TROPHY

by Paul M. Schofield

  “I am sorry to be so gloomy – it's not like me to be this way. But when I realize we have only one generation left, perhaps two with great fortune, I am overwhelmed. Plus the fact that only ten of us know what the truth is. If even a hint of this leaked to the general populace the very existence of the Empire would be jeopardized. What do we do now?” Guardian III said, turning and looking into the aged face of the tall woman beside her.

  “I see a glimmer of hope, though at present I have no substantial facts to back up my thinking. My feelings tell me that somehow Franelli is the key to our great puzzle. I have considered so many other possibilities, but my thoughts and hopes keep circling back to him. It is imperative that he be captured alive and brought back to CENTRAL. If he truly has an understanding of the Keyhole, if it is a conduit through time as he once said so many years ago, he must be persuaded to help us. If we cannot convince him, he must be forced to cooperate, though I would be loath to do so. The Star-Commander is aware of our request for his capture and is committing as many resources as possible to accomplish the task.”

  “You encourage me, although I have serious doubts about Franelli. Guardian V will likely agree with you concerning him. The others will probably agree with me. I remember him as being unpredictable and difficult to read. Will he ever want to help us? I am willing, of course, to see what help he can provide, but I cannot place much hope in that solution yet.”

  They were silent as they descended a group of steep switchbacks that led to the edge of a shimmering emerald pool, twenty meters below the top of the cascading waters surging down the uneven layers of sedimentary rock. Rainbows glinted in the mist as the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees. The fragrance of wildflowers mixed with the earthen smell of rock, moss, and clamorous falling water.

  “It is so beautiful here, this is one of my favorite locations,” Guardian I said, gazing with renewed wonder at the familiar scene. “And now there is similar beauty throughout the whole earth. We have accomplished much, haven't we, my friend?”

  “Indeed we have, indeed we have.” Guardian III paused, and then with a troubled face, turned to her friend. “But will there be anyone at all to enjoy our beautiful planet after our grandchildren have lived out their lives?”

  **********

  Earth Date: November 1, 1975, Ancient Calendar

  Location: En route to Earth from the Kuiper Belt

  Tommie was the first to awaken. His long dreamless nap was over and he was hungry. He wanted attention. Still strapped in, the only thing he could do was meow which he did again and again until Estelle started to move, roused from deep sleep.

  The sound of Tommie’s meowing triggered a bizarre waking dream involving Tommie and countless ships and cats, all floating above a vast green plain. Tommie was meowing, as if pleading with Estelle to play, but she couldn’t answer or move, only watch and listen. The other cats and ships slowly faded until it was only Tommie, still meowing.

  Slowly, Estelle woke up and realized Tommie indeed wanted her attention. She was happy he was there, then pity, realizing he had been strapped in a long time and was hungry. She scratched his furry head while loosening his restraints and told him to be patient, there were other things she had to do first. Tommie purred and blinked as if to say he understood.

  Estelle looked at her controls, all readings looked normal, not erratic. She continued scanning computer functions looking for abnormalities. She found none. She was switching to the COM System when her eyes caught a sub-program display saying “System Error”. A sub-program wouldn’t be vital to the ship’s immediate safety, but she was curious. She punched into Terran’s console and woke him up. “All systems fully functioning. But one sub-program is erratic. You might want to check it out.”

  “Which one?” he said, still half asleep.

  “The program base date. The one that tells us the date.”

  “What does it say?”

  “November 1, 1975, in the Ancient Calendar. That is ninety years before the New Beginning, four hundred and seventy five years ago. How can this be correct? What does it mean?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he awakened more. “That’s exactly what I expected. That subprogram always shifts when we travel through the Keyhole. I will correct it, it's nothing to worry about.”

  “Thanks, Terran, I’m glad it's nothing serious.”

  Terran didn’t say anything more and Estelle didn’t ask. She contemplated his explanation. It seemed reasonable, but she still had questions. If we traveled through the Keyhole, then where are we, and can we travel safely back? Why did we come here? Does the rest of the crew understand our situation? Why would only the date sub-program be affected? She had many questions but she knew there would be few answers. When you work for Galen Bestmarke, you do what you're told and don't ask questions. She knew this when she took the job. She would be patient and try to out the questions herself. She checked the subprogram again, it was reading today’s date, and it had already been corrected.

  Putting it out of her mind she turned to more immediate matters. “Okay, Tommie, let’s get you out of that harness and feed you something.” Tommie just looked at her and blinked, continuing to meow.

  Chapter VII

  “I’ll be glad when these g-forces subside,” Galen said, confined to his gravity seat while the engines were accelerating. “Are the inertia dampers working as they should? I don’t remember it being so oppressive the last time we came back.” He tugged at the collar of his jacket. “Have you checked with Louis?” He looked over at Terran in his gravity seat, his eyes closed.

  Terran turned his head, opening his eyes. “It's the same, it hasn’t changed. Louis says all the systems are working perfectly. Last time was our first trip back. You were excited and didn’t notice the discomfort. Soon the engines will shut down and we'll have standard gravity during the coasting mode.” He turned his head back, shut his eyes, and continued to speak. “With the power of these Zenkati engines it is a wonder that Louis has come up with a design to keep us alive and not be crushed. If you want speed, there has to be some discomfort. The fact that we can make the trip in about thirty days is a testament to the man’s genius. No ship in the Empire can even come close to that speed.” He hoped that would stifle his brother’s constant complaining.

  Galen thought of his first impression of Louis Franelli. He remembered a tall, thin man with droning speech and intense, merciless eyes. Louis's ordinary looks mocked his brilliance – a perfect disguise. Louis's intelligence was legendary to those who cared about cutting-edge research. Galen cared. He schemed to somehow attract Louis away from CENTRAL. His chance finally came. In a tip he learned that Louis had been banned from research work at CENTRAL and was sentenced to a prison term. He didn’t know the details but the Compu-Court was firm in its decision. His informant had also told him that a Victorian Cruiser would transport Louis and other prisoners to the Rehabilitation Institute at Luna One.

  Bestmarke cloaked his ship and followed the unsuspecting Cruiser. Halfway to Luna One, he suddenly decloaked his ship and attacked the Cruiser, targeting its engines. The Cruiser lost its main power and weapons systems. With lightning speed, Bestmarke and his crew boarded the Cruiser, and abducted Louis after an intense laser-rifle battle that left many PCC personnel dead or wounded. Galen's forces suffered only minor injuries. He offered Louis the choice of working for him or being abandoned to his fate. Louis was bitter against the Empire and grudgingly accepted his offer, a position Louis had kept for ten years.

  “I admit, Brother, Louis is a genius. I am reminded every time I pay him,” Galen said. “But when I win the wager with Izax, I will get all of it back, and then some!” With satisfaction he slapped his palms on the armrests of his seat. “He doesn’t think I can complete my collection. I will show that impudent swine a thing or two. Too many times he has beaten me, but not this time!”

  “We owe him a few, don’t we,” Terran said, opening his eyes. “Remember the time he c
heated us out of the shipment of premium Martian burgundy, direct from the slopes of Olympus Mons?”

  “How can I forget, that is my favorite,” Galen said. “And the time he underpaid us for the Laconian Lager from Titan Station?”

  “Yeah, that stuff is good!” Terran put his hands behind his head, reminiscing.

  “Somehow he always cheats us. This time he will pay and we will have the last laugh.”

  “Revenge will be sweet,” Terran said and paused. “And yet, we don't want to anger him too much. He is a powerful man with many friends, some even within the Empire itself. That could be useful some day.”

  “You always have to be so practical, don’t you. You are absolutely correct, though, so we'll anger him just enough to annoy him. We don't want to burn any bridges behind us, that is, unless Izax is standing on one of them. I'll try to control my gloating when it becomes time.”

  The COM snapped on with Louis announcing engine shut-off in ten seconds. “Standard gravity will soon be restored.”

  Terran stretched, happy to be free of the oppressive heavy gravity. He stood up to walk around. “Estelle was the first to awaken. She noticed the date change before I could mask it. I told her the date subprogram always shifts when we travel through the Keyhole. She accepted my explanation without any more questions.”

  “Good. She has always kept to herself and her cat, not socializing with the rest of the crew.” Galen also started to move about, stretching his muscles. “As long as you corrected the date, we won't worry about her unless she starts asking more questions.”

  **********

  Earth Date: December 5, 1975, Ancient Calendar

  Location: Earth, geosynchronous orbit

  “You will essentially be invisible to their primitive radar detection system,” Louis said, standing at the controls in the space-plane port. “The space-plane will still be visible to the eyes, so fly in and leave during darkness. The ground cloak will hide you during daylight. It doesn’t use much power.”

  “Thank you, Louis,” Terran said, standing beside him, arms folded across his chest. “Galen has given you control of the ship until we return. Hopefully that will be in two days, three at the most. The expedition gear is stowed and ready. The preservation chambers are in stand-by mode, ready for use. If you have any problems or questions, contact me. I will do the same. At all times I will be staying in the space-plane. Only my brother will be hunting.”

  Galen could be heard slapping the walls of the corridor as he walked noisily to the space-plane port. He was obviously in high spirits and anxious to depart. He grinned at Louis and slapped him on the back. “It's about time things were ready. You probably wish you could come along, too, don’t you, Louis? Though I doubt you could stand to have so much fun!”

  “Don’t worry about me, boss,” Louis said. “Just remember the instructions I gave you for the chambers.”

  Louis watched patiently while the two brothers finished loading the tiny space-plane. Standing behind the thick window in the control room, he depleted the atmosphere and artificial gravity in the port, and opened the main doors to space. The extension arm moved the space-plane out through the doors and released it into the deft hands of Terran, sitting in the pilot’s seat. They moved away from the massive cloaked ship and powered up their chemical engine. Picking up speed and arcing away they aimed for Earth’s upper atmosphere. Their scorching descent to the lower atmosphere led them to their final destination, the rugged, snow covered mountains of Southwestern Montana, North American Continent.

  Chapter VIII

  Earth Date: December 5, 1975, Ancient Calendar

  Location: Gallatin Range, Southwest Montana, U.S.A.

  Terran Bestmarke brought the space-plane in and hovered over the snow clad meadow on the eastern face of the mountains, close to Windy Pass. With a muffled roaring of the exhaust, he lowered it straight down to a landing at the meadow’s edge near a stand of tall fir trees. Shutting down the engine, he engaged the ground cloak. The ship took on the appearance of a large snowdrift, completely concealed. For a moment he and Galen listened to the wind breathing through the fir trees, scattering the dry, finely grained snow that stung against the hull of their small ship.

  “It's cold out there,” Terran said. “Minus twenty degrees Celsius. I'll be happy to stay in the ship. You can do the walking.”

  “That's your choice, brother. For me, I can't wait. This is what life is all about. The thrill of the hunt is matching wits against a wise and subtle animal in its own environment. It makes the blood course through my veins. This is the way a man is meant to live, not controlled and emasculated,” he said, his purple tinged eyes flashing, his gold rimmed teeth glowing softly as he turned his thick lips upward into a greedy smile. “This is what I live for.”

  “Well, what I live for is a good night’s sleep,” Terran said. “I suggest we get some. The morning will soon be here and it will still be dark and cold.”

  **********

  Earth Date: December 6, 1975, Ancient Calendar

  Location: Gallatin Range, Portal Creek Drainage

  The stars were still shining as Martin Bucklann locked the cabin door and carried his thermos of coffee and lunch to the old truck, rumbling at low idle in the crisp mountain air. The exhaust hung around the truck in layers, sweetly acrid, reminiscent of other early morning starts. Five degrees Fahrenheit and no wind. Perfect. The Constellation, Orion the Hunter, was slipping behind the western mountains as the stars Arcturus and Spica were rising in the east. It was time for another hunter. Martin slid onto the cold seat of the truck. The deep-lugged tires squeaked in the powdery snow as he turned the steering wheel and shifted the old 4x4 pickup into gear, heading down the snow-packed road west of the cabin to the main highway by the river. It was only a ten minute ride along the Gallatin before he reached the Portal Creek turn-off that loomed up abruptly in the darkness. Turning up the untracked road, his headlights seemed feeble among the towering firs that guarded the entrance to the narrow canyon. The firs gave way to large open rock slides bordered by Engelmann spruce and quaking aspens, leafless and spindly, invisible in the dark. The narrow road became steeper and more snow bound, forcing him to chain-up the struggling truck. He reached the upper meadow and stopped the truck. He climbed out, breathed in the faint refreshing scent of the conifers, and looked around, allowing his eyes to adapt to the darkness. The starlight-illuminated snow gradually became brighter, but the trees remained an impenetrable black wall, their dark tops silhouetted against the night sky like a jagged picket fence, back-lit by diamond dust. It was quiet and still except for the squeak of his boots in the dry snow, and the faint ticking of the hot engine as it cooled.

  Windy Pass was to the northeast of him, faintly discernible as a treeless dip between the mountainous ridges on either side. As he looked in that direction he noticed a small, bright point of light, like a star, but much brighter, as if coming from the pass. It faded in a few seconds and was gone. Martin passed it off as a hunter’s flashlight or a meteor just above the pass.

  He remembered mornings like this when he was a teenager, hunting with his father. He was happy then. But now, standing in the snow under the bright starlight, a wave of sadness swept through him, ripping open the empty place in his heart he kept tightly closed. He missed his father so much. Memories washed over him like a gentle snowfall, clear memories not yet dimmed with age. Pleasant memories of good times long past, but always followed by a perpetual and unshakable sadness.

  Seventeen long years ago his father had disappeared on opening day of hunting season. Martin was sick and did not go with him – something Martin had always regretted. Searchers found his father’s truck intact and parked where he had left it. But no trace of his father was found. Even human remains discovered the next summer were unidentifiable, and just intensified the lingering doubt.

  The common thread in all the months since his disappearance were three empty cartridge casings, two of which were found days later, a
nd a third one the next summer, close to the human remains. He still questioned their bright metal construction. Casings were usually made of brass but these were foreign to him with different, odd-shaped primers. The metal was like stainless steel but with rainbow colors shimmering on the surface, ever changing like sunlight reflecting from an oil film on still water.

  The searching had continued for Martin. He feared what he would find in the end, yet he knew he had to discover the truth to fully realize his pain, to find closure in his mind and heart. Now, standing in the snow, his spirit was weary again. He climbed back into the truck for one more cup of coffee before he began his hunt.

  **********

  “Do you want any of this coffee, Terran?” Galen said as he finished his breakfast in the tiny galley of the space-plane. The aroma of sausage and toast lingered in the stuffy cabin air.

  “No. It's too early for anything but sleep. You're crazy to go out now. It's cold and dark. Hurry up and leave so I can have some peace!” Terran said, hiding his head under the blanket.

  “You're jealous,” Galen said. “You won't have any fun sitting in this plane all day. Come with me.”

  “You're crazy,” was the muffled reply.

  “At least have the preservation chambers ready. I feel lucky today.”

  “I will,” Terran said. He uncovered his face and looked up at Galen. “Take a laser-rifle and an infra-red scanner with you. You could easily find what you are looking for and quickly be done with it. Then we could leave this frigid place.”

  “It's not as cold as space,” Galen said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, you know I am a sportsman. My equipment is a projectile weapon, a rifle, the same as the hunters of this time era. That makes the hunt more challenging. All that other stuff would attract attention if someone saw me. Some of those things have not even been invented yet.”