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Adam’s Journey
The Aliomenti Saga - Book 8
By Alex Albrinck
Copyright (c) 2016 by Alex Albrinck.
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher.
Published by Fabinarium Publications, LLC.
Cover design: Karri Klawiter (http://artbykarri.com)
~~~1~~~
2219 A.D.
Alliance Camp
The Mechanic’s living quarters suggested a man without an obvious pattern of personal organization. Spools of clear fiber optic wires lay upon the floor, partially unrolled. Slabs of silvery metal in varying sizes rested upon a collection of haphazardly placed shelves and working surfaces. Arrays of machines used in the production and shaping of plastics lined the walls, or sat on work surfaces… anywhere, it seemed, the man could find an empty space.
Only a section of his quarter’s space remained cleared. The sleek silvery time machine, in the shape of a tireless ground car, rested inside a roped off area, the space devoid of any of the physical noise so dominant elsewhere.
His trio of guests limped through the detritus, slowed not by injury but by the fear of stepping on something important… or alive. They reached a floating surface near the time machine and set small backpacks on the surface as the Mechanic cheerfully slicked his hand across the surface, slinging pages of handwritten notes to the ground. A few crumbs clung to his hand in the aftermath, and, after careful consideration, he reluctantly rubbed his dirtied hand across the front of his orange bodysuit, seemingly amplifying his notable belly. He ignored the looks of bemusement from his younger-looking guests, his eyes sharp and on task. “Travel bags prepared, then? Angel?”
Angel’s violet eyes showed the usual glinting spark of Energy, but the barely perceptible tightness in her face shouted to her deep concern and nerves of the journey they’d take the next day. She opened the flap atop her backpack and removed the contents with profound caution, her hands trembling as she set each vial and bottle atop the smooth surface. “I know from the videos that I need to bring a combination of a sleeping agent and mild painkiller, into which I’ve mixed the batch of healing nanos prepped to ignore visible external damage and lower priority aches and pains. The videos suggest that I rummaged through my bag to find what I needed, so I’ve prepped another dozen vials which contain nothing.” She offered a nervous smile. “Dad’s memory didn’t offer me much in the way of labels suggesting what might actually be in them, even though he’ll end up right next to me as I rummage through.”
The Mechanic offered a brisk nod. “Makes perfect sense, as he’ll be nearly unconscious. I doubt his eyes will see anything but basic shapes by the time he reaches the time machine.”
Angel returned the nod. “The actual substances I’ve brought will help him sleep and repair the most critical damage; we’ll give him the full complement of healing nanos after my first conversation with… Mr. Stark.”
They all nodded as Angel moved the contents back to her bag and pulled it from the surface. Her older brother, Fil, dropped a similar bag on the surface. His face displayed a mocking sneer after his sister called their father Mr. Stark, but if Angel felt any anger at his facial expression, she hid it well. She, like the others, knew she’d need to be “in character” and use the odd form of address to keep her father from realizing their relationship.
And Fil would do so as well, but in a far more off-putting style. And he’d do so from behind a set of nano-crafted mirrored glasses that hid his easily recognizable ice blue eyes from a man who’d know them instantly.
Fil pushed back a lock of his jet-black hair, pretended to roll up the sleeves of his black bodysuit. He opened his backpack and began removing the contents for review by his peers, like his sister, ensuring he’d not left anything out. He held up the first item, an oddly shaped mask. “Smoke breather.”
“For the mouth breather,” Angel quipped. She gave her brother a playful shoulder into his side.
“You’re funny, sis. But looks aren’t everything.”
The Mechanic smiled, eyes twinkling. “Amusing as the sibling banter is, let’s continue along, shall we? Fil, what are you collecting from the smoke-filled first floor that necessitates this particular mask?”
“Dog, baseball, gloves, Dad’s spare set of glasses.”
“And…?” The Mechanic arched an eyebrow.
“I’d like to propose a change to our plans and leave the murderous freak behind.” His lips went taut.
The Mechanic sighed. “Unacceptable. Detestable he might be, but he has a role to play in this future. You know that.”
Fil grumbled under his breath, removed the mirrored sunglasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, exposing the pain laced through his previously hidden eyes. “Duly noted. Duty calls.” His voice sounded dull and hollow.
“What’s wrong with your nose, Fil?” Angel asked.
“I’m not exactly accustomed to wearing glasses.”
Angel tittered, a melodic sound. “Those glasses are gonna leave a mark.” Her eyes twinkled more brightly than usual as her smile grew. “That might be an improvement.”
Fil feigned a smile, one the group knew he’d offer no one but his sister. His mood had darkened over the past several weeks, putting him better into the character they’d seen in his father’s memory videos, scenes of a young man deeply angered and disturbed about something, and the character they’d seen in the video attributed all of that anger, it seemed, to something about Will. They’d since learned the truth: Fil had unintentionally massacred nearly a sixth of the planet’s population, tricked into his murderous release of anger-infused Energy by a new Assassin. That Assassin had abducted Fil’s wife and young daughter, and had taunted Fil into a series of long-range teleportation hops in his enraged state,
with each hop beginning and ending in a major human population center. By the time Fil reached his family, they were dead, slaughtered on camera as Fil watched, his grief reaching greater depths when he learned of the millions who’d died due to his lack of emotional control.
He’d felt no peace since, and it seemed he’d channeled his guilt into anger at his father, an anger he’d display freely over the next two months.
The only one capable of providing him any temporary sense of happiness was Angel, and she did so through the same type of banter they’d started as children. His strained face produced a forced smile at her quip. “Nothing, not even these silly sunglasses, will ever mar this perfect face.”
“I think you need to fix your mirror.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” Fil glanced at the Mechanic. “The extra space will be completely used up by the items I collect, nary a square cubic centimeter left available. In other words, the only other thing in the universe I could fit inside would be Angel’s sense of humor.”
The Mechanic chuckled again as Fil dropped the breathing mask back inside, zipped up the bag, and pulled it from the surface.
Adam put his bag atop the surface and unzipped the top. Adam looked perhaps a decade older than the siblings, his thinning brown hair suggestive of a man in his early forties. He was in fact the oldest in the assembled group by over three centuries, a fact enforced by an eerie look of ancient wisdom etched into and around his soulful brown eyes. Immortality created odd discontinuities between appearances and reality, though. The Mechanic wasn’t much older than the Stark children and was centuries younger than Adam, but his thick gray hair and notable belly helped him look decades older than all of them.
Adam opened the bag and began removing the contents, his hands shaking as he moved, and voice rattling as he spoke. “Here’s an Energy Eater; I’ll use this once we arrive to clear the cabin before we leave to perform our various tasks inside the house. We really don’t want an unexpected visit from Porthos and the gang.” He held up the second item. “This is the time capsule that we already retrieved but need to put back because time travel is funny.” They all chuckled. They’d returned to the abandoned shell of the Stark house decades earlier and found the device wedged into the still-standing tunnel that Angel would bore through the dirt and rock on their impending trip to the past. Inside were clues to solve their greatest technical challenges in the creation of the time machine resting nearby. Adam frowned, moved his hand around inside the bag, checked the extra pockets, and finally shook his head and slammed his fist on the floating table. “I left the firebomb back in my room.”
The Mechanic nodded. “Glad we checked everything. Teleport it here and we’ll be done.”
Adam shook his head. “I’ll bring it by personally later on, and I’ll do an extra check on the countdown timer before I bring it over.” He offered a faint smile. “And I think the walk will do me some good, help me sleep tonight. I’m clearly not sharp enough right now for this trip.”
They all matched his somber look. They’d planned for the events that would take place tomorrow — most of the action to come after hopping two centuries into the past — for decades. But no amount of planning and preparation could fully eliminate the concern inherent in operating a machine requiring the expenditure of so much energy, a machine that engaged in a literal folding together of two points in the space-time continuum. They weren’t concerned about executing their jobs once they got there, or at least not too deeply concerned.
They were worried about reaching their destination — and getting back.
The Mechanic smiled. “Adam, you can come by whenever you’re ready with the firebomb, but other than that, I think we’re finished here.” He glanced at Angel. “We all need to get some sleep, though I suspect we’ll all struggle. Perhaps we all need a shot of that sleeping agent you’ll give Will tomorrow.”
Angel smiled, and she and Fil left their bags inside the time machine. The visitors then departed. Angel headed off for a final evening with her husband Charlie; she’d live in a large nano-based home with her brother for the duration of Will’s time in the camp, a large structure that Fil ambled toward. His emotions were obvious to a village full of Empaths; he was worried he’d overdo the anger levels, anger his father for all time, and ruin any chance at a future reconciliation… and knew he’d have to go through with everything even so.
Adam walked back to his own home and moved through the exterior wall. The intelligent nanos recognized him; the tiny, floating robot swarm slid around his body as he walked through and reformed behind him, much like the effect of one walking through a waterfall. Had the swarm failed to recognize him, or recognized him as someone not permitted inside, they would retain their shape, blocking entry to his temporary home here in Alliance Camp.
The firebomb was where he’d left it earlier.
Where he’d left it… intentionally.
He deposited the fully tested device into his travel bag and slung it back over his shoulder before moving into his bedroom. No one but him could enter, ensuring his sleep couldn’t be interrupted. But he hadn’t locked this room down due to concern about losing beauty sleep.
He worried about anyone discovering the large bag resting on his bed.
The contents were admittedly strange. A silvery machine occupied the bulk of the bag’s storage space, surrounded by dozens of Energy Eaters and empty bottles. Adam directed small portions of his personal nano swarm inside, padding the empty space and ensuring that none of the items rattled inside the bag.
He picked up a worn leather tome on his nightstand, held it with no small degree of reverence, and set it atop the other materials before zipping the bag shut. He concentrated… and the bag vanished from sight, the small portion of his massive personal nano swarm forming the object obeying his command to turn invisible.
Adam swallowed. It was time. Time to set in motion the first phase of his private mission, one he might not be able to do without detection, one he couldn’t do if the others learned of it.
And if he failed, they’d all cease to exist.
No pressure. Can’t get caught. Can’t fail.
Taking a deep breath, he set out, walking through the crisp evening air back to the Mechanic’s quarters. As an invited guest, the Mechanic’s nano-formed walls allowed him – and his invisible floating bag along with the visible bag on his shoulder – inside. Adam walked to the time machine and set his visible bag on the front seat next to Fil’s, then glanced around. The room was empty, silent. The Mechanic had likely retired for the evening. That helped. Less chance he’d get caught doing what he needed to do next.
No sense taking a chance, though. He’d act like he was doing something else, something related to the immediate and publicly known trip, even as he prepped for his own mission. Plausible deniability, they called it. Acting like he belonged there, doing whatever he needed to do to ensure the successful completion of the mission.
He ran his hands over the smooth exterior surface of the machine, as if testing for any imperfections or holes. He hopped inside and tested the control operating the lid, ensuring that the seal had no gaps. He found the remote—a flat disk with powerful control options—hopped out, and tested the ability to open and close the lid. He put the remote back on the stand mounted to the main cabin dashboard and moved to the rear of the craft, tapped the latch, and watched as the trunk lid opened. He peered inside, leaning inside the space, moving his hands around, as if measuring the space one more time, making sure there was room for—
“What are you doing?”
Adam’s head snapped up and slammed into the top of the trunk. He rubbed the sore spot before backing out of the trunk, blinking away the pain as the Mechanic’s face formed before his watery eyes. “Brought the firebomb and my bag back. Figured I’d do another physical check while I was here. Can’t be too careful, I guess.” He winced. “The machine’s in better shape than me, that’s for sure.”
The Mechanic chuckled. “One more
after the previous thousand shouldn’t matter, and one more before I do another in the morning. We’re all rather… nervous.” He paused. “You’re rather apprehensive about the whole thing, even now.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course.” Adam shrugged. “It’s impossible to not be nervous.”
“Yet you’ve planned the entirety of the operation. Every recent test has succeeded without fail. What could possibly worry you?”
Adam sighed. The throbbing died down just a bit, making the dim light seem less piercing. “What worries me is the fact that I’m the one who planned the operation. And I left the firebomb behind. That doesn’t inspire confidence in me that I’ve not missed another critical detail.”
The Mechanic clapped him on the shoulder. “Angel and Fil both argued against the necessity of a final bag check. You alone of the travelers insisted.” A sly grin formed on the man’s face. “It’s almost as if you wanted to force them to see the criticality of each final check, one last review of every detail.” He arched an eyebrow. “In fact, I suspect you might have left something behind on purpose so they’d be on an even higher state of mental alertness for tomorrow.”
Adam didn’t deny the allegation; it was true, though he had deeper motivation for the ruse of the forgotten item than he’d ever admit. “We’ve got everything now, then.”
“We do.” The Mechanic turned and headed toward his sleeping quarters. “Rest well, Adam. You’ll need it for the events of tomorrow.”
Adam watched as the man vanished through the wall before returning his attention to the cavernous trunk. The invisible bag, trailing him the entirety of his journey, slid into the open space. He pushed it flush against the rear wall, then used the transporting nanos to form a false rear wall, complete with a carpet-like texture and coloring that matched the surrounding interior. A careful onlooker might notice that the space was smaller than it had been previously. But nobody was concerned with the precise cubic footage of the trunk, nor would they notice an issue unless the Assassin didn’t fit. He’d argued to make the trunk space two or three times larger than necessary so Fil didn’t need to waste time carefully folding his unconscious captive inside. The Assassin would fit easily… and Fil wouldn’t know that something else was already in the trunk. Not in the literal heat of the moment.
Adam's Journey (The Aliomenti Saga - Book 8) Page 1