them to the twenty-seventh century with the others. She took a deep breath. No time for second thoughts; I made up my mind when I lost Zexton.

  “The system’s damaged!” she radioed to Kylie and her team.

  “Captain?”

  “Auto-functions are offline! Team One, I’ll send you back manually. Commander Kylie Brown, assume command!”

  Stunned, Kylie could only respond, “Captain Hero…”

  “I’m setting up the field now, get ready!”

  “Captain, there has to be some way—”

  “There’s no time! Activate.”

  “Jennifer!—” The light engulfed Commander Brown and her team in their sub-cap.

  The console showed Team One safely in their field. Jennifer felt rather than heard the subsonic whomp of a depth-charge missile. The base shook, throwing an instrument panel off the wall. In this present, they were almost out of time.

  It will be best if Kylie thinks of me having died under the missile attack instead of running away.

  Despite her reasoning, Jennifer struggled to control her heavy breathing as she activated the trans-time delay. Her mind relived the disappearance of each trans-time sub-cap one by one as her friends—and the future of humankind—winked out to the past.

  Jennifer took another deep breath to calm herself and began resetting the device. She didn’t have much time. Again, she gave life to the machine using emergency power, the holographic interface going to static for a second as their Moruroa hideout took another direct hit by an ultra-disruptor. She worked faster, ignoring the alarms for the hull breach and the sound of flood doors auto-sealing. In another moment, the device was set. Another deep whomp rocked Jennifer from her seat.

  “Thanks for the direct hit, assholes,” she muttered. Climbing back to the console, she punched in the code she’d already memorized, making one quick alteration to the temporal formula. The interface display confirmed her change:

  DESTINATION TIME POINT 2015

  Clearing her eyes of tears, Jennifer activated the device’s autodrive and ran to the robotic insertion platform, entering the last sub-cap and taking her seat. Behind her, a support girder in the chamber broke free and crashed into the doorframe. The large double doors shuddered as tons of water struck them from the other side. The temporal field pulsed and flared before her, as doors behind her whined and creaked from the weight and tremendous pressure.

  Another direct hit vibrated through the base, loosening something in the interface console. Sparks stung her face and hands.

  Jennifer closed her eyes and held her breath to keep from screaming. For a second she could hear nothing but her thundering heartbeat—suddenly a crash and a roar. She tightened her eyelids and braced. She smelled ozone in the air as she did after a thunder and lightning storm.

  Nothing. There was no pain, no noise, and no light. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She could not see her body, only gray blotches and blurred light, but felt as if she was floating, although not in any particular direction. Her thoughts raced. Did it work? Is this the temporal field of trans-time, or is this…if I’m dead, will Zexton be here? The childish thought cleared her brain and she directed her focus to her surroundings.

  The light before her eyes winked and twinkled into black specks. The gray blotches changed shape and color then returned to gray streaks of background like a malfunctioning holo-vision. It had been years since she’d seen anything truly mysterious, something new. Fascinated, Jennifer watched the simple beauty of the unknown dance before her. Slowly the shapes and lights faded until she found herself staring into darkness, sighing as the show ended. Yet in the darkness, there was sound. The sub-cap rose from the depth of the sea slowly but steadily. It seemed like hours so she collected her thoughts and plans. The sub-cap stopped five meters beneath the gentle rolling waves driven by the trade winds, sunlight illuminating the water through the viewer. She felt grit under her hands, and on her skin, refreshing warmth. Slowly she blinked at the brightness of a blue sky, as clear as the pictures of the centuries before the Syndos. She donned her mask, snorkel, fins, and added a wrist compass and dive knife. She next secured her survival kit to her buoyancy compensator.

  Jennifer exited the sub-cap then gave the command to scuttle it before she left for the surface, activating its preprogrammed self-burial in the deep mud below.

  The storm has passed.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Mission

  Professor Marty Zitonick sat alone in the cockpit of the amphibious Grumman Albatross while it idled in the run-up area of the Papeete runway awaiting clearance. The provisions were loaded and everything was set—try as he might, Marty couldn’t find anything else to busy himself with. He fiddled with his recorder, debating how to start his dictation of the trip to Moruroa.

  He glanced out the cockpit window at the steadily rotation beacon of the airport control tower and spoke into the recorder. “The Tahitian night sky was clear and starry as we taxied toward the active runway—”

  Air Control announced, “Albatross Zulu four-four-four, take the active and hold Two Niner.”

  “Zulu four-four-four, roger that, take the active Two Niner and hold,” Marty responded, relieved to be interrupted.

  He stuffed the recorder away, pushed the combined throttles hanging above the windshield forward evenly while both feet were on the brakes and ran up the Albatross’s twin 1840 HP radial engines. The Albatross shook like it was going to vibrate itself into pieces. As he pulled back on the throttles, Mike Keizer joined him in the cockpit.

  “About time,” Marty said as he moved the plane into position.

  “We finally got clearance, mate,” his co-pilot said in his Aussie twang, ignoring Marty’s grumpiness.

  The tower chimed in over the radio, interrupting both men’s contemplation. “Mark time 01:57. Zulu four-four-four, you are cleared for takeoff.”

  “Roger. Albatross Zulu four-four-four, cleared for takeoff,” Mike replied, taking his seat and readying his controls.

  Marty simultaneously increased power to both throttles as the plane roared down the runway and took to the air.

  “Now that’s a pretty sight,” Mike said as they climbed, looking out the cockpit window to see the coast of Tahiti glimmering below. “You guys got the grant to come out here for research, but damn, going to Moruroa sounds more like a vacation to me.”

  Marty considered the view. The island of Moorea was silhouetted against the moonlight nine miles northwest, the lights of its southern shore matching the stars above. He recalled some of the work of James A. Michener, who famously described the natural beauty of this area in his book, Tales of the South Pacific, which made Moorea a world-renowned tourist attraction.

  * * *

  Since Marty’s divorce, he hadn’t been his usual cheerful self. He wished he could talk with his best friend about it but he could not. Pangs of guilt would overcome him as if he did something wrong, which made him defensive. Whenever he felt Mike trying to open the door to discuss the divorce, he would change the subject or leave.

  “Mike, you want to fly her for a while?” Marty asked when they reached 21,000 feet.

  “You bet
I do.”

  “Good. Gives me a chance to see if the kiddos are all right.”

  “Come on, mate, they’re graduate students—ain’t they? Should you still be calling them kiddos?”

  “They’re still my students, I’ll call them what I want—future leaders in marine sciences or not. I swear they get younger every year.” Marty switched his controls to Mike’s capable charge. “If everything is fine back there, I’ll take a nap and spell you in a couple hours. You and Alice can catch some rest before we get to Moruroa. We want to arrive after sunrise.”

  “We should arrive right around oh-seven-twenty, Marty.” Alice Keizer stepped through the open door into the cockpit, moved behind Mike’s seat, and gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek. Though muted in the dim light of the cockpit, her green eyes and red hair were still lively. “I filed the flight plan myself, and I guarantee we’ll get there on time. And I already checked on the students, they’re fine and bedded down.”

  “Nothing to worry about, mate,” Mike said. “Go ahead and catch some shut-eye, Captain. Love here will keep me company.”

  In response, Alice grinned and wrapped her arms around Mike from behind.

  “Fine,” Marty said, then shut the cockpit door behind him. He didn’t begrudge his friends their happiness, but something twitched in his stomach at their easy familiarity. What he’d had—what he’d thought he had.

  Moving to the quarters in the back of the plane, he saw Alice was right—Bill, Lacy, Kai, and Kenji were in their bunks, already fast asleep. He climbed easily into his bunk, accustomed to sleeping in tight compartments now that he lived on his three-mast schooner. At least he’d kept the White Heron. The ex had gotten the house and most of the custody. It was the children he missed the most. In his nightly ritual, he pictured their faces, one by one, reminding himself of their hobbies, their birthdays, their favorite foods, funny things they’d said on the last Skype call. He’d be damned if he’d be an absent father—and he meant to be ready to hit his parenting stride as soon as he got back to Honolulu.

  * * *

  After a fitful sleep, Marty glanced around the quarters. Lacy, Kai, and Kenji were still asleep, but Bill’s bunk was empty. The windows of the plane glowed with moonlight. Marty took out his recorder to dictate the group’s research goal while he had a moment of peace. He spoke softly, his deep, gentle voice belying his broad-shouldered stature. Narrative reports weren’t his favorite, but when you took the government’s money you had to show them how you spent it. Even the French government. And it showed the University of Hawaii he was worth his tenure, maybe even another research semester with only site-based teaching.

  “June 26, 2015. Albatross has departed Papeete, Tahiti and is on an east-southeast heading toward Moruroa Atoll, see map in Appendix A.”

  He made a mental note to start compiling paperwork then continued: “As per original proposal—see Appendix B—Moruroa was the site of French nuclear testing 1966-1990, with at least one hundred sixty-seven nuclear explosions occurring over or under Moruroa and a smaller atoll to the south, Fangataufa.

  “When we reach the area, we will film and document the recovery and profligacy of marine life in the lagoon and closest proximate reefs. We will sample seawater, algae, a wide variety of fish and other marine organisms including shellfish, mollusks, sea urchins and coral. A large portion will be sent to Paris for radionuclide testing. We hope to prove”—Marty stifled a yawn—“insert language from proposal here.”

  Satisfied, Marty switched off the recorder, then heard a commotion from the cockpit that convinced him to get out of his bunk. As Marty approached the door, he shook his head—the student he thought of privately as High-Maintenance Bill was frantically questioning Mike and Alice.

  “How high up are we? How far have we gone? How far can this plane go? Do we have enough fuel?”

  Hearing Marty’s approach, a weary Mike turned. “Thank goodness. Captain, can you settle this kiddo down?”

  “Here, Bill,” Marty said, sliding open an overhead cabinet. “This plane is a Grumman HU-16 Albatross. Holds ten passengers and has enough fuel for over two thousand miles.” He pulled out a manual as thick as a phone book and plunked it down into Bill’s unresisting arms.

  “But how—”

  “Listen, Bill, I’ve been flying for over ten years. Mike and Alice here likewise. You’re in safe hands. You can read those manuals from cover to cover and if you still have any questions ask me then. Right now, go double-check your scuba gear. It’s going to be a full morning.”

  Bill nodded sheepishly and left the cockpit clutching the heavy book to his chest.

  Marty gave Mike a grin. “He won’t be back anytime soon if he’s reading the manuals. Better yet, tell him the answer’s in there and let him find it.”

  Alice chuckled. “You two are something.”

  “Mike. Alice. Go get some shut-eye, I’ll take over now so you will be strong tomorrow when I need you most. It’s clear now.”

  “Roger that, Captain,” Mike said. “I can pilot the Albatross for another eight hours, but it’ll be good to get sleep now. We’re still on a vector to just east of the atoll so the sun won’t be in our eyes as we drop to one thousand meters to look at the island.”

  “Got it, thanks. How’s our timeframe, Alice?”

  “Right on schedule for landing,” Alice said. “I’ll bring you up some breakfast before I hit the sack.”

  “Any chance for some of your conch fritters?”

  She laughed again in response as she and Mike left the cockpit. Ten minutes later Alice brought up prefab rations and lukewarm coffee. Shame, thought Marty. She makes the best damn conch fritters I’ve ever had.

  * * *

  The morning was clear at altitude but with a few scattered clouds below as the Albatross covered the final stretch to Moruroa.

  “Mike, get that smoke canister and rig it for a water drop,” Marty said. “We’ll begin our descent any minute, so get ready to tell me about those surface winds.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.”

  “Out of four to three thousand feet,” Alice called.

  “All right, I’ll level out,” Marty said.

  As the plane descended steadily closer to the atoll, the other three students woke up. Marty heard their excited chatter as they peered through the windows to Moruroa below.

  Marty circled the lagoon from two thousand feet. The air was noticeably warmer and more humid as the plane slowed to 128 knots. As he completed the first curve of the wide spiral descent, he spotted smoke.

  “Mike! I didn’t tell you to drop the canister yet!” he shouted.

  “I didn’t. It’s still in the drop chute.”

  “Marty,” Alice said, her eyes trained on the gray trail, “that smoke’s coming from the island.”

  “Professor,” Kai yelled from the back cabin, “there’s someone down there waving like crazy from the west end of the lagoon!”

  “Great,” Marty mumbled as he eased the hanging throttle forward. Just what we need to interrupt our research—some crazy lost tourist.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Dolphin

  After an easy swim to the surface she breathed in the clean sea breeze smell she loved so much, cradled and calmed by the ocean around her. She added air to her buoyancy compensator that acted like an inflatable life vest. Jennifer followed her plan using the compass on her wrist, heading southeast for the large opening in the reef on Moruroa’s northwest side.

  In the superior morning light, she calculated the distance to Moruroa to be about seven miles to the reef opening. It would be another one and a half miles to her target landing site inside the lagoon on the northeastern section of the island.

  The sub-cap had been programmed to bury itself in the thick mud on the ocean bottom. It was her only link with the past. She must forget the past and live in the new world under cover for the rest of her life as a person with amnesia. Any news of time travel in the historical record could endanger the missi
on of her forty-nine colleagues to save humanity. The Syndos must never learn she was here, out of time.

  Bittersweet joy suffused her. The trans-time machine worked. If Zexton could only have realized his dream to see it work.

  After Zexton won the Nobel Prize in Physics he was elected to head the SS. Then the Syndos became dominant politically and passed a law to restrict humans in the Australian Astronaut Core and in all intelligence agencies, and Zexton responded by secretly inventing Trans-Time One. While the engineers struggled to make his theory into hardware, Zexton led protests and boycotts. Five years ago, he’d been assassinated during a protest rally in Canberra.

  Her heart broke that day.

  The engineers and scientists completed the gargantuan project with minimal outside assistance after his death, while Jennifer oversaw the project in his name. She’d been determined to see his dream reach fruition.

  Keenly she felt the pain of being alone with no one to share her experiences; she would have to start life all over again. Could she shed the burdens of the past? She contemplated so much at once her thoughts became blurred.

  Jennifer crawled onto the atoll’s warm beach, then removed her mask, flippers, and survival kit. Her blue eyes matched the clear, pristine ocean endlessly stretching before her. The gentle sea-breeze tossed her long blonde hair and the rhythmical waves lapped her bare feet.

  Is this the twenty-first century—or is this my purgatory for abandoning the others?

  She shook her head briskly. She was a scientist, top-ranked in multiple fields of archaeology, nautical engineering, and history due to her aptitude for (and love of!) the advanced education practices she’d undertaken for much of her life. She would not let doubts and guilt swallow her now. As a scientist, she firmly directed herself, the important thing was to review everything she could recall prior to arriving on Moruroa. She needed to keep her mind active.