Mankind's Worst Fear
Page 43
“Hold your fire.” O’Brien stuck his hand out, palm back, to underscore his order, stood and holstered his lasgun. He mentally ticked off a ten count while observing this most intriguing and unexpected arrival. Everyone saw it, so it wasn’t an hallucination. The man seemed solid enough, but unsteady, as if injured. Undisclosed transportation technology or a holo-transmission so advanced it appeared real? His officers eased back, lowered, but did not reholster their weapons.
“Who...or what are you?”
The man’s knee buckled and O’Brien stepped forward to assist, then stepped back as the man regained a tenuous stability. Best to avoid physical contact until some parameters are determined.
“I’m Captain George Schumer, commander of the experimental submersible Slinker. I come from the future, Colonel O’Brien.” He shook his head and raised his hand in self-deprecation. “To be more accurate, I’m from the present, but I’ve just returned from your future.”
“You sound like a Saturday matinee, Captain.” An aficionado of cutting edge technology, O’Brien regarded George with skepticism. It was unnerving, like coming across a ghost doing something mundane, though he had to admit, this apparition looked real enough. “Explain.”
Robert Mastifson surged between George and O’Brien and faced his temporary superior officer. “What the hell is this, Colonel!” He thundered, apoplectic, fumbled to cross his arms, let them go limp. “This some kind of side-show you rigged for our entertainment?”
“Step back, Mr. Mastifson.” O’Brien demanded, hand on his lasgun.
The scientist made to resist, but relented with a scowl that O’Brien thought too juvenile for a man of his acclaim.
“Hold yourself in check long enough for Captain Schumer to have his say. You want to dispute him, wait your turn.”
“I won’t be intimidated by you, Colonel, or any...” Mastifson raised his hands in defense, but backed off another step, then carefully shuffled back to the small knot of researchers when O’Brien slipped his weapon out, barrel down. Doctor blowhard wouldn’t press for a showdown, but would accept an opportunity to compose himself, if properly persuaded. O’Brien counted on the later and faced George.
“Captain.”
George smiled grimly and nodded. “This artifact you found, Colonel...it’s a beacon. Designed to warn a trans-galactic alien species when we, humans, achieve interplanetary travel. They’re hundreds of thousands of years old...have bombed an untold number of worlds back into the stone age. ”
“See here! You’re not going to...”
“Shut up,” O’Brien growled, without. He didn’t have to look at the scientist to know how badly this would bruise the narcissistic researcher’s ego. He holstered his lasgun and motioned to George to continue.
“There are beacons just like this buried all over the galaxy and beyond. Back when they planted this beacon they thought of us as little more than trained monkeys, but even trained monkeys can sometimes figure a way out of their cage. Mastering interplanetary travel in only seventy or eighty thousand years could also mean we’ve created weapons powerful enough, or become devious enough, to stand up to them, and perhaps defeat them. Once you power up that beacon they’ll get here in a hurry. What you decide to do next will seal the fate of billions.”
O’Brien assumed the aliens would neutralize the outposts while assembling a sufficient force to conquer the planet. However unfeasible Captain Schumer’s vision of horror, it was at the very least, plausible. The technology to place a man, or a life-like projection, before them in such a way and within such an unfriendly environment, was well beyond anything currently under development. Yet this man appeared here, under hundreds of feet of stone. At least he arrived dressed for the environment. Out of thin air, just like in the vids. And called him by name. As incredulous as it was, he was certain the good Captain’s warning was accurate. It all made sense in a genocidal way. Knock out the competition before its strong enough to pose any real threat
“You could be a holoimager, a gate-keeper protecting this alien artifact.”
“Ask me something that only you would know. Something you would have shared with me if you wanted to be absolutely sure I was in your confidence. I spoke with you at length at the NAORC facility in Oregon...three hundred years from now. You sent me on this mission.”
NAORC was a top-of-the-line research facility and it was unlikely, given his background, that O'Brien would ever be assigned to such a secretive duty station. It occurred to him that Schumer was unlikely to know of the facility unless he’d been there.
“Three hundred years from now?”
“Unimportant, Colonel. If you ignore me and enter that chamber, the Cargans will destroy the Mars bases before you reach the surface, then attack Earth. Nuclear winter will consume the planet, killing off most humans, animals and vegetation. I and my crew have lived this. You will live it. You’re call, Colonel.” George took a wobbly step, braced his legs, wavered. Officers tensed, brought weapons to bear.
“Ask me things you’d think to ask if you sent me.” His voice took on a desperate edge, despite the dehumanizing affect of the comsets. “Like your first sexual encounter.”
O’Brien blanched, remembering the incident like it was yesterday. He had shared the episode with only one other person, his best friend. “How old was I?”
“Fourteen. It was at the fourteenth birthday party of Susan Michele Nyberg. You had a secret crush on her. When she invited you to stay after the others left, you did.”
“You got those details right.” O’Brien’s gray eyes didn’t waver.
“Her mom took Susan’s friends home and her dad ran down to the store. Susan invited you into the hot tub and...well...her dad came home just as you were about to, uh… He was so outraged, you ran off and hid naked in the bushes. It was a couple hours before you felt safe enough to go back, but her dad had taken your clothes. You found her bikini bottom in the hot tub, which,” George chuckled, “was all you had to wear home.”
“Okay, so you know that story. Could’ve gotten it from my best friend, Tommy Lathram, or Suzie.”
“Tommy died in a car crash two days later. You didn’t tell me anything more about Suzie.”
“What about my daughter?”
George’s jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered. “Hadn’t expected that, but here goes. Randy is seven and lives with his grandmother in Minneapolis. Margaret, his mother, died of a cerebral embolism last year. Last March you took him to Disneyland and you vidcom with him every few days.”
Out of habit, O’Brien went to rub his chin, felt foolish and let his hand fall to his side. Lots of people knew he had a son, but few knew the rest. I’m intrigued, popped into his thoughts.
“How is it that you’re here?”
“I’m here, but I’m kind of somewhere else too. Hard to explain the technology. Not my area of expertise. The guts of the device came from a Cargan spaceship Sergeant Doomes hijacked a couple weeks from now, after your scientists set off the beacon. Only a few of you survive; Tammer, Lieutenant Paider, Captain Garson, Sergeant Doomes and Doctor Myer.
“Tammer’s at the base, and I assume Garson is too. You say the base will be destroyed?”
“Short version. You took the only ride out of here, got taken aboard a Cargan ship, Doome’s avoided capture and took out the crew. You and Tammer figured out how to fly it, but crashed the damned thing. You led the survivors to NAORC while the Cargan bombing of Earth was happening.” George shrugged. “My dad could explain the mechanics of it. In fact, I didn’t know he’d developed a time machine until yesterday, um, three hundred years from now.”
“See here, Colonel!” Mastifson pointed at George, “What kind of poppycock nonsense is this! He...it...it did a mind-scan or something.”
“You have too vivid an imagination, Mr. Mastifson.” O’Brien said without looking away from George. He pictured Mastifson fuming, hands on hips. Hell what he had to contend with.
“My God man.” Mastifson sno
rted. “What kind of an imagination must you have to believe this...this nonsense?” “Time travel...alien spaceships...humph!”
O’Brien refused to look at him. He scrutinized George, seeking any clue that he wasn’t what he appeared to be. “He’s got a point. What do you expect me to do?”
“Bury the artifact. You had the caverns mined just in case something gets out of control, goes deadly wrong. This is the right time. Now! Get your people out of here and blow the damn place!”
“I have only your word to go on.”
“Hundreds died getting me here. Your friends, your wife and colleagues, their children and their children’s children. Nayork has been destroyed. Half my crew is dead and my ship is under attack.” George sighed. “Billions will perish.”
Any remaining skepticism vanished, yet O’Brien still wanted, needed more. “Tell me, Captain. How is it you got involved?”
“The Cargan ship you commandeered, with its spatial drive still engaged, skipped off the ocean right on top of us. It created a portal through which Slinker passed first backward, then forward in time. That’s how their ships work, by the way. They traverse space by folding time back on itself.”
“Typler's cylinder?"
George chuckled wearily. "Yes, Typler's cylinder, only on a miniature level. And there are limits."
"You have physical evidence?”
“Data chips, and a reader on how to make powerful enough weapons to fight off the Cargans, defensive shields, advances in hydroponics and subterranean agriculture and more...including something you gave me and asked me to hold for you.” George held out the book-sized black box.
O’Brien took a step closer, reached across the small distance between them and accepted the box. “This is your proof?” He turned it over several times, but the box was seamless.
“You’ll find it quite sufficient.” He let his hand drift slowly back to his side. “It will open for you when you reach Earth. Not before.”
“What will happen if I do as you ask?”
“That’s anybody’s guess.”
“But you say you’ve been to the future.”
“A timeline I hope never happens. History is fluid. No matter what’s written, events or individual actions can change it. In this case, you are the linchpin. You must decide if Mankind is to live or die. Only you can stop this madness before it happens.” George felt the draw of the time machine. “My ship...and the time machine are being destroyed. It’s up to you, Col...”
George faded away, leaving the group in stunned silence.
Hostility twisting his face into an ugly mask, Mastifson jerked O’Brien around. “Surely, Colonel, surely you can see past this...this masquerade...and that useless piece of junk he gave you.”
“Wait, wait, Robert.” Linda Myer tugged at Mastifson’s arm. “You must see the truth of this. After all, it’s only an artifact and whether or not what Captain Schumer told us is true, is it worth the risk?”
“Deception. Mind Control. Did we not come here to investigate the greatest find in human history? Actual evidence of intelligent extraterrestrial life? I won’t be dissuaded by some alien sorcery.” Mastifson jerked his arm away.
“Robert, if you think this Captain is an alien trick, then you’ve already seen what you came for.” She pleaded softly, but with a strength of persuasion that was hard to ignore. “No need to risk all our lives on the hunch it was no more than an illusion.”
“Only one way to find out!” Before anyone could hold him back, Mastifson lunged at the opening. “My legacy will not be deni...”
Instinctively, O'Brien whipped out his lasgun and fired.
Mastifson lunged at the portal, but was dead before his corpse hit the ground. Bits of tissue and globules of blood splayed from the ruptures in his suit at his chest and hip. His limbs twitched for endless moments and finally lay still. A scientist fell to his knees and puked. Another joined him, then another.
His mind churning, O’Brien waited until the small group of civilians regained some semblance of composure. Every spacer knew well the reeking stench now permeating the scientist’s envirosystems. Odds were most of them would be on their knees again before they reached the surface. His weapon felt heavy in his hand.
“Everyone out.” O’Brien holstered his lasgun and waved the scientists back the way they came. “Paider. As soon as we clear the entrance, blow the damn place. I expect you to arrest me for the murder of Mr. Mastifson.”
Their eyes met and Paider nodded, his voice deferential. “Yes, sir.”
Like zombies, the scientists shuffled past. The trip back to the surface was routine, but unusually quiet. They all followed the rules, offering no reason to converse. Though they weren’t leaving with the evidence they came to discover, they were taking with them an experience none could have anticipated.
O’Brien was convinced he was doing the right thing, but a military tribunal would be convened to determine the truth of it. What was it Captain Schumer had said? A wife? O’Brien shook his head. If what he said were true, the answers were in the black box he carried. Regardless, he would be on the next ship home.
An hour later, safely back inside the Mars base, O’Brien gave the order. From across the valley came a brief flash, followed by a gentle buffeting and a cloud of dust that washed over the base and remained for some time.
Tammer found O’Brien in the main dome.
“We saw what happened down there on the internal vid, Colonel. Tough call. My news nose smells a story of monumental significance. One far more marketable than uncovering some ancient artifact. Be that as it may, I understand you’ve handed command over to your second. Since I’ll be returning to Earth with you, would you mind doing an interview on the way home?”
O’Brien faced the journalist with a grim smile. “I’m afraid there isn’t much else I could add to what you already know, but I won’t deny you an interview.” He turned back to the window and crossed his arms.
Both men looked out over the Martian landscape as the last wisps of dust settled. The story of the century, O’Brien thought. And Tammer just happened to be in the right place at the right time to report it. He glanced down at the small black box he held, and breathed a long, troubled sigh. Whether or not the tribunal found he acted judiciously, his career was finished. A small price.
Chapter Twenty
09:15 Hours - July 12, 2057 - Earth
“Cap.”
“What’s up, Farrell.” George came around the chart table to stand behind his navigator.
“Did something unusual just happen?” He frowned, but refused to look away from the navvid.
A moment passed while George collected his thoughts, but then it all came rushing back. Wendell, Heather, Owen and Don. All dead, or were they? “Tell me what you know.”
“We’re on a south, southwest headin’ at thirty-six knots, runnin’ submerged at seventy-eight feet, twenty-one miles off the coast of Oregon. Scanners have picked up several small boats and a trawler, the nearest at two point seven miles. Nothing big showin’ on the sensors, radio traffic normal for this time of day.”
“In other words, everything looks to be the way it should...right?”
“Everythin’”
“Satellite uplink okay?”
“The link is active. It’s now, o-nine-sixteen, July 12th, 2057. What...what about that rough water, Cap?”
“Nothing to be concerned about. I’m sure the sensory logs will clue us in.”
Rubbing her eyes, Lauren came into the control room. “What’s going on in here, guys?”
“Uh nothin’. Everythin’ is okay...right Cap?”
“Not quite everything.” In two steps George was around the chart table. He swept Lauren into his arms, buried his face in her hair and inhaled. Cinnamon, he thought. Cinnamon with a dab of something else, something enticing, feminine.
“What was that for?” She stroked his hair and kissed his neck; pleasure warring with confusion in her limpid green eyes.
Behind him, Farrell tapped the auto-pilot ‘on’, and leaned back in his chair. “Not from me, Cap.”
“How about you and I take the skiff and go ashore?” For a moment, nothing else existed in his universe but her. “Maybe take in a movie, find a quiet little place for dinner...then see what happens?”
“Are you asking me on a date, Captain Schumer?” She arched her brows, but the gentle curve of her lips told him she had been ready for this for a very long time.
“No. I’m asking you to think about spending the rest of your life with me...or at the least, a century or two.”
With a tentative, bemused smile, she rested her cheek on his chest. “I can handle that.”
He held her close and sighed. “Farrell, take us in.”
“Aye, Cap. Layin’ a course.”
“We’ve got a lot to talk about.” He stroked her hair, pleasured in its slippery smooth texture. Was she the love he’d never hoped to find. “Like, just what are we going to do with ourselves for the next few hundred years?”
“Cap?”
“I’ll tell you about it later, Farrell. Right now I’m going to fetch those beers and share a little time secret with this pretty lady.”
He looked past Lauren. She followed his gaze. There was just the hatch.
Would you care to join me in the lounge, my dear?”
“It would be my pleasure, Cap, uh George.” Her cheeks dimpled and a gentle flush colored her skin.
“I’ll let you know when we’re within motorin’ distance,” Farrell chuckled. He approved the new course setting and leaned back in his chair. A self-satisfied grin spread across his face. “Oh, and don't forget, when you go aft, I’d like a cold one sent back!”