Linkage (The Narrows of Time Series Book 1)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Then again, perhaps the duplicate reactor existed solely for profit. It wasn’t a total stretch to think Kleezebee’s men could’ve been sponging off Lucas and Drew’s hard work, pilfering their revolutionary ideas to line the professor’s pockets. He didn’t want to believe it, but it was possible. At this point, he couldn’t discount any explanation, not after all he’d learned recently about his boss.

  “Where is this near duplicate?” Lucas asked.

  “On the seventh floor of the silo,” Kleezebee replied without hesitation.

  “What about Trevor’s control system?” Drew asked Lucas.

  “Shouldn’t be an issue,” Lucas answered. “I have his source code backed up to my cloud storage space. All we need is a cluster of Linux servers and we should be able to recompile and run it.”

  “But aren’t this room and the silo too far apart for the arc to take place?” Drew asked.

  “Actually, we’re close enough if you consider the vastness of space,” Kleezebee said. “Relative to the size of the universe, they’re virtually right on top of each other.”

  “Hmm. I never thought of it that way,” Drew replied. “What do you think, brother?”

  Lucas heard his brother say something, but he really wasn’t listening. He was still trying to figure out why Kleezebee needed a second reactor. Not knowing was eating away at his gut like a swarm of maggots devouring a corpse. He couldn’t stop obsessing about it. He had to know. “Sorry, but I have a question, Professor. Why did you need to build a copy of our reactor?”

  “Sorry, classified.”

  “Wow, really? That’s how you want to spin this?”

  The professor didn’t answer. He only blinked and stared.

  Lucas continued, “You really think government classifications matter now, Professor? With all those energy domes destroying the world? Come on, Drew and I are about as far in the loop as it gets right now, wouldn’t you say? I think we’ve earned the right to know.”

  Kleezebee hesitated for a moment before answering, “You’re right, but knowing the whole truth might be a little hard to accept. Are you sure you’re ready to hear what I have to say? It’ll change your perspective on everything—and I mean everything. Including what you thought you knew about me and your friends and colleagues on our team.”

  Lucas looked at Drew with a rapid heartbeat thumping away in his chest. His brother nodded at him. Lucas turned his eyes to his boss. “We’re sure. Why the second reactor, Professor?”

  “Okay then . . . we’re using it to power a trans-galactic communication system.”

  “A what?” Lucas said, scrunching his face until it hurt. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. The professor must be putting him on.

  “It’s the power source for our subspace transmitter.”

  Lucas held out his hands, shaking his head slowly. “A trans-galactic communication system? Seriously?”

  “Yes. I’m dead serious.”

  “Okay then, who are you using it to communicate with, exactly? Little green men from some distant planet or galaxy?”

  “No. I can assure you, no little green men.”

  “Then who?”

  “My people. Well, our people, actually. We need it to contact them and let them know where we are. We’re ready to go home.”

  “Home? Where?”

  The professor’s face went blank and his lips fell silent, as if he were trying to find the courage to tell someone their parents had just died in a fiery plane crash.

  “Quit stalling, Professor. Tell us,” Lucas snapped.

  “Well, my young friend, it’s a long story.”

  “We’re listening.”

  Kleezebee cleared his throat and sucked in a deep breath before he spoke. “I’m not who you think I am. Nor are any of my people. In a rudimentary sense, our past is your future.”

  “What?”

  “Our journey to Earth started four hundred years from now, in another time and place. One that’s far away from here in both the literal and virtual sense. Let me explain . . .”

  TWENTY-THREE

  April 25, 2411

  Kleezebee turned off the digi-pad containing the final draft of his 1200-page historical manuscript titled “Pathological Absurdity: An Historical Profile of Twentieth Century Politics.” He’d just put the finishing touches on the yearlong project and was ready to transmit it through subspace to his copyeditor Dorrie, back home on Earth. It would be the second hyper-novel he’d published in as many years. He hoped his new exposition would be better received by the critics than the first.

  He leaned back in his easy chair, rubbed his eyes, and then stretched out his arms until he heard the bones in his elbows pop. It was almost time for his duty shift to begin on the bridge, but he felt lethargic and stiff from sitting and reading for so long. He knew he needed to get into the sonic shower to wake himself up, but decided to remain in his chair a few more minutes to enjoy the spectacular view of the galaxy streaming by his quarters at faster-than-light speed. He’d earned the extra break; it had been a grueling six months in deep space. His eyes went into a million-mile stare as the stars sped by in long streaks—a sky full of shooting stars, he thought—a child’s dream.

  He propped his feet up on the leather ottoman with his hands behind his head, then called out to the computer, “Stella? Music, please.”

  “Specify source and volume,” the computer responded.

  “Why break with tradition? Let’s go with Paradise Theatre, track three. Volume ten, as usual.”

  “One moment, Captain.”

  He closed his eyes and sang along to the lyrics when the cabin’s audio system kicked in at full volume. The classic rock ballad dwarfed the hum of the ship’s Quantum Pulse Drive engines, and the deck plating pulsated beneath his fleet-issued boots.

  “Too Much Time on My Hands” was his all-time favorite Styx song, something he liked to play before every duty shift to energize his mind, body, and soul. His fingers tapped along to the thunderous beat as his mind slipped away to bask in the mood-altering rhythm.

  Just a few more minutes, he thought—he didn’t want to leave his sanctuary. Historical writing and his classic rock music were his escapes.

  Kleezebee’s handpicked science crew had just finished an intensive study of a stellar nursery near the fleet’s two outposts in the Neethian System. They were a shade over two hundred light years from home on his newly commissioned starship, the USS Trinity. The ship was performing admirably, despite a few glitches with its revolutionary Quantum Pulse Drive engines, and the occasional problem with the gravity plating on the lower three decks.

  Despite the minor setbacks, it had been a fruitful mission thus far, highlighted by the discovery of a scarlet-colored substance germinating in one of the nebula’s molecular clouds. His team of astrobiologists was still analyzing the gelatinous material, but its bio-mimetic properties were promising. He intended to send a full report to Fleet Operations once they’d run a few more tests to complete their analysis.

  “Stella, music off,” he shouted to his empty cabin. “What’s the exact time?”

  “Seven oh seven a.m.,” the synthesized female voice reported. “Captain, I just received an encrypted communiqué from Admiral Jenkins with Fleet Ops. Would like me to play it?”

  “Yes, pipe it through,” Kleezebee said, moving to his work desk. He sat down and moved a digital picture frame out of the way. He kissed his index finger, then touched it to his wife’s lips, which activated the living 3D holo-cell he’d recorded a year earlier.

  Caroline and their five-year-old son Brett were standing in front of a short brick wall along the north rim of Grand Canyon, both smiling and waving at the camera. The spectacular landscape stretched to the horizon, reaching out to infinity and beyond. The jagged rocks of the canyon were covered in a wild array of purples, reds and oranges, igniting a wash of profound memories in his head.

  Few people appreciated how vibrant the desert could appear, especially w
hen the sun was low on the horizon, showering the national monument with long, brilliant rays of color. It was a glorious day with his family in the stunning surroundings, one he hoped to repeat soon.

  He sighed, wishing he could hug his son and kiss his wife. It had been six months since he’d taken command of the Trinity, and each day since they embarked on this scientific mission seemed to tick by even more slowly than the previous.

  He’d met his wife while waiting outside the chancellor's office during his final year at the New York Science Academy. A whirlwind romance ensued the following day, culminating in their marriage six months later, after he’d earned advanced degrees in both physics and engineering. That same summer, he was recruited by Fleet Operations and rose to the rank of captain in record time—only six years.

  Captain Kleezebee waved his hand over a rectangular niche in the center of his desk, activating three twelve-inch, silver-colored cylinders that rose up out of the recess in a triangular formation. Once fully extended, the multi-spectral emitters powered on, displaying a full-color, 3D representation of an elderly man’s head and shoulders, wearing a red fleet uniform with five silver stars on the collar.

  Admiral Jenkins reminded him of his father: olive-skinned, dark eyes, short in stature, plump, and neatly groomed, with a bulging nose too large for his face. Jenkins always spoke in a deliberate manner, enunciating every word completely, just as his late father had. And this recorded communication was no different.

  “Hello, DL, I hope this message finds you well. I’m pleased to see from your last mission report that you and your newly commissioned crew are meshing well. I look forward to reading your final analysis of the Hawthorne Nebula, which I expect will be riveting. Also, congratulations on receiving Fleet approval to build the first rift-slipping prototype. It’s truly exciting technology, which has everyone here in Fleet Operations acting like school kids before summer break. Keep us apprised as you run the first field test.”

  Kleezebee adjusted his backside in the seat as the Admiral’s message continued playing.

  “I’d rather not have to disrupt your study of the cosmos, but we have a critical situation brewing. Long-range telemetry from the colony on Neethian-3 has detected sudden activity along the Krellian border. Fleet intelligence believes the Krellians may be massing for an all-out invasion. Trinity is the closest ship to that sector, so we’ll need you to change course to investigate and report back what you learn.”

  Kleezebee gulped, while waiting for the rest of the briefing to be delivered. He wasn’t a seasoned battle commander, and if they encountered the Krellian Empire directly, he was sure he’d lose some of his crew.

  Jenkins continued. “Your orders are not to engage unless given no other choice. It’s been twenty-nine years since our last encounter with this ruthless species, so we have to assume they’ve beefed up their capabilities since then. Your ship’s limited armaments would be no match, which is why we’re sending the battle cruiser Challenger to assist. However, she’s three days away, so learn what you can until then, but keep a safe distance on our side of the neutral zone until she arrives. Good luck and Godspeed. Jenkins out.”

  Kleezebee deactivated the vid-screen, then sat back in his chair to contemplate his next move while staring at the photo on his desk. His loving family seemed farther away than they had just minutes before. He held them in his mind for a few moments longer, then let them go. It was time to put sentimentality aside and get to work.

  The fate of the galaxy was now at stake, with his ship and inexperienced crew leading the charge. It wasn’t going to be easy, not when facing a predatory species like the Krellians. Hands down, they were most deadly foe the Earth had ever encountered.

  * * *

  First officer Bruno Benner waited anxiously in the command chair on the bridge of the science vessel Trinity. Captain Kleezebee was on his way from his quarters and was due to arrive any second. He wasn’t sure what to make of the first-time Captain, or the ship’s crew for that matter. Bruno had seen his share of missions during his twenty-year career thus far. Many of them had been filled with wondrous discoveries, as well as bloody, senseless deaths.

  Deep space was an unforgiving place for the uninitiated, and many of his crewmembers were just that. But there was little he could do about it, except work his ass off to train the crew and maintain discipline at all times.

  His job was simple—keep the ship running smoothly and carry out the Captain’s orders to the letter, both of which he’d excelled at thus far in his career. A career that would soon wind down, once he made the decision to transition to civilian life. He’d been thinking long and hard about it for a few months now, feeling his love for the vastness of space starting to wane. Eventually something would trigger his decision to retire, but he didn’t know what that trigger might be.

  His eyes focused on the rush of movement heading his way from the other side of the bridge.

  “Here’s this week’s duty roster, Commander Benner,” a striking female bridge officer said, handing Bruno a six-inch Digi-stick, which resembled a 20th century glow stick, only black, with a pull-tab on the side. Lieutenant Nellis was over six feet tall, with an athlete’s body and long blonde hair held back in a tight bun. High cheekbones framed a small, turned-up nose and piercing blue eyes, making her look more like a runway model than a first-year officer on a ship assigned to exploring the far reaches of the Milky Way Galaxy.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Bruno said, sitting back in the captain’s chair on Deck 1, glancing for a moment to admire the graceful lines of his beautiful underling.

  He knew Nellis would never be interested in him, even if it weren’t against regulations. He was an average-looking guy with little in the way of conversation skills or a sense of humor. Plus he was twenty years her senior—not exactly the recipe for a whirlwind romance. But he could dream, though, as he planned to start work on improving his courting skills, if time permitted down the road.

  A man can only be alone for so long in the universe, he decided, feeling a stab of pain hit his heart. Eventually a man must turn his attention to something more profound and more important than space exploration and duty assignments.

  That’s when it hit him—at that exact moment—right there in the Captain’s chair. He wanted a family of his own, meaning this would be his last fleet assignment. Then he’d file for retirement and begin the grueling search for a wife before his biological clock ran out of steam.

  He knew time would soon ravage his mind and his body, meaning he needed to find that special someone who would have his back no matter what the future brought his way. Someone who could put up with his endless flaws and help him learn to be an attentive father and a better man.

  Bruno exhaled, feeling relieved. He finally had a plan for his future and his legacy. Now he just needed to find the time and the proper words to explain it all to his captain, and then to Fleet Operations.

  “Is there something wrong, sir?” Nellis asked, snapping Bruno out of his thoughts.

  “No, Lieutenant. Just got lost in my thoughts for a second,” Bruno answered her, using the pull-tab on the Digi-stick to slide out a wafer-thin screen. The transparent display lit up to show him the digital roster. Everything was in order. Everything but his social life, that is.

  “Excellent work, as usual, Nellis. Log this into the ship’s computer. Make sure all department heads are notified,” he said, closing the Digi-stick and giving it back to her.

  She nodded and walked back to her duty station to his right, then she straightened her posture, standing at attention when the jump pad’s arrival tone played its customary four-note tune.

  “Captain on the bridge,” she announced to the bridge crew.

  Kleezebee stepped off the jump pad next to the science officer’s duty station, wearing his red and white captain’s uniform with four brass pips on the collar.

  Bruno and the rest of the bridge officers snapped to attention, waiting for Kleezebee to assume command.


  “At ease, everyone,” Kleezebee said.

  Bruno stepped aside, allowing Kleezebee to sit in the captain’s chair.

  “Set course to one-eleven mark three, maximum speed,” Kleezebee said.

  “Sir, that’ll take us directly into Krellian space, across the DMZ,” Bruno replied.

  “You have your orders, Commander.”

  Bruno turned to the helmsman. “Mr. Heller, come about, set course to one-eleven mark three, best speed.”

  The helmsman ran his hands over the navigation console like a concert pianist playing a Bach concerto. “Course laid in, sir.”

  “Time to the border, Mr. Heller?” Kleezebee asked.

  “Eleven minutes, sir.”

  “Shields up. Charge all weapons.”

  Two minutes later, the communications officer said, “Captain, I’m picking up a long-range distress call on one of the lower EM bands.”

  “Source, Mr. Blake?”

  “It’s coming from Colony Three-Five-Nine on Neethian-3.”

  “Alter course, maintain speed,” Kleezebee said.

  Just then, something rocked the ship, sending everyone lunging to the port side. Two of the bridge officers and their chairs toppled to the floor, while sparks flew from one of the unmanned duty stations behind the captain’s chair. The tactical alert siren sounded.

  “Captain, we were just hit by the leading edge of an intense gravimetric shockwave,” Nellis reported.

  “What’s the source of the wave?” Bruno asked her.

  “Colony Three-Five-Nine, sir.”

  “Ship status?” Kleezebee asked.

  “Minor hull breach on decks eleven and twelve—contained—shields holding,” Nellis replied. “We’ve also lost gravity plating in Cargo Bay Four.”

  “Dispatch repair crews,” Bruno ordered.