“Colonel?”
“He would've shot me already if that were his intention.”
“Yes, sir.” Malcolm joined O’Brien, removed his headgear and set it at his feet.
“Okay. I’m coming out. Don't...don't move.” The gunman rose sporting an elaborately gilt-scribed Remington sixteen gauge pump. He stepped cautiously around a workbench and strode toward them, head high, shoulders back.
Behind the man, O’Brien caught movement. He peered into the gloom and glimpsed a small child. A hand snatched the boy by the arm and jerked him from sight.
“Turn...turn to the side. Your faces are in shadow.”
They complied and the gunman breathed a sigh of relief. He clicked on the safety and cradled his shotgun against his chest. “Gwyndolin, my dear, you can come out now. Bring the kids too.” He was dressed in dirty, blood stained jeans, a well-worn dark brown leather jacket and a weathered tan Stetson with an array of bird feathers stuck in the crown.
Hesitant, Malcolm glanced at O'Brien before he removed a glove and extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Andy Malcolm from NAORC.”
The old man doffed his hat and shook Malcolm’s hand with firm, abrupt strokes. “It’s my pleasure, Andy Malcolm. I’m Professor Wilhelm Schumer...retired, and my wife, Gwyndolin.” He bowed slightly, revealing a thinning tangle of gray hair, fuller on the sides than on top.
A woman in a heavy maroon overcoat appeared out of the dark. Seven children, eyes darting in fright, clung to her, partially concealed by the coat's heavy sleeves. Unlike Professor Schumer, she was well kept. Her long silver-white tresses were swept back in a neat, rising swirl. Inquisitive, sky-blue eyes gazed curiously at the strangers. Her pale, lightly blushed face was far too youthful for her age, but given the variety of dermal regen products on the market, O'Brien agreed it was nothing unusual.
The professor motioned for the women to join him. "It's okay, my dear."
The woman came to stand beside him.
“This is my beloved wife, Gwyndolin," Professor Schumer took her hand in his. "the joy of my life, our grandchildren, precious dears, and our neighbor’s children.”
O’Brien arched a brow. “Wilhelm John Schumer, Professor emeritus at Berkley?”
The professor had once directed an astronomical anomalies program for the government. Among those connected with the project, and others, it was common knowledge what the Professor was really after, but not to the funders of his outlandish expenditures. Like most students of cutting-edge technologies, O’Brien had discounted Schumer as an ingenious nut.
“Yes. The very same. You know of me?” Professor Schumer shook his head and waved the question aside. “Please tell me you have word of my son?” He brightened as he stepped forward and studied O’Brien more closely.
“I'm acquainted with you indirectly...and no, Professor, I haven’t seen your son. We just arrived yesterday and went straight to NAORC. I’m sorry.”
Professor Schumer’s shoulders drooped. A pensive look darkened his features. “Well, that is to be expected, Colonel O’Brien. My son commands a submarine...that should be safe enough. I’m sure he’ll turn up. It would be just like him to.” He took a deep, quivering breath and straightened. “Do you know who started the war...and...and...my God, I was right. This is an alien ship! And...and you tell me that you arrived in it...and...and...NAORC survived?”
“I’ll fill in the details later, Professor, but yes, NAORC is relatively untouched. Why?”
“I’ve been working with...with someone there.”
“They know you then?”
“Some do.”
A girl of about eight edged around the professor. “Are you here to rescue us?” She dressed much like Schumer, though she sported a blue baseball cap with a slashed moon symbol.
“Yes. Are there others? The children’s parents?”
Gwyndolin shook her head and her voice quivered. “They went to Portland...with our daughter, Angelina.”
O’Brien retrieved his headgear and looked past the small group of survivors. “You’ll come with us, of course. We’ll be ready shortly. As gruesome as it may seem,” he nodded toward the children, “we have to collect a pair of alien corpses.”
“We found two in here, Colonel. One over there,” Professor Schumer pointed to his left and further back in the bay. “and one behind that panel.” He indicated a spot where the bulkhead protruded to his right and behind.
“Do we have to take them with us?” One of the twins whimpered and shrank against Mrs. Schumer.
O’Brien stooped to speak with the boy. “Yes. The bodies may give us clues as to how we can fight the aliens.” He straightened. “Malcolm, you and Ralston bring in the gravpads.”
“Yes, sir.” With an abbreviated bow to Professor Schumer, Malcolm slipped on his glove and helmet, and hurried outside.
O’Brien kneeled to acquaint himself with the children. Twin boys about six years of age, four prepubescent girls and the eldest, a boy about twelve, all bundled up in thick, colorful featherfiber winter wear. The children were flushed and appeared lethargic. Satisfied, he rose before Gwyndolin, who smiled warmly.
“You look awfully healthy for such prolonged exposure,” he said, wondering if she would comment on his own fresh pink skin.
“We’ve been taking pills to counteract the effects...and staying out of the open air. We only have a few left.”
O’Brien returned her smile. “Odd that you would have them available.”
“My husband prepared for this eventuality a long time ago. It’s why we live in a cave.”
“You should be thankful he had such forethought. Among his peers I understand his...uh...credibility was questioned.”
“Believe me, his colleagues are the ones who deluded themselves. My husband foretold an alien invasion, perhaps not in our lifetime, but as you see...”
"A crackpot they called me." The Professor grumped. "They had no idea, not a clue of what I would soon accomplish."
"And that is?" O'Brien indulged him, still uncertain about the Professor's mental stability, though Gwyndolin appeared convinced her husband wasn’t delusional.
"Another time, Colonel O'Brien," Gwyndolin suggested.
"Of course." O'Brien bowed slightly and stepped back.
Ralston and Malcolm arrived with two gravpads and went immediately to the alien body lying in a pool of congealed blood — Sergeant Doomes handiwork. To the horror and fascination of the children, it took Malcolm, Ralston and O'Brien, grunting and sweating, to manhandle the corpse aboard the gravpad. The second corpse in the access shaft was more difficult to extricate and required Professor Schumer's help as well.
"Gwyndolin, could you see to the children?" O'Brien asked politely.
She tore her eyes from the alien corpses lying aside each other. "Okay."
"Put them in the backseat. They'll have to share restraints."
She nodded and turned to the children gathered about her. "Do as Colonel O'Brien requested." Wearing a troubled frown, the eldest boy made to protest, but a stern glare from Gwyndolin silenced him. He nodded and led the children from the ship. Minutes later, the alien giants were secured in the back of the hauler beneath black canvas. Despite this, it seemed impossible for the younger ones to keep from sneaking peeks over their shoulders.
O'Brien brought the hauler whining to life and lifted off. When they reached the gravel road, Professor Schumer leaned toward O'Brien.
"Colonel."
"Yes, Professor?"
"This isn’t right. You know that, don't you?" Hardly more than a whisper, his words nonetheless contained an urgency O’Brien found hard to ignore.
"What isn’t?"
"In my cave...my instruments...temporal studies you know...or you may not...registered a distortion in the space-time continuum. Nothing appears to be different, but something unusual happened, before the bombardment began. On Mars too, didn’t it? That’s why you’re here...and not up there." He pointed up.
"Yes."
“That’s impossible.”
“No, no...it isn’t. My studies, back at my home...it’s all on my computer. All of it. With your help...”
“I don't wish to impugn your character, Professor, but time can't be altered. What happened on Mars, what we set in motion, is now history.”
“It doesn’t have to be, don't you see?” He rung his hands and shook his head. “Time is not linear. I have to go back to my cave, collect my instruments, my computer, my research, my...”
“Sit tight, Professor. Your stuff will still be there tomorrow. We’ll go back after you’ve been treated and rested. Okay?” O’Brien could find no harm in indulging the Professor’s fantasies. His research may prove of value to NAORC, but the idea of going back in time to stop them from activating the alien beacon, if that’s what Schumer had in mind, was laughable at best.
“Of course, Colonel. Tomorrow will be fine.”
O’Brien loathed the thought of spending the rest of his life underground with a certifiable nut, but was intrigued by the possibility Schumer could do what he said. After all, the aliens were capable of bending time with their spaceships. Could they adapt the alien technology to their purposes?
2:18 hours, August 19, 2057 (three days later)
“What’ve you got, Linda?”
“Oh!” Linda jerked around. She lifted a bloody gloved hand to her mouth, but stopped just in time. “Lord! You startled me, Colonel.”
An alien corpse lay on a silverstone examination cart, opened from neck to crotch, the top of its skull and facial skin removed. Beyond, two young men in red-stained blue scrubs waited.
Unaccustomed to bodies displayed in such a manner, O’Brien looked away, mildly disturbed. “Sorry.” To quell his unease, he studied the spotlessly clean room. The soft-hued yellow walls, buff-white ceiling tiles and shadowless lighting hardly resembled a morgue.
“Apology accepted.” Linda positively beamed. “Anyway, I asked you to come because I wanted to show you something. Both aliens are male, by the way.”
“And that is?”
“They are incredibly old...in the hundreds of years range. Genetically they’re almost identical to us, but besides the usual microbes and bacteria, they’re carrying something else.”
“And that is?” he repeated.
She blushed, but continued. “In simplest terms, when we consume foods and breathe, our bodies acquire free radicals...uh, unbalanced atoms. They leach ions from our cell’s atoms, causing the cell structure to thin and weaken. Eventually it leads to the visible deterioration we call aging. These aliens are host to billions of foreign enzymes that gobble up the free radicals and convert them to useful amino acids. I haven’t studied the compatibility factor yet, but if we can reproduce these enzymes in sufficient quantity, we may be able to inoculate everyone here.”
"Effectively rendering us immortal."
"Yes!" In her exuberance, she reached out to embraced him, but pulled back blushing. "I'm kind of messy...right now. Um, aren’t you the least bit excited?" She bit her lip, seeming pensive, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away.
O’Brien crossed his arms and smiled. "Curious, yes, excited, no. I’ll get excited when you prove you can do it."
"Of course, Colonel,” Her disappointment showed, but a mischievous smile brushed it away. “But I found something else you might want to see."
“Show me.”
Linda shoved her hand into the alien’s bowels and a lump appeared in the crotch. “Now.” She pushed. The lump enlarged and male genitals appeared.
“Neat trick. They’re kind of small, aren’t they?” He grinned in spite of himself. If nothing else, Linda was trying hard to make this visit a pleasure for him, however gruesome.
“Might support Tammer’s theory. How, in Genesis, the sons of God consorted with Earth women and created giants in the land." A grin grew slowly and spread until her whole face was alive with merriment. "Maybe it was lost in prerecorded history that the sons of God were giants themselves."
“You actually believe that?”
“It's a working theory. What do you think?”
“I’d need a hell of a lot more proof than huge men with small penises, wouldn’t you?”
“Perhaps we ought to make a few more trips to the wreck.”
“All ready on it. Our Mr. Jeffries jumped at the chance to organize the recovery of the alien technology. He has dozens of techs and engineers begging to study the ship's propulsion alone. "Professor Schumer..."
"Aren't they a sweet couple?" Linda interrupted.
"I assume, uh..." What did that have to do with anything, he wondered, caught off balance.
Professor Schumer..." She prodded with a teasing lilt.
"Is collecting his research at the cave and Tammer has assembled a team to explore the ship’s databases. He seems to have an affinity for the wired types, the ones with implanted onlines. I'm amazed at how quickly this cave community has adapted to the new goals."
"Me too. I mean, they put this place together to study the cadavers in a few hours." She waved at the wall of bioelectronics and biostorage units. "All this equipment, techs, anything I ask for. They're spoiling me."
"Seeing this, I figure it will take no time for these guys to learn how the alien drive bends time. Then we'll know if we can use it to alter time."
"Oh, come on, Colonel? You don't really believe Professor Schumer’s time travel theory do you?"
"I didn’t until we covered millions of miles in seconds. Professor Schumer says he was close to a solution when his research program was dismantled." O’Brien uncrossed and recrossed his arms, feeling a little defensive. "Don't know if I should believe him or not...but if he's a nub, he’s a damned smart nub."
"What did he tell you, besides what he’s told everyone else within earshot?"
"We can go back in time and change history. Bury the beacon."
"Okay. So say this isn’t just a hokey-pokey hunt and the Professor may be on to something." Linda stripped off her gloves and dropped them into a biohazard waste bin. "How long is that going to take?"
"We'll know more in coming days."
She peeled off her scrubs and slipper covers, and tossed them into a nearby hamper, revealing a white tank top and black leotards. "You guys want to clean up for me?"
"Sure, Doctor Myer," her assistants answered together, and shared a surprised look.
"Why don't we talk about this over dinner, Colonel? I'm famished." She reached past O’Brien to retrieve a white smock from the wall rack and slipped it on. "You can tell me more about this wild theory of yours. Might make a good sleeper time story, you think?"
"Where’d you get the clothes?" O'Brien asked. Her sudden switch from professionalism to casual intimacy was disconcerting. She wore no makeup, but her soft, nut brown curls held a healthy sheen and, even though she had lost weight from their brush with radiation, she had a pleasant figure.
"You’d be surprised what the women wear down here when they’re off duty." She flashed him a beguiling smile as they strolled to the door. "They were donated."
He realized she was flirting with him, stirring amorous thoughts. Her smile was contagious. He felt light-hearted, almost wistful. With the biomods, it was difficult for him to loosen up, but he suspected he would have to in his new role. His duties were not demanding and according to Jeffries, even though everyone in NAORC was a hand picked professional, their city under the mountain had an active social life. Jeffries had also confided his interest in Linda at breakfast. So, he would have competition for her affections. Perhaps it would be best for now if he
kept his interest in her low key, see what develops of its own accord. Duty first, always.
“You know, Colonel, their former administrator, General Twidwell, called this place a duty station fit for a prince.” She boarded a hovering gravcart. ”There are slightly more women than men, and a good number are young and athletic. We could have landed somewhere loaded down with decrepit old scientists.”
“A dreadful thought.” He smiled, sitting beside her. “And yes, the quarters are roomy and the chow is great, but there will be no lying on the beach under a summer sun or camping in the mountains.”
“True, there are limitations, but I can live with that. Better that than dead.”
“It won’t all be fun and games. If Professor Schumer is right, we’ve got our work cut out.”
“To prevent the destruction of Earth?”
“Exactly.”
“I don't hold out much hope, Colonel, but a little hope is better than none.”
"Cafeteria," O'Brien said. Could Professor Schumer and the technical wizards of NAORC pull it off?
Whisper quiet, the cart sped them there.
Chapter Fourteen
07:18 Hours May 23, 2086 - Earth (29 years later)
O’Brien lay perfectly still. Nothing disturbed the quiet, but something had reached into his slumbering brain and wrenched him from a dreamless sleep. Beside him, Jessica murmured and pressed her bare thigh against his, no more awake than he had been moments before. With great care, he slipped from beneath the covers, worrying the crisp rustle of the percale sheets would disturb his wife. He swung his legs over the edge and stood on Dauber's paw.
All sixty-five pounds of Siberian Husky scrambled out of the way with a startled yelp, throwing O'Brien off balance. He flailed at empty air and landed on the sleeper's padded edge, bruising his buttocks.
“Kaider, where you going?” Soft and dreamy, Jessica pushed back the covers and caressed his arm.
“Oh crap.” He turned to her. In the dim glow of the hallway toe lamp he saw her emerald eyes sparkle beneath droopy lids.
“What, dear?”
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