Island of the Star Lords

by James L. Ferrell

  Island

  of the

  Star Lords

  By James L. Ferrell

  Copyright © 2016 James L. Ferrell

  All Rights Reserved

  Publisher's Note:

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, incidents and descriptions contained herein are either products of the author's imagination, mythical in origin, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - Discovery

  Chapter 2 - The Wand

  Chapter 3 - The Mission

  Chapter 4 - The Engineer

  Chapter 5 - Prisoner A215

  Chapter 6 - Escape

  Chapter 7 - 3,302 BC

  Chapter 8 - The Forest

  Chapter 9 - Fir Bolg

  Chapter 10 - Apache Point

  Chapter 11 - Tuatha de Danann

  Chapter 12 - The Aliens

  Chapter 13 - Find and Destroy

  Chapter 14 - Vryan

  Chapter 15 - The Dark Universe

  Chapter 16 - War Council

  Chapter 17 - The Agreement

  Chapter 18 - The Island

  Chapter 19 - Hostage

  Chapter 20 - Captured

  Chapter 21 - Pursuit

  Chapter 22 - Close Encounter

  Chapter 23 - Allies

  Chapter 24 - Battle Plan

  Chapter 25 - The Ghost

  Chapter 26 - The Price of Rescue

  Chapter 27 - Moytura

  Chapter 28 - The Star Lords

  Author's Note

  Introduction

  In the last years of the twentieth century, a team of geologists working in the Arizona desert discovered a substance they were unable to identify as any of the known elements that make up the composition of the planet Earth. It emitted an unusual radioactive signature and pulsed with a greenish glow. The sample was relatively small, about the size of a grapefruit, and additional searching did not produce any further quantities. Deposits of iron and nickel were found in sufficient amounts around the substance to indicate that it came to Earth in a meteor long before the existence of man.

  The substance, nicknamed 'stellarite' by the geologists, was placed in a lead-lined container and taken to a government nuclear laboratory for investigation. After many experiments, the scientists found that when varying amounts of power were applied to it, a door to any era, or year, along the time continuum would be opened. These discoveries led to the construction of a top-secret research complex in the New Mexico desert, known as Apache Point. Over a period of several years, large numbers of scientists, engineers, technicians, and support personnel continued experimental applications involving the stellarite, eventually resulting in the construction of an actual time transporter, code designated as the Chronocom.

  To ensure security, an elite detachment of U.S. Marines is permanently assigned to guard the location. The facility is closed to all personnel except those who are granted a secret clearance by the FBI. There are no roads leading to Apache Point, the only access being by military helicopters that patrol the area 24/7. Double barriers of twelve-foot-high fences with continuous exterior lighting during darkness, surround the complex. The Marines have standing orders to warn first, then fire on any trespassers who attempt to reach the facility by crossing the desert. Such extreme measures are believed necessary to protect, and keep secret, the greatest technological accomplishment of the twenty-first century.

  Man had achieved the conquest of time.

  Prologue

  Before there were men, there was the great wall of ice. Nature's titanic forces twisted and pushed, forcing the mountainous barrier southward. It crept slowly over the land for thousands of years, angling its way down from the frozen north, across what men would someday call Scotland, then across the turbulent sea, finally encroaching onto the huge island to the west. As it moved southward, it filled the valleys with deep glaciers, crushed boulders into stones, annihilated forests, and destroyed all animal life. Ice covered the land except for the tallest peaks. Frigid winds and blizzards howled and shrieked over the mountaintops, but no living thing heard their moaning cries. Two thousand years passed before the flow began to slow and eventually stop its relentless advance. Now, a white pall of desolation lay over the island, silent and dark, lasting another thousand years. At last the wall began to melt and recede. For two thousand years it retreated northward, leaving in its wake rounded mountains, deep, smooth valleys, thick green grass, juniper trees, bogs, and clear-water lakes. As it receded across the sea the water level rose, leaving only a small land bridge across which giant deer and other animals migrated from Britain. The great ice invader had created a beautiful green island, landscaped with breathtaking vistas of rolling hills, blue waters, and vast forests. Ireland was born.

  Another four thousand years passed before savage men began to cross the land bridge and inhabit the island. Then, just before the dawn of civilization, a tall figure dressed in shimmering white clothing stood on a mountaintop near the northwest corner of the island, gazing at the wondrous, empty landscape. His face was long and slim, with high cheekbones below light blue eyes. The nose was straight, exactly the length it should be to fit the face, not a millimeter too long or short, ending just above thin, pale lips. Sliver-blond hair flowed shoulder-length from a head endowed with a slightly bulging brow. His hands were slender, like a woman’s, with long graceful fingers. His arms, concealed within the folds of his garments, hung at his sides. He appeared to weigh no more than a hundred pounds, but the long-boned frame was over six feet tall. He stood perfectly still for almost an hour, the only movement being the gentle flowing of the robe’s fabric in the breeze. At last he nodded, tilted his head back and looked at the cloudless sky. A faint smile lifted the corners of his lips. Something sparkled just above his head, like quick silver glinting in sunlight. Turning, he walked a short distance to where a cylindrical object ten feet in diameter and fifteen feet long, rested on the ground. At his approach a door opened in its side, spilling violet light onto the grass. Taking a final look at the countryside around him, he entered the vehicle and closed the door. Within a few seconds a soft whine broke the silence of the land. The vehicle rose into the air and headed northward, leaving the island to the sun and wind.

  Chapter 1

  Discovery

  Michael DeLong lay hidden under the edge of a large boulder jutting out of the mountaintop. He had just enough room to move around a little and avoid cramps but not enough to get to his knees and urinate. If he waited much longer, he would have to risk exposure and leave his sanctuary. But worse than the need to pee was the loss of blood from the half-moon chunk of flesh missing from his right side just above the hip. He fought off a wave of dizziness, uncertain about how much longer he could maintain consciousness. He had been under the rocky ledge for over four hours and had seen nothing of his pursuers for the last two.

  The sun was still an orange disk, just beginning to touch the edge of the western horizon. Full night was at least forty-five minutes away. If he could make it until then, the black L-suit he wore would make him almost invisible to anyone without a night vision device. It was imperative that he escape and report his incredible discovery to the project director at Apache Point, his home base in New Mexico. He had succeeded in taking several photographs with his mini-camera before they saw him lying in the tall grass near the edge of their camp and opened fire with the strange guns they carried. The weapons emitted a charge similar to a laser, but different, and somehow more po
werful. The violet-colored beams were noiseless, searing through the thick grass without smoke or flame, leaving a neat one-inch hole through the blades. One of the beams had struck his right side, cutting away a perfect half-circle of meat. The beam was not hot as would be the case with a laser and did not burn the skin. The flesh just vanished where it struck. DeLong surmised that if you followed the beam's path through the grass by looking through the hole it left, you could peer through a straight line until your eye lost focus in the distance. Even though his L-suit was impervious to cutting weapons and small caliber gunfire, he was painfully aware that it would not withstand those beams. He had little doubt that if one of them struck him in a vital area, it would drill a surgical hole straight through his body and kill him.

  He lifted his head from the cradle of his arm and inched a little way out from under the ledge. The rolling green hills of the valley below the mountain were deserted. Nothing moved except the grass, over a foot tall, bending and swaying in the evening breeze. He cut his eyes up at the sky, dark blue and cloudless. Looking at the sky was what had started it all two days ago.

  He had been in his night-camp, forty miles west of what would someday be known as the River Shannon when he saw it. At first he thought it was a meteor crossing the sky as a bright speck moving against the background of stars; however, it had stopped in mid-flight and remained still for several seconds before continuing along its path, finally vanishing below the horizon. Marking that point with his compass, he had gathered what supplies he needed and began the trek toward the approximate location where the object had vanished.

  Twelve hours later he lay concealed a hundred yards from the most amazing sight he had ever seen. At least fifty silvery domes, thirty feet high and two hundred feet in diameter, dotted the land before him. The domes shimmered in the sun as though they were made of liquid platinum. From their tops, needle-like antennas twenty feet tall sprouted into the air. The land around the domes had been cleared of grass, trees and scrub then paved with something that looked like purple concrete. A number of machines of unusual design sat at various locations around the area. They were about the size of small buses without wheels, cylindrical in shape, with round crystalline viewports on each end. They appeared to be made of the same material as the domes, but did not shimmer in the light. DeLong speculated that they must be some type of airborne vehicle.

  However, the domes and vehicles were not nearly as interesting as the men moving around the area. They were clothed in white robes that reached to the knees. Silver form-fitting boots started where the robes left off, entirely covering the calves, shins and feet. Each of them wore a narrow belt pulled snug at the waist, to which various devices were attached. It reminded DeLong of his own utility belt, a necessity worn by all time agents. All of them appeared to be tall, none less than six feet, with narrow faces and silver hair falling to the shoulders. He had been watching them for over an hour when one of them suddenly stopped what he was doing and looked straight at his hiding place.

  The man, DeLong had been thinking of them as men, though they did not resemble any men he had ever seen, had sounded an alarm and drew a small wand from his belt. It was the wand that had inflicted the wound in his side. He had fled the area as quickly as he could, reaching the shelter of a dense forest before they could overtake him. Hiding under cover of the tall trees, he had managed to elude them, finally arriving at this low mountain and the security of the rocky ledge.

  When he could resist the urge no longer, he crawled from beneath his shelter and got to his knees. Almost afraid to move, he remained motionless for over a minute before relieving himself. When he finished, he examined his wound again. Bright red blood was still seeping down his side with no indication of clotting. There was a small first aid kit containing a compression bandage in one of the pockets of his utility belt. At the moment, he could think of nothing else that might retard the bleeding. The belt also contained his Chronocom pager, an instrument smaller than a cellphone, which connected him to the great time machine in the twenty-first century. The pager was designed to respond only to his right thumbprint, a precaution against falling into the hands of one of the ancients and being accidentally activated. He had only to flip open the cover and press his thumb against the Lexan screen to be instantly returned to modern-day Ireland and medical help.

  As he removed the belt, he heard a soft noise behind him. Startled, he dropped the belt and turned to face the very thing from which he had been fleeing. One of the white-robed men was standing on top of the ledge less than ten feet away, looking straight at him. He held one of the deadly wands in his hand. DeLong's heart hammered in his ears and dizziness staggered him as he tried to stand. Unable to keep his balance, he fell back to his knees. A bolt of pain shot through his side, and he pressed his hand over the seeping wound. He looked at the man and saw pale blue eyes staring back at him in a strange way, his expression more curious than threating.

  "Who are you?" DeLong croaked, his breath ragged and strained.

  The man tilted his head a little to one side, his brow contracting into small wrinkles, as though struggling to comprehend DeLong's question. After a few seconds he shook his head and said, "Tu metha un Fir Bolg." He lowered the wand and held it pointing downward at his side. "Lo tu kelteek?" he asked, his face still puzzled.

  DeLong swallowed hard, fear racking his brain. "I do not understand you. I am injured and cannot speak your language." He held up the bloody hand that had been covering his wound.

  The man glanced at it then back at DeLong's face. He started to say something, but jerked violently and bent backwards at the waist. As he straightened, his face twisted into an agonized expression. He stood perfectly still for a few seconds, then pitched forward off the rock. A slim wooden shaft protruded from between his shoulder blades. The wand rolled from his fingers onto the grass.

  Giddy, DeLong managed to walk to where he was lying and stared down at him. The man moaned softly and looked into DeLong's face.

  "Wente simble," he whispered as death glazed his eyes.

  Still in a state of shock, DeLong picked up the wand and staggered back to where he had left his utility belt. He stuck the wand through one of the belt's pocket flaps then removed the pager from its pouch. As he stood up and opened the cover, he heard a loud grunt from behind the rock. He looked and saw a stocky man with oily hair and matted beard step into the open. He recognized him as a Fir Bolg, one of the barbarian tribesmen that inhabited Ireland in this time period. At the same moment he saw one of the silvery vehicles from the dome city approaching through the air, its crystal bow pointing straight at him.

  Blood loss from his wound reached critical stage, and he began to lose consciousness. As he pressed his thumb against the pager's Lexan screen, it fell from his fingers and bounced onto the utility belt lying at his feet. DeLong staggered backward, tripped over his own feet, and stumbled down a small grassy slope. He got to his knees and tried to get up but could not. The last thing he saw was the utility belt, pager, and wand lying twenty-five feet away. Ten seconds later, a burst of green radiance lit the area and the belt vanished. Michael DeLong let out a long breath and passed into oblivion.

  Chapter 2

  The Wand

  Matt Leahy waited impatiently in the office of Dr. Richard Durant, nine floors below ground level of the top-secret research facility named Apache Point. His eyes drifted around the big room, taking in the massive grandfather clock sitting against the wall just inside the entrance door. Its pendulum swung in precise strokes marking the minutes and hours, an anachronism in the age of digital electronics. The floor was finished in royal blue carpet, totally out of place when compared to the thousands of square feet of ceramic tile that floored all the other offices on this level. Green plants of various types and sizes sat on polished wooden tables scattered about the room. Three dark leather chairs sat in a semi-circle directly in front of Durant's massive cherry desk. Lamps with soft-white bulbs instead of overhead fluorescents prov
ided a warm atmosphere.

  But by far the most impressive thing in the office hung on the wall behind the desk. A magnificent image of the Milky Way Galaxy was being streamed live on a high definition, three-dimensional LCD screen measuring six-by-nine feet. It was like looking at the universe through the window of a spaceship. The stars pulsed and glowed in myriad colors, contrasting sharply with the blackness of space. Durant had explained it to him on their first meeting in this office. It was a gift from some of the scientists and engineers at Apache Point, designed to relieve the shut-in feeling of an old man who spent too many hours working underground. Matt felt as though he could sit and watch the starry scene for hours. Off to his right was a small kitchenette, where a pot of fresh coffee prepared by Durant's secretary sent inviting aromas through the room.

  While he waited, he let his mind drift back to the first time he had met with the eminent physicist just over two years ago and was told about the existence of an actual time machine. The device was called the Chronocom, and was capable of opening a window into any era along the time continuum. He had experienced the power of the machine a number of times since that day, having served as a mission specialist in many fascinating periods of man's history. However, each time he had transported into the past, the power of the great machine, and the skill of the scientists who had built it, never failed to awe him.

  The Chronocom was a top-secret invention, completely isolated on the tenth level of the facility, accessible only by a special elevator guarded by U.S. Marines. Matt recalled the astonishment that had swept over him at first sight of the device. The automatic doors leading to its chamber had slid open and he had stepped inside. The spectacle was almost beyond imagination.

  He stood in a circular room a hundred feet in diameter. The high ceiling was made of a dull black material that seemed to absorb light, creating an illusion of a black hole sweeping upward into infinity. In contrast, the floor was tiled with a material that resembled polished black marble. Instead of normal walls, alternating panels of white and green, four feet wide and twelve feet high, lined the entire circumference of the room. The panels glowed with soft light, pulsing in a gentle rhythm.