Jettison turns to me. “Sounds like the Admiral must have talked them into landing sooner. They’re deploying the spider lines to get us on the ground. We still might beat the clock.” He and Milo begin to help the men deploy the huge coils of rope.
A sudden shout comes from above us and the crewman from the bow dashes forward again to investigate. I follow him cautiously up a ladder to a platform in the bow where another crewmember is cradling a young man who has collapsed and is bleeding profusely from his head. I don’t understand what they’re shouting, but the bleeding man’s voice is faltering. He points aft. The crewman assisting him is holding a rag to his friend’s forehead to stop the blood. The man I’ve followed passes them and enters the axial walkway that runs from the nose to the tail. I’m met with suspicious glances from the men on the platform and try to look sympathetic. I gesture toward the walkway. “I’ll go check it out. You guys need to get to a place where you can jump.” The freckle-faced bleeding man still looks frightened, but I get the impression he’s understood me. I can’t imagine who would have attacked him, but I suspect it’s one of our people. Tad and Horacio are accounted for. Did he have a run-in with the alien?
The crewman I’m following blocks most of the view down the walkway. Like the keel passage, there is barely room to walk single file through a triangularly structured frame. I’m obliged to duck at each of the ribs we pass and hold onto the cables to keep from slipping off the narrow footing. We pass directly through the center of the first two donut-shaped gas bags and then encounter a vertical passage with a ladder that runs up to the top of the ship. The man pauses and considers the vertical passage before looking back to me.
“Anybody up there?”
He shakes his head.
Thank God.
“Hey, I’m Ben by the way. Ben Travers.”
“Alfred Bernhardt,” he replies.
“Good to meet you, man.”
“Someone attacked Spehl in the corridor. He said it was just one man.”
“Let’s go get him then.”
Alfred nods and turns his attention back to the walkway. We navigate the passage through the gas bags in a sort of shrouded silence. I can still feel a tiny vibration from the engines in the wires, but all sounds seem distant and muffled. Occasional hisses emanate from the connections between the gas cells as gas is transferred forward or aft. Somewhere ahead and below us, a dog barks. Did Jonah somehow manage to get Barley on board? What are they up to?
We’ve gone hundreds of feet through the center of the ship and just passed into a new gas cell when we reach another vertical passage. Alfred looks up and immediately shouts. I scramble to join him and peer up the ladder shaft at a man who is affixing something to the rigging between the cells. I instantly recognize him as the same hawk-faced man who stabbed Ivan.
Alfred immediately sets a foot on the first rung of the ladder, but I grab his shoulder and pull him back. “This guy’s bad news. Let me handle it. Get below and get to a window. You’re going to need to jump as soon as we’re near the ground. Tell whoever you see that we don’t have much time.”
Alfred hesitates and casts another glance up the ladder but finally relents. He transfers to the ladder that descends to the lower deck and gives me one last look. “Stop that man.”
“I’m on it.”
As Alfred vanishes down the ladder, I turn my attention to the saboteur above me. He finishes securing the device to the cable in front of him, then looks down and smiles. He drops the socket wrench in his hand, and I have to dodge out of the way as it clatters to the walkway at my feet. When I look back up, he has removed something else from the pocket of his jacket. He wags the cylindrical device at me. A button on top looks to be a detonator switch. “You want to know what brought down the Hindenburg, Travers? Here you go.” He lets go of the device and I flinch, but he catches it again and laughs.
“Why don’t you come down here and talk to me about it.” I clench my fists and take a step back from the foot of the ladder.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The man gives me an oily grin. “But I think I could use some fresh air.” He slips the detonator back into his pocket and begins climbing farther up the ladder.
Son of a bitch.
I hesitate, then climb after him. About halfway up the ladder, I reach the device he has planted. It’s a crude box that has been clamped to the cables with steel rings not unlike the ones used for our objective boxes. I examine the clamps to see if there is a way of removing the box quickly. The bolt heads have been intentionally stripped, so even if I were to retrieve the socket wrench, there would be little chance of getting them loose.
Ivan’s killer has reached the apex of the ladder and flings open the hatch at the top of the ship. I grit my teeth and follow him, keeping my eyes on his pocket with the detonator. He exits out into the overcast sky above but leaves the hatch open for me. The wind whistles down the hatch and brings droplets of rain.
When I reach the top of the ladder and peek my head out, I’m daunted by the view. The ship stretches ahead in a gradual upward slope that blocks the horizon. Behind me the ship declines another few hundred feet with the exception of the enormous tail fin rising from the structure just a dozen or so yards aft of me. The man ahead of me is walking forward along the top ridge of the airship with casual, arrogant strides. He stops and looks back as he fishes a cigarette from a pack in his jacket, appraising me as he taps the cigarette on the box.
My arms are shaking slightly as I climb out of the hatch and push myself to my feet. I try to disguise my fear as I take a few cautious steps toward him. The man smirks and continues walking. I keep my eyes locked on his angular back and don’t look down as the wind pelts me with periodic drizzle and threatens to push me to starboard. The sky beyond the man is full of ominous clouds, and I try not to think about how much static could be building in them, waiting to surge down and electrify the top of the ship. When my quarry reaches the highest point on the airship’s back, he turns again and lights his cigarette. I wrestle with options in my mind. Can I rush him and somehow come up with the detonator? I glance at the ticking clock on my bracelet and note that I only have minutes left.
“It’s about to get real hot up here, Travers. You picked a poor escape route.” He gestures toward the massive airship hangar and the rest of the airfield. “Though I’ll admit it’s quite a view.”
“Who are you? What’s your game here?” I have to yell over the sound of the wind and the idling engines.
“You signed up for this chronothon. You should know what it’s about.”
“I didn’t sign up for shit and you know it. YOU got me into this. And don’t try to tell me this is an ordinary race. I watched you stab a man in the chest!”
“You should mind your business, Ben. It’ll be healthier for you.” He looks me over and exhales a puff of smoke, shielding his cigarette from the wind with his palm. “Though it doesn’t seem like you’re going to be the type to do as you’re told. Geo seemed to think you’d be smart enough to know when you’re out of your league and wouldn’t give us trouble. Maybe he underestimated your stupidity.”
“You don’t have to be a genius to see this game is rigged. I knew I was conned from the start, but how long till the rest of the racers catch on? You going to strong arm all of us into staying? Why? What are you getting from this? You’re betting on me to lose, I expect. No surprise there, but you have to kill people to do it?”
There’s a yell from somewhere below and I notice we’ve finally descended low enough to hear the ground crew. Vehicles have deployed more men to aid in securing us to the ground. The tail rises under me from some action by the crew and I stagger to keep my footing. When I get my balance, my enemy has walked closer. His ashen eyes are cold as he appraises me. I hate that condescending, colorless stare.
“If you thought your being here was ever about a race, then you’re even dumber than I thought. You advance because we say you do. Why is irrelevant. There’
s no getting out. So do as you’re told and maybe, just maybe, we won’t kill you. Capish?” He flicks his cigarette at me and pulls the detonator and his lighter from his pocket. “But you don’t even die till we say you do, so stop putting yourself on top of pending infernos and making it so goddamn tempting.” With his lighter between his fingers, he pushes the sleeve of his jacket up past his wrist to expose a Temprovibe. He depresses the button on the detonator with his free hand. A boom resonates from behind me and hydrogen in the cell aft of the ladder illuminates. I look forward and the man has already vanished. I barely have time to spin the dial on my chronometer and get my hand to the surface of the airship before the cell below me lights up a terrifying orange. I squeeze the pin and immediately fall backward onto the rain-dappled skin of the airship with my hand still searing from the heat.
“You can cross to other timestreams if you have an anchor from there. If not, you’ll have to back up and find the origin of that timestream somewhere in the past before you can follow it forward. I can’t promise that time travel won’t also be time consuming.”–Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2001
Chapter 20
The engine noise is louder again and the ship is moving under the overcast sky. I’ve only managed to jump back fifteen minutes, but I hope it’s enough. I get unsteadily to my feet and stagger back toward the hatch. Besides my scalded hand, I have sharp pains in my legs and abdomen. As the wind continues to fling drizzle from the clouds down around me, I clench my stomach and try not to lose my balance. I’ve broken one of the cardinal rules of time travel—never make a jump into rain.
The little stinging pains in my body are my reminders of why two objects can’t occupy the same space at the same time. I’m lucky that the droplets have been tiny—closer to mist than rain. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened had I been fused with heavy drops. I could have them in my eyes or my spine. I mentally flog myself for my stupidity. But what option did I really have? There are other cardinal rules to time travel. Not getting torched atop the Hindenburg has to fall under one of them, right?
The hatch is harder to open with my injured hand, but I have too much adrenaline pumping through me to let that slow me down. I close my eyes as I throw my leg into the ladder shaft and feel for the rungs so I won’t have to look at the deck below. I open them again as I descend, pausing momentarily at the spot where I know the gray-eyed man will be planting the bomb. Is there anything I can do to stop him? I consider my options but realize there is nothing I can do now that won’t result in a new timestream or some type of paradox. The original stream would go on and I would accomplish nothing but get myself disqualified in the process.
Under normal circumstances disqualification might sound like a good idea, but after my talk with Ivan’s killer, I’m less optimistic of lasting long after. If I’m going to have any hope of figuring out what I’m being used for, I have to stay in the race. As my feet hit the surface of the axial walkway, my other mission occupies my mind. At least I’m saving people’s lives this round. Whatever the committee has in store for me, there will be a few people that will benefit from my being here. The thought helps dissipate my anger.
I climb down the next ladder, working my way to the keel walkway again. As I drop the last couple of rungs, I survey my surroundings. Just forward of my position are more cabins that I take to be crew quarters. Aft of me the walkway travels another twenty yards and terminates at a ladder that descends even farther. I try to think what could be lower than the keel and, as I walk toward it to investigate, I realize it’s the lower tail fin. Voices are coming from the ladder well, and I recognize one as Bozzle. When I lean over the edge of the hole, I find the alien squatting on a platform gesturing to three rather terrified looking crewmembers. A fourth is farther into the fin manning one of the landing lines and casting nervous glances back to his crewmates. I clear my throat and Bozzle stops his dissertation and looks up at me. He’s dressed in a sort of burka and has his head wrapped to conceal his horns. His face is exposed below his brow, however, and there is no disguising his dark green skin.
“Hey, man. You doing okay back here?”
Bozzle nods and points to a slightly overweight man in his thirties in an officer’s uniform. “This man is a Nazi. I was explaining the effects of his doctrine on this century and how they parallel the attacks of Goosoon Hesperon and his invasion of the Currine Solar System.”
The terrified expressions on the crewmen’s faces are inadvertently comical, especially the overweight officer, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of a devout Nazi suddenly having to explain his worldview to a green-skinned alien from another galaxy.
“How is the lesson going so far?”
Bozzle considers the men before responding. “I think they are very good listeners.”
I lean down and smack him on the shoulder with my good hand. “Well, just make sure you all have a way out when we hit the ground so you can continue the lesson after. It’s any minute now.”
Bozzle points to a hatch at the starboard side of the tail fin. “We have already planned our exit.”
“Excellent.” I grimace as a twinge of pain stabs my abdomen, but try to ignore it. “Hey, have you seen Jonah yet this round?”
Bozzle gestures toward the front of the airship. “I saw him in the cargo area. Ahead of the sleeping quarters.”
“Okay. I’m going to check on him. I’ll see you guys outside.”
I rub my aching stomach and follow the keel walkway forward again. As I’m passing the crew bunks I feel the momentum of the airship change as it slows and stops. Somewhere up in the bow, another me is watching the crew deploying the landing lines. In a few moments I’ll be climbing up the axial walkway to work my way aft. I don’t have much time. I consider the windowless walkway around me and quicken my pace. Once the gas ignites, the last place I’ll want to be is here in the bowels of the ship with no path of escape.
I pass more water ballast and fuel tanks and then find the rear cargo area. My clomping footsteps draw attention and I suddenly find myself being barked at by a German Shepherd in a crate. A familiar snail-shaped helmet pops up from behind a second crate and Jonah appraises me quickly with his bright blue eyes.
“I need your help!”
I join him and watch as he struggles to lift a stuck latch on the second dog’s crate. He moves aside for me. “It won’t open.”
“I’ll bet it just needs a little persuading.” I position myself squarely in front of the latch and use my non-singed hand to grip the handle. It takes two tries, but the pin finally pops loose. The brindle-coated dog in the crate bounces side to side and barks as I lift the handle. As I swing the door open, the dog bolts for the opening, but I manage to get a grip on its collar and restrain it.
“Nobody was coming to get them,” Jonah explains. “They aren’t on anybody’s list, so I had to save them.” He steps over to the German Shepherd’s cage and pets the dog’s head through the bars.
“Who did you have on your list, Jonah? Did you find them already?”
“Yeah. They were in the engines. That one and that one.” He points to opposite sides of the ship. I look the direction he’s indicating and notice the lateral passage that splits off the main keel walkway.
“How are they getting out?”
“They said they’d stop the propellers and climb out the hole with a ladder. Then they said thank you for telling them and I said I had to go save the dogs. This one’s named Ulla.” Jonah pulls the crate door open and the dog lunges forward.
“Wait! Grab its col—”
My warning comes too late and the dog shoots past Jonah’s outstretched arms and into the walkway. I stretch to snag its collar as it bounds by, but my fingertips merely graze its fur. The dog vanishes up the corridor heading toward the bow.
“Damn it,” I mutter. I lead the other dog over to the walkway.
“We have to go get her!” Jonah exclaims. He begins to pursue the German Shepherd but I grab the b
ack of his shirt.
“No. Whoa, buddy.”
He struggles and gestures toward the narrow hallway. “She’s going to get lost! We have to save her!”
I turn the boy toward the dog in my hand. “Here. You get a good grip on this one. Get him to your friends in the engine bay. Hold tight to his collar and don’t let go. I’ll go get Ulla.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. We just need to get out of this hallway.” I lead the brindle dog and Jonah to the intersection of the lateral walkways and point them toward the port side engine. I make sure Jonah has a good grip on the dog’s collar before letting go. “This thing is going to catch fire any minute now. You get down that hallway and, no matter what, you make sure you get clear. Once the fire starts we only have seconds to get out.”
“I think it’s thirty-six.”
“What?”
“Seconds. It takes thirty-six seconds to crash. I looked it up.”
“Oh, good. That makes my point then.” I step around the boy and dog and let them start working their way toward the engine. “Hurry. I’ll see you outside.”
“Okay.” The boy concentrates on guiding the dog, who seems plenty eager to get out. I watch them reach the upward slope of the walkway and then turn my attention to my own task. I scramble along the corridor past more fuel and water tanks and into another cargo area searching for any sign of the missing dog. This larger cargo area is in the heart of the airship with nothing but aluminum girders and cables in view around it. There are a hundred places a dog could wriggle through if it left the walkway, but no windows or escape routes out of the ship. Damn dog could be anywhere. I glance at my chronometer. Unless I never give it a chance. I step off the main walkway so I’m out of sight of where Jonah found the crates, and I set my chronometer for a three-minute backward jump. I double-check my setting and push the pin. The jump is barely noticeable. I peek my head around the corner and, along the passage I can just make out the earlier Jonah speaking toward the other me. I only have to wait a few seconds for the German Shepherd to come shooting down the walkway. I stay out of sight till the dog is almost to me, then lunge out and seize it by the scruff of the neck. The dog lets out a surprised little yelp but lets me pull her off the walkway and out of sight without much struggle. I keep my arm around the dog’s neck to keep her calm and she licks my face in response.
In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 75