The Quintessence of Quick (The Jack Mason Saga)

by Stan Hayes

  All three of them absorbed this news without comment. Jack was the first to recover, saying, “Goddam, you never told me that.”

  “No, I never did. I would’ve, if I knew that you’d taken it off.”

  “Well, believe me, mine’s never coming off,” Linda said eyes wide at the implication of what Nick had told him. “But you’ve got to be around to make it work, right?”

  “I, or someone like me. The simple answer is yes. Pete.”

  A few seconds passed while Pete put his deliberation on the events of the past few hours on hold, after which he spoke as if he’d been shot. “Yes.”

  “Please don’t ask why; you’ve trusted me this far. In a couple of minutes you’ll see what looks like a large ILS display out in front of the windshield. When you do, slow to 120 knots and drop your gear and flaps. Then just keep the needles centered until you feel the controls being taken over. When that happens, and there’ll be no mistaking the feeling, shut the engines down. We’ll be going aboard what looks like the hangar deck of an aircraft carrier; just larger.”

  Pete knew that search and rescue aircraft were likely combing the Gulf for them, and that Nick’s implicit offer was their best, and maybe only, chance to stay alive. He couldn’t conceive, as yet, of the magnitude of the monstrous events of yesterday, but he knew enough about the sort of people he and Linda had been working for to have a pretty good idea that they were now on the expendable list. Besides that lethal umbrella, they’d brought aboard three very businesslike Mauser 7.62 mm autoloaders, all fitted with large well-crafted silencers. Not the kind of weapons to be issued to a Presidential security detail. They, the umbrella and the golf bags were all destined for the Gulf, once we passed the 100-fathom line. So I’ve got Linda back, and maybe we can hang on to the plane, thanks to Nick, Jack and whatever the hell we’re headed into, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let the words “flying saucer” pass my lips.

  Not more than a minute went by before he saw it. The horizontal bar of the giant Instrument Landing System display was centered, the vertical tending to port. Reducing power, Pete made the correction that it indicated, simultaneously calling for gear and flaps down, which Linda handled as she always had. As his airspeed bled down, the previously crystal-clear night was obscured by heavy fog; the ILS display, however, stayed clear. Moments later, both the yoke and rudder pedals turned to stone. Pete reached overhead for throttles, pulled them back to idle, did the same for the mixture levers, switched off the ignition on both engines and feathered the propellers. Almost immediately, the cockpit was bathed with yellow light as a large door opened up to receive them. Nick hadn’t exaggerated about the size of the space in which they found themselves; hell, Pete thought, this could hold TWO friggin’ Hindenburgs. They floated in midair, 10 or 12 feet above the surface, upon which stood a tall, slender man in a form-fitting coverall. Goddam, Pete thought, if it’s not fuckin’ Klaatu...

  Pete opened the plane’s rear hatch, doing his best to block Linda’s and Jack’s view of the three assassins’ corpses. Seeing what he was trying to do, Nick said, “Don’t worry; they’ll be taken care of. Give me a minute before you come out, will you?” Stepping onto the ship’s floor, he exchanged jovial greetings with the tall man, turned and motioned for the trio to join them. “Commander,” he said, “This is Linda, Pete and Jack, all pilots and all-around good people.”

  “Welcome, good people,” the Commander said in a sort of midwestern baritone. Linda extended her hand, which he took, then Pete’s and Jack’s. They would learn that he spoke, or projected, 20th Century English through a translation device that served the crew in speaking to occupants of whatever region of the space-time-gravity continuum in which the ship happened to be. Fourth-millennium English, spoken by virtually every current inhabitant of Greater Earth, would sound stranger than Geoffrey Chaucer to someone from the 20th century.

  “I took the liberty of arranging the Commander’s hospitality some time ago,” Nick told them. “We met at an early stage of my own meanderings, and we’ve spent many a pleasant hour discussing events that’ve taken place over the years between my birthday and his, and their implications. Whether you can traverse it or not, a millennium’s still a millennium, and we’ve become fast friends in the process of appreciating that fact. When I told him that friends of mine from the second millennium would soon be in need of sanctuary, he was happy to provide it. That’s why we’re here, aboard this early-fourth-millennium temporal cruiser, that in the parlance of the times is irreverently called a ‘gravity scow.’ Inelegant, maybe, but accurate. These ships are powered by a gravity differential engine that can move their mass at incredible speed, particularly in the eyes of the people of the 20th century in whom everyone has so much interest.”

  The Scow, as its guests came to refer to it, was populated by comparatively few recognizable humans, and those, Nick assured them, differed in more ways from 20th-century people then they were alike. The rest of the crew confirmed the image made famous in post-World War II science fiction; small, gray, leathery, with large ovoid heads, spidery hands and opaque black eyes. They were adept communicators at the telepathic level, never opening their vestigial mouths more than a fraction of an inch, these micro-expressions seeming to be part of their communication capability between themselves. They would learn in time that the “Greys” were manufactured to order, then trained intensively as specialists for duty in the Fleet.

  They toured the ship without walking to its various parts, these locations seeming to coalesce around them while they stood still. There were gauges at various control stations that were marked in both current English and what appeared to be the hieroglyphic-like markings that had showed up from time to time in locations where UFOs had been seen to land or crash. These were, Nick told them, an obsolescent glyph system that was designed to allow the early Greys to assimilate instructions more quickly. K2 invited them to walk forward toward the bow, which turned transparent before their eyes, showing the ship to have climbed well into the stratosphere without having betrayed any sense of motion whatever.

  “I asked K2 to call another mutual friend of ours that I thought you’d like to meet,” Nick said, his eye-twinkle on high beam. “Another amulet-wearer who had a bit rougher time then you did, Linda. Looking at K2, he said, “Will he come up, or should we go down into the living spaces to see our friend?” They immediately found themselves in a stateroom occupied by a husky man of medium height, wearing the flowing robes of a desert-dweller. Sensing their presence, he turned to face them; his hair and beard, dark brown and of medium length, surrounded a prominent nose and brown eyes that left no doubt of the intelligence behind them. He nodded affably and waited for his visitors to make the next move. “Do you think you might have seen this man before somewhere?” Nick asked them.

  “I don’t think so,” Linda volunteered. “I think I would remember this man.”

  “It was a trick question,” Nick said. Raising his arm to shoulder height in the bearded man’s direction, his smile broadened as he said, “Lady and gentlemen, I have the honor of presenting Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “Call me Naz,” Jesus said, extending his hand to Linda, his smile turning her knees to jelly.

  Leaving Linda and Naz to compare their experience as, in Nick’s parlance, “resuscitants,” K2 and his guests returned to the Scow’s transparent bow area. K2 then excused himself, noting that breakfast could be served whenever they’d like it. They sat in deep, cradling chairs that had been arranged in a shallow semicircle. “Since we’re still by way of being new acquaintances, Pete,” Nick said, “I thought it might be good for you and Jack and me to chat a little, unless you’re too tired.”

  “Of course I’m tired, but I’m a hell of a lot more curious. You and Jack, I take it, are old pals...”

  “More than that. I’m his direct descendent, from quite a ways down the road.”

  “And how far ‘down the road’ are we talking about?”

  “Couple of thousand ye
ars, give or take.”

  Pete looked at Jack, curiosity, hostility and love taking their turns occupying his face. “I didn’t think that you and I had any secrets from each other, buddy.”

  Jack, distraught, slapped the arms of his chair. “I’m sorry, Pete. I would’ve liked to have told you before, but I was afraid that you’d just think that it was just me being nuts. You remember that tendency runs in my family. And we haven’t had all that much private time since the day you flew out of Bisque. Now that I think of it, you took your time filling me in on who you are.”

  “You were a kid! What the hell good would it have done for you to have known about my past before I told you?”

  “Not much; matter of fact, I’m glad you didn’t. But I’ll ask you the same question.”

  “Don’t you think the circumstances are a little goddam different? My secrets seem pretty penny-ante- Earth-bound, you might say- and yours put us in a friggin’ spaceship, time machine- what is this thing, anyway?” Pete was looking at Nick as he said this.

  “When it was first launched in 3106, it was called a Galaxy Cruiser. And that’s what it was designed to do, cruise the galaxy to the extent of its capabilities. It’s large, probably the largest ever made, in order to hold the personnel, equipment, supplies and foodstuffs to allow it to make what were then incredibly long voyages between solar systems, while traveling at a healthy fraction of the speed of light.”

  Pete’s patience, as well as his stamina, was wearing thin. “Well, Nick, we’re a long way from 3106. What’d your pals do, take a wrong turn?”

  “Not these guys. They’re from a couple of decades later. The first cruiser to go back in time, though, had no idea what turn they were taking. After literally hundreds of years of work, and the loss of a number of smaller craft, a highly experienced, all-volunteer crew made the first time-portal entry by a Fleet Galactic Unit. Imagine what that commander felt like when he realized he’d slipped anchor and was adrift in time, with no definite point of reference. Not unlike Columbus, except Columbus, given supplies, could retrace his steps. In the case of the FGU, the portal had closed, which left the Commander no choice but to try to determine his position in time and space, and trust that the portal would be reopened and a recovery unit launched to give them a vector back home. In time, they were rescued, the portal structure was strengthened, and hardware like this, thanks to massive “black hole” portal propagation, began circulating freely in this corner of spacetime.”

  “Nick told me once,” Jack said, “that all of the UFOs that have been seen, or experienced, throughout human history have all been flown by humans from some more or less advanced point in spacetime.”

  Pete snickered derisively. “So these little gray rascals running around here aren’t aliens but- what? Space niggers that they made, instead of captured?”

  Nick laughed, a full-scale hooting staccato that had him as nearly out of control as Jack had ever seen him. “That’s good! I might not have chosen those exact words, but you nailed the gist of- what shall we call it? The Little Gray Space-Nigger Program? I knew Jack had picked up a lot from you over the years, but you’re obviously the master of the provocative epigram. They’re robots, Peter- a little fancy, maybe, but robots, pure and simple. You’ll be seeing plenty of them, large and small, in your lifetime.”

  “Plenty of what?” said a familiar voice behind them. Linda and Naz, arm in arm, moved into their field of view; then came K2. “God,” she said, then “no pun intended,” with a girlish giggle, “what an incredible view.”

  “Heaven and Earth at your feet,” said K2. “Breakfast is ready.”

  If they weren’t exactly getting used to new compartments suddenly surrounding them, then at least the shock was wearing off. As they sat down to a broad metallic table that appeared to have sprung up out of the ship’s decking, two greys brought large white plates filled with what appeared to be omelettes, thick boneless pork chops and hot rolls. Standing at the head of the table, K2 said, “Our great Teacher tells me that you call him Nick. With your permission, Learned One, I’ll do the same.”

  “Please do, Commander. To that point, my associates have taken to referring to you as K2 among themselves, after a character in popular 20th-century film who was himself the Commander of an interstellar craft. Would you object to their addressing you as K2?”

  “K2. Yes, if you like. We want our guests to feel as comfortable as possible. K2. Perhaps it will be my- uh- nom de guerre in future operations.”

  They sat, K2 at the head of the table, Nick at the other end. Linda at K2’s left hand, Naz not about to give up the seat next to her. Pete on K2’s right hand, Jack next to him, facing Naz. This guy is something, Jack thought. Those flared nostrils just sucking up Linda’s essence. And after everything else that’s happened, I’m having no trouble at all thinking of him as Jesus. Jesus! Let’s see if he eats that pork, if that’s what it is. “Excuse me, K2.”

  “Yes, Jack?”

  “This looks like a really great breakfast. Are these pork chops?”

  “They’ll certainly taste like it. I’ll be interested to see if you agree. You do eat pork?”

  “Oh, yes sir. Indeed I do. But these aren’t pork? They certainly look like it, and goodness knows they smell like it. What are they, then?”

  “Vegetable protein, herbs and spices. Our galley staff can mix and shape the basic ingredients to look like any meat product that you might desire. Nick tells us that pork is one of your customary breakfast meats, so we thought you’d enjoy it.”

  Linda had already cut off a piece and popped it into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed and said, “that may be the tastiest pork chop I’ve ever tasted. Your cook certainly knows how to keep them tender. They’re awful when they’re overcooked. How do you like it, Naz?”

  “Linda-” Shit, Jack thought, he’s got a special nostril-flare for saying her name... “the food is always wonderful aboard this mighty ship. After you’ve rested, you’ll enjoy it even more.”

  “You’re right about that, Naz,” Pete said. “We’ll probably go comatose the minute we’ve finished. K2, this really is a first-class breakfast. We appreciate your hospitality way more than any of us can say.”

  “It is distinctly our pleasure, Pete. You and Linda- and, in his way, Jack- became historical figures today. You have been, for over a thousand years, just as Naz- I call him that because he’s asked us to- has been for more than three thousand. And you have something very great in common; our great Teacher, who now prefers to be called Nick. He brought you back to life today, Linda, just as he resurrected Jesus Christ- forgive me, Naz- quite some time ago.”

  Jack interrupted K2 in spite of himself. “Nick. Don’t tell me you slipped him a MiniFlx. When?”

  Nick smiled. “The functional equivalent, anyway; something he could swallow, which had the added benefit of an intense local anesthetic. Gave it to him in the Garden, just before his arrest. Made being crucified quite bearable, n’est pas, Naz?”

  “Oh yes, quite,” Naz replied with yet another captivating smile. “I had to use all of my humble skills as a thespian to react to what those bastards did- uh, thought they were doing- to me.”

  “All of us at this table are in Nick’s debt,” K2 continued, “though possibly none quite so much as Naz. What he might have to say about all this, I must leave up to him, but in fairness to those of you who just came aboard, even that should wait until you’ve rested. Your compartments are ready; I believe that you’ll sleep well, but should you need anything at all, just say ‘K2’- a normal tone of voice will be all that’s necessary- and I’ll see that it’s provided.”

  Jack sat at Chez Mose under a canopy of stars, his thoughts ricocheting in rapid succession between wonder, relief and isolation. His desire to get back to Florida in time to reach Roosevelt Roads before his leave expired had been addressed by K2, directly and spectacularly, by making one of the Scow’s scout ships available, flown expertly by none other than his older, greater self
, first called Flx, then Nick. As soon as they were alone in the scout ship, the Jack of the Fifth Millennium suggested that from now on he call him by his 43rd century nom de guerre.

  “Oh, shit, another name? And that would be?” Jack asked him.

  “My third, where you’re concerned, and last. It’s Gil.”

  “Gil?”

  “Short for Gilgamesh. You remember him. The people in my program thought it was quite apt.”

  Recovering, Jack’s slackening jaw snapped shut. He said, “Sure I do. Babylonian, or was it Sumerian? The much-traveled, centuries-old star of the Gilgamesh Saga. You’ve been a busy boy; Flx, Nick and now Gil. Hell, you could be telling us to call you Father, Son and Holy Ghost. How much history do you suppose’s been rewritten because of your showing up here, there and everywhere? And as long as the subject’s come up, to what end and to whose benefit?”

  “With any luck, to everyone’s. Candidly, it’s too soon to tell. Even I have to pick my spots, or I’dve just scrubbed the entire JFK assassination plot.”

  “Well, at least you started at the top, at least to most of Western civilization’s satisfaction. I can’t bring myself, even as an Athiest, to bitch about playing second fiddle to Jesus.”

  “Buddy, the more water goes over the dam, the more you’ll appreciate my choice of first assignment, particularly as an Atheist.”

  Gil brought the scout ship down over the lake, hovering soundlessly beside the shooting stand. Opening the ship’s hatch, he said, “I’ll scoot for the moment; you need to catch up on your sleep.”

  “I’ll give it a shot, but it won’t be easy knowing that you guys’re cruising in the Scow. And when did you learn to fly this damn thing, anyway?”

  “Oh, it’s been some time. You’ll pick it up in no time at all. Maybe on your next visit.” Gil paused, then said, “You know that my love for Linda and Pete’s just a superset of your own, don’t you? After all, it’s why I came back to meddle in your lives. So don’t envy your pals having some well-deserved fun. We’ll be together, in one form or another, for, well- quite some time. I’ll be in touch. Sweet dreams, Junior.” As soon as Jack’s feet hit the raft, the ship rose, hovered for an instant, and retraced its vertical path to invisibility. Still in a bit of a daze, he thought, well, that’s appropriate; Flx, Nick and Gil, my own little trinity.