Timelock

by David Klass

  I blink and the wave vision is gone. The inside of the umiak feels like an oven, but I realize that I’m alive. Gisco and my father also survived the laser strike, but I notice that their umiak paddles are no longer flaming. Perhaps they only had two shots each, or maybe the polar energy from the Star of Dann needs time to recharge.

  We roll upside down and I spot my own umiak paddle, which I lost hold of while we were rolling around. It slowly slides out into the center of the transparent bubble, which, since we are inverted, has again become our temporary floor.

  I let go of the spar I’m clinging to, tumble down onto the bubble top, and shriek as my hands and knees start to singe. The transparent shell of our umiak retains far more heat than the driftwood hull, and I feel like I’ve just jumped down onto the curved surface of a sizzling hot Chinese wok and am being stir-fried. But I need that paddle! The only way to prevent another deadly laser blast from the mini-sub is to put an end to this underwater shoot-out. And my paddle seems to be the only one left with any firepower.

  I smell the sickening stench of smoldering skin from my hands and knees as I force myself to crawl forward across the bubble. Each move is a separate agony, a test of my will and ability to endure pain. I’m wailing and crying like a baby, but somehow I make it to the paddle, and grasp the long handle. I notice Kidah following my progress. And just as I grab the paddle, he throws our umiak into a half spin so the scarlet mini-submarine appears right beneath us.

  I don’t even really think about aiming or pulling the trigger. For one thing, I don’t have the slightest clue how to fire an umiak paddle at a Dark Lord and an Omega Box. It’s just a wooden oar—there’s no sighting mechanism and no trigger. I look at the red mini-sub and lock my concentration onto it, and will the paddle to fire the same way I willed the blade of my scimitar to appear.

  I feel the paddle surging with energy, and then a little blue bolt of polar energy breaks off and zips out, heading right for the sub. My shot penetrates the bubble and flares through the water, but during the split second it takes for my shot to travel, the Dark Lord hits the gas. The submarine speeds up and easily outruns my blast.

  I have one shot left—perhaps the last shot any of us will be able to take. This time I try to aim just in front of the mini-sub, leading the target, in case he tries to speed up again. But just as I start willing the paddle to fire, I feel a telepathic presence probing my intention and already starting to react to it. It’s been a long time since I last crossed swords with the Dark Lord in the Amazon, but I know it’s him.

  In the final microsecond before firing, I radically change my aim and swing the paddle so that it points behind the submarine instead of ahead of it.

  The red mini-sub stops and reverses direction as the Dark Lord anticipates my original intention to fire ahead of it. And then he seems to realize that I’ve changed my plan, and that by reversing direction he’s heading just the way I’m now shooting. But he’s a heartbeat too late.

  I squeeze off my last shot. The icy comet streaks away from my paddle, bursts out through the bubble top of our umiak, and scores a direct hit on the side of the red mini-sub!

  There’s a loud roar and a blinding blue flash. The submarine lights up like a Christmas decoration, and keeps growing brighter and brighter. I can’t be sure, but I think I glimpse something detaching from the top of the mini-sub and speeding up toward the surface. And then the sub explodes, sending out shock waves that hurl our umiak away through the depths.

  We finally stabilize, and the four of us gather at the prow. I see that we’ve all taken our share of bumps, knocks, and burns. Well done, Beacon of Hope, Gisco congratulates me. Ding, dong, the Dark Lord is dead! You blasted them into crab niblets!

  “Not quite,” Kidah cautions. “They still live.”

  Impossible, the celebrating dog declares. I saw their sub go up in flames. I mean down in flames.

  “Kidah’s right,” my father says. “They made it out just in time, and rose to the surface in some sort of lifeboat pod. But they’re wounded. We have to go up and finish them once and for all.”

  “Then let’s go before they get away,” I say.

  Kidah smiles at me. “That’s the stuff, kid.” The wizard turns to Simeon. “Your boy fires a pretty mean umiak paddle.”

  Dad pats me on the shoulder. “Nice shooting, Jack,” he grunts. “I’m glad you’re on my team.”

  53

  We ascend through the dark water for long minutes, till finally a ray of light shimmers through the depths from far above. I can’t tell you how welcome and uplifting that first hint of sunlight is. “Gisco, we’ll be out of this umiak soon enough.”

  Thank God, the dog responds, watching the light grow brighter with eager eyes. The next time I go on a cruise, it will be with buffets and a swimming pool.

  Our bubble top soon breaks the surface. The dome of blue sky that opens above us feels vast and freeing after our tense hours in a claustrophobic umiak far beneath the polar sea. Unfortunately, there’s little time to celebrate because we didn’t exactly pop up in a good spot.

  Waves lash against the side of our craft, and enormous floating icebergs press in on us from all sides. Our bubble top retracts and I hear a constant angry fizzing sound, as if the islands of floating ice are alive and resent our presence. The buzzing reminds me of the swarm of locusts in the far future world.

  “What’s that sound?” I ask nervously, as Kidah negotiates our umiak through narrow gleaming ice channels that wind like serpentine alleyways in a frozen bazaar.

  It’s called bergie seltzer, Gisco tells me. It’s made when icebergs melt and compressed air bubbles suddenly pop.

  “These melting icebergs have calved recently,” Kidah notes. “We must be near the ice sheet.”

  Sure enough, we emerge from between two huge icebergs that look like they would each be capable of sinking the Titanic, and see an amazing sight. Ahead of us is what looks like a continent of ice, with outlet glaciers flowing away from the ice sheet, down the sloping coast to the waves. The seaward faces of those glaciers toss off pieces that break away with thunderous rending sounds and splash down into the water as newly calved icebergs.

  Near us, another glacier runs out beneath the water, so when icebergs “calve” or break off from it, they announce themselves by floating up to the surface and exploding suddenly into view.

  The spectacular splashdowns and sudden pop-ups create all shapes and sizes of calves, from drifting blue baby bergs as small as our umiak to massive floating mountain ranges of ice, miles wide and as tall as Manhattan skyscrapers. The cracking and rending sounds are constant and deafening, and they seem to come from all around us and also from above, as if someone is sawing away at the sky.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say. “So this is how icebergs are born?”

  The nursery is pretty full these days, Gisco remarks, sweeping his head around at the thousands of newly calved icebergs. The Greenland Ice Sheet is melting faster and faster. Of course, there’s a lot of it to melt.

  Just how big is it, Professor? I ask the dog with all the answers.

  Fourteen times as large as England, he replies without missing a beat. Then he adds sadly, But in a few years it will be gone. When it melts, the seas will rise and swallow coastlines and whole islands. So it’s beautiful to see, but the way it’s melting is sad and dangerous for hundreds of millions of people.

  I gaze at the seaward tongues of the outlet glaciers and follow them back with my eyes to the gleaming foothills of the ice sheet that point upward to great white mountains even farther inland. “That’s where the Dark Lord and the Omega Box are heading?”

  “There are plenty of hideouts for them up there, in hidden ice valleys and deep caves,” Kidah tells us, steering our umiak toward a spot where the ground rock touches the water so that we can land without fear of hitting a newly calved iceberg.

  There’s their lifeboat! Gisco waggles his snout at what looks like a giant crimson packin
g box that has been torn open and now bobs in the surf near the shore.

  Instantly I’m on my guard, fingering the handle of my sapphire scimitar. “Are they in it?”

  “No, they’ve made it to shore,” Kidah says. “But they’re close.”

  “Very close,” my dad agrees. “I can feel them there,” and he nods toward the mountain ranges of ice that tower skyward in the distance. “We’ve got to find them and finish this now, while they’re still licking their wounds. If we give them a chance to recover they’ll slip away and we’ll have to hunt them down all over again.” He pauses, as if catching a new scent. “And I see that someone has come to help us.”

  “How about that for good timing, eh, Simeon?” Kidah says enthusiastically. “Not that we couldn’t handle this ourselves, but reinforcements are most welcome.”

  “Who is it?” I ask. “Some warriors you’ve brought from the future to help with the final battle?”

  “Fierce warriors indeed,” my dad says and grins. “Wouldn’t you say, Kidah?”

  “No doubt about it.” The wizard smiles back, and his black eyes flash merrily as the two old warriors share a light moment. “You’ll be very happy to see them, Jack. Although I must warn you, our fight with the Dark Army may not be the only battle settled on this ice sheet.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demand. “Who is it? What’s going on?”

  Kidah steers the umiak into a sheltered cove behind the spit of ground rock. He shades his eyes and points. “There they are!”

  It’s hard to see anything because of the glare reflecting off the ice. But as I blink, I can just make out two shapes moving toward us down the steep slope of the nearest glacier. As I watch, one of them waves at us and starts running.

  54

  Kidah beaches our umiak, and we clamber out onto the bay rocks that lead like giant black stepping-stones to the lip of the glacier.

  I can see the two figures more clearly now, and both of them are moving fast. I recognize the one who is trailing behind first, because she has such a distinctive gliding step. Watching her, I flash for a moment to a deserted barn on the Outer Banks, where a mysterious birdlike ninja stalked me with the shuffle steps of a boxer and the lithe grace of a dancer. Only Eko moves that way—she seems now to skim over the snow and ice.

  But even Eko’s effortless steps can’t keep pace with the figure in the lead, who has broken into what looks like a full sprint. Twice she loses her footing and wipes out, but each time she struggles back up to her feet.

  She’s wearing a light blue parka with a hood, and I still can’t see her face clearly. But I recognize her body and her stride and there’s only one person in the world who would dash straight down an icy glacier just to greet me.

  I find myself running also. It’s hard work sprinting uphill over snow and ice, but I barely notice my own rasping breaths.

  She’s calling to me, and I shout back to her: “P.J.! I’M COMING!” Our words are swallowed by the thunderous roar of an iceberg calving from a nearby ice cliff.

  Her parka hood comes off, and her auburn hair flies free. Plumes of her breath steam into the frigid arctic air. I hit an ice patch and have to glance down. When I look back up she’s twenty feet from me, and I can see her red cheeks and her hazel eyes.

  And then she’s in my arms! I wrap her up tightly and lift her into the air, and we drink each other in with a kiss that seems to go on for half an hour. When we finally separate my father, Kidah, and Gisco have joined us, and Eko has gone over to them and is bowing to my dad.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask P.J., my arms still encircling her in a protective embrace.

  “I came to help,” she says. It’s not much of an explanation, but then nothing about this makes much sense. If she asked me the same question, I’d have to answer that I just came from an underwater gunfight where I wounded the Dark Lord with a polar energy blast from my umiak paddle.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” I tell her.

  Her bright eyes search my face. “You don’t want me here?”

  “Of course I do. But it’s too dangerous.”

  “I know what’s going on,” P.J. says. “She told me everything,” and she nods toward Eko, who is watching us.

  “You shouldn’t have brought her here,” I tell Eko. “You had no right to put her in this kind of peril.”

  “Hello, Jack,” Eko responds, and gives me one of her mysterious little smiles. “Did you enjoy seeing your world—your real world?”

  “This is my real world,” I reply. I try to sound decisive, but as I say it my voice quivers and my arm slides off P.J.’s shoulder and drops to my side. The truth is that ever since I’ve come back from the far future, I’ve felt like a bit of an interloper on this earth.

  “As for P.J.,” Eko continues, “she’s a strong woman and she made the choice to come here for herself.”

  “That’s true, it was my choice,” P.J. says. “I think everyone here should make their own choices from now on. Wouldn’t you agree, Eko?”

  “In a perfect world, absolutely,” Eko replies. “But this is not a perfect world, and the one Jack just visited is far worse. In such circumstances, personal choice becomes a meaningless concept. Duty and fate must take precedence. Jack understands that now.”

  P.J. looks back at Eko for a long second, and then turns to me. “Did your trip to the future really change you, Jack? You look the same to me.”

  My father and Kidah are standing together, watching me try to deal with these two women and not lifting a paternal or wizardly finger to help. In fact, both of them seem to be suppressing grins.

  I’ve got to do something fast to change the subject. “P.J.,” I say, “let me introduce you to my dad.”

  This sounds a little strange coming out of my mouth because P.J. has known me since we were in kindergarten together, and she was always very close to the man who raised me as my father. She once painted a portrait of him, and I also remember her knitting him a purple scarf for his fortieth birthday.

  Now, I lead her over to a total stranger, but she doesn’t seem at all intimidated in the presence of the King of Dann. She looks up at his broad shoulders and handsome, careworn face, and I know she must be thinking that he looks a great deal like me. “I’m Peggy Jane Peters,” she says, extending a hand. “Everyone calls me P.J.”

  My father looks down at her for a moment, and then he smiles and his enormous hand closes gently around her palm. “My friends call me Simeon. I hope you will, too.”

  P.J. slowly withdraws her hand. “To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure how to feel about you,” she tells him. “You see, I knew Jack’s father—the man who raised him and spent time with him—and he was a very good man. He really loved and cared for Jack.”

  My father looks a little surprised by this. She’s speaking to the King of Dann with the same disarming, forthright honesty that she always used to call me to account back in Hadley.

  “You, on the other hand,” she continues, “sent Jack back in time when he was a baby, without arranging for him to find out who he really was. I know you had your reasons, but I don’t think that was fair to him.” Her voice hardens a bit as she finishes: “You hurt him and other people, too, in more ways than you can know.”

  My father considers her words, and when he speaks his voice is soft but strong. “I see that you care a great deal for my son, and I’m grateful he had your friendship. I did have my reasons, but you’re right that it wasn’t fair to him. Now we have work to do, and your presence gives us a problem. I assume you flew here in a small plane?”

  “Yes,” P.J. tells him. “It’s over there, on the edge of that glacier.”

  “We can’t fly after the men we’re chasing,” Dad says. “They’d shoot us out of the air in a second. The only way to go after them is on foot. Across the ice sheet.” He pauses as if he’s just given P.J. a way out, and he’s waiting for her to take it.

  “Then we’d better start walking,” P.J. re
plies, returning his steady gaze.

  “Crossing the ice sheet isn’t easy under the best of circumstances,” Eko warns her.

  “I didn’t expect it would be.”

  “Listen, honey,” Kidah cuts in gently, “what Simeon is trying to say is that if you come you’ll be risking your life. We would hate for anything to happen to you.”

  She turns to the wizard and nods. “Isn’t that the point? It’s my life. Not yours, or his, or hers,” and P.J.’s eyes flick to Eko, “or the future’s, or the People of Dann’s. It belongs to me. I’m making my choice entirely for myself, which is more than I can say for the rest of you. So let’s go before it gets any colder.”

  P.J. turns and leads the way up the glacier toward the ice cap. One by one we all follow.

  As we tromp after her, my father takes my arm and whispers to me, “I like her, Jack! She reminds me of your mother, twenty years ago.”

  “She shouldn’t have come,” I mutter.

  “I am the King of Dann, and you are the beacon of hope,” he tells me. “And walking just ahead of us is the mightiest wizard of the far future. Between us we have great powers. But there are some things on this earth no man can control, and I think that girlfriend of yours may be one of them!”

  55

  We climb through a beautiful, silent, and pristine wilderness of snow and ice. The shapes and colors, contours and wind patterns seem endless, and it would be a magical uphill hike with all my nearest and dearest if it weren’t so cold and dangerous.

  Gisco claims that his saliva is freezing inside his mouth, and even though the hound is given to hyperbole, I’m not sure he’s exaggerating. Eko warns us to watch out for crevasses and moulins—hidden shafts in the ice where water drains out. It’s hard to enjoy winter scenery and a reunion of old friends when you’re tracking the Dark Lord and the Omega Box across a frozen ice sheet that may open and swallow you at any moment.

  Kidah and my dad are certain that we’re hot on the Dark Lord’s trail, or maybe I should say cold on his trail, since a frozen wind has begun to whip around us. It makes walking even harder, and when it gusts, snow sprays up into our faces and we get twenty-second bursts of whirling whiteout. I’m still wearing my protective coat from the far future, but even so the cold is numbing. P.J. shivers beneath her parka and when she stumbles I take her hand and offer to trade coats.