by J.P Jackson
*
Taylor and Yellow Jack were last in a cue of slaves stretching half a mile. They marched over a rocky path worn by carts, through dense jungle and passed a crocodile infested swamp. Taylor kept a secure grip on the satchel while Jack walked beside him, head low and arms cradling the gravity defying gun. His presence made the slaves about him nervous, but Jack's authority remained unquestioned. To slaves and priests alike, he was just another Jackanine overseeing the ritual.
The early sun seemed stronger than Taylor remembered, and every so often he would lean on Jack to keep himself from staggering.
"I'm sorry, Jack. About earlier. I was a dick and wasn't thinking.”
Jack propped him up. “I allowed emotion to carry me away. Earthlings have a bad influence on me, it seems.”
Taylor shrugged and smiled. “Choking me was the most human thing you ever did. I liked it.”
Jack handed an animal hide sack filled with water to Taylor, who after drinking from it, passed it on to other thirsty people in the procession.
After walking another mile, Taylor muttered the plan through his teeth and in his head, but he could never see it through to the end. The mite was eating away at his concentration, thoughts and memories, and still grotesquely pulsing at the back of his skull.
The canopy of branches cleared enough for Taylor to see the blue sky and the distant smudge of the mothership. “How high?” he asked Jack, trying and failing to make out any discernible details.
Jack squinted up and answered immediately. “The ship is currently at an altitude of thirty thousand feet.”
Taylor placed a hand on Jack's chest to stop him in his tracks. “I don't know if you're aware of this Jack, but there's this thing Earthlings need to live, it's called oxygen. How the fuck do I breathe up there?”
“The air is thin,” he agreed; “but you should have sufficient time to gain entry before you expire. Remember, up there, every second counts.”
They trudged on for a further 20 minutes before arriving at the clearing, overlooking the quarry. Work was done and tools were down, all that was left was to celebrate. There were two shuttles at the bottom of the chalky pit, with lions loading up the last of their tech.
Jack yanked on Taylor's arm. “This is your transport,” he said, watching the first shuttle soar past them towards the ship. When the final shuttle was loaded in the quarry and the ramp sealed, Yellow Jack raised his hand in the air.
"He won't see you,” Taylor said, stepping back from the precipice as the shuttle rose from the pit.
"I am not signalling to the lion. I am signalling to the shuttle itself.”
The shuttle swooped overhead, blowing sand and touching down close by.
Taylor shielded his face from the gale as he cast a careful glance at the priests, too far away to cause any trouble. Jack straightened himself out and approached the shuttle as it's rear ramp lowered to the sand. A chunky, raven haired lion stomped out onto the desert, aggravated by the interruption. Taylor kept back, shrinking as the lion chastised Yellow Jack. Jack conversed and gesticulated, doing his utmost to convince the lion of his credentials. The aggrieved lion pushed Jack back and the Jackanine raised his arms in surrender.
"What does he want?” Taylor asked, over the lion's shooting spits and snarls.
Jack glanced cautiously over his shoulder. “The lion says I am a wanted Jackanine regarding an incident in the temple last night.”
“What did you do?” Taylor hissed, aggravated.
Jack shrugged. “I was angry. I broke a priest's back. It appears that his fellow priests used their guile to inform on me. I am therefore wanted for questioning.”
The lion stepped closer and Jack took another step back.
"What do we do?” Taylor said, hand digging into his satchel for the sturdy, wrench like tool.
Jack meanwhile, resignedly sighed. “Well,” he muttered, lowering his gun, “it appears we have run out of alternatives.”
Jack raised the gravity gun and a wave blasted out of it's barrel, blowing off the lion's arm and sending him hurtling into the quarry.
Taylor ducked and covered his ears from the shockwave as the ramp sealed itself shut and the shuttle started it's engines. “What did you do?” Taylor yelled over the wind, as the shuttle ascended out of reach.
"The shuttle sensed unusual activity!” Jack barked. “Assaulting a lion is unusual activity! The shuttle will now return to dock.”
Taylor gnashed his teeth and squinted at the skids on the underside of the rising shuttle. “Get me up there Jack!” he yelled, eying the gravity gun. “Give me a leg up!”
Jack nodded and quickly tapped a setting into the weapon. “Ham Taylor,” he gasped, “although we have no other option at this point, I feel it is important to inform you that the mesomite is most likely responsible for your current suicidal behavior.”
"That's always been there!”
Taylor bent his knees and Jack raised the gun. “Remember Ham Taylor! Do not let the ark reach Earth!”
Taylor nodded, then braced himself. “Beam me up!”
Jack fired the gun, surrounding Taylor in a sphere of energy. He then raised the barrel, launching Taylor into the air, directly at the skids.
"Faster!” Taylor screamed. “Higher and faster!”
Jack obeyed and for a moment, it appeared as if Taylor was rocketing unassisted toward the shuttle. Inside the bubble of energy, adrenaline coursed through his veins and he let out a jubilant cheer, throwing up both arms as he aimed for the thick landing skids.
The shuttle came at him fast. Timing from Jack below and Taylor above had to be perfect, and it was. Jack released the trigger of the gun and Taylor's momentum carried him the last 10 feet, until he was able to grasp hold of the one of the skids. Taylor locked his arms and legs around the horizontal bar, holding on for dear life as the shuttle broke through the clouds. The wind tried it's best to force him from his position, howling like a banshee in Taylor's ears. Squinting, he saw vague swirls of desert, steel and sky, and although his grip was secure enough, he could feel the falling temperature already numbing his extremities.
The shuttle slowed as it prepared to dock. Taylor saw the sprawling stretch of the ship's underbelly, a complex assortment of asymmetrical metal and jagged antennae. As the shuttle drew slowly over the ship's ramp and floated towards the docking bay, Taylor dropped to a hard landing. He lay flat on his chest and froze, eyeing hundreds of Jackanine and Pride awaiting their transportation to Earth, his presence concealed only by smoke from shuttles readying for takeoff.
Before he was seen, Taylor went against all natural instinct and pushed himself to the edge until his legs dangled in the air. Terrified, he tried to focus on Jack's scratched blueprint. According to that muddy map, the underside of the ramp should contain a set of 10 bars leading to the hatch.
Taylor took one last glance at the docking bay, and wavering at the edge of oblivion, he suddenly witnessed something that he could not explain, nor fathom. It was a flashing light, like a wailing torch trapped inside a body, his body. Apophis and his lions dragged Hamilton Taylor to the ramp, averting their eyes from the startling light emanating from within him.
"What the fuck!” Taylor growled, as his past self was dragged kicking and screaming towards him.
Focusing his mind and summoning all his courage, he pushed off the ramp and dropped to snatch the first bar on the underside. Above, his past self was tossed overboard. Dangling from the ship's underbelly, Taylor watched as his younger form fell towards terra firma. He wanted desperately to see his time machine at work, so he put his grip at peril to observe his earlier self spark into a light so magnificent that it caused sunspots to blotch his vision. Taylor closed his eyes and held on tight, recalling the mission and repeating the mantra.
"Every second counts.”
He shook off the mind fuck, reached out and swung for the second bar. He took hold with his left hand, then secured the right, the action aggrav
ating a prior shoulder injury. The strain caused by the extra weight of the torch also contributed to the ache in his palms. Tension turning his knuckles white, he knew he had to hurry. Every second counts.
With eight more bars to go, a violent gust of wind tore one of his hands free from the bar and as he hung on, he screamed as his entire weight rested upon just five clenched fingers.
The thin air made him drowsy and as he tasted the metallic tang of blood dripping from his nose, he sensed the darkness creeping around the periphery of his vision. Death however, would have to wait.
Taylor centred himself and clutched both hands onto the bar. He found his focus, and gaining momentum, swung across all eight remaining bars to arrive directly under the hatch. There, he blew out some air and psyched himself up as he once again held on with one hand, while his other dug into the satchel pocket to collect the wrench.
"Come on!” he screamed and gasped, losing oxygen, grip and hope as he loosened the mechanism holding the hatch in place. Still gripping, still fighting for his life and the world, Taylor switched his grip over, taking the strain from one hand to the other.
During the swap, the wrench slipped from his frozen hands and tumbled through the clouds.
Taylor grimaced and cried as his weight and the wind begged him to let go, to free himself from the pain and responsibility.
"Come on Ham! Come on you bastard!”
Taylor reached up and pulled at the mechanism with his bare hand. Blood seeped from his fingertips, dribbling down his wrist and forearm. He yanked at the mechanism, bracing himself as the hatch fell open.
With the last of his strength, with the last of everything he had, Taylor clung to the interior ladder and entered the bowels of the mothership.
*
Below, Yellow Jack bounced back as the wrench struck deep in the sand. He lowered his gun and smiled when suddenly, he felt a hot growl blow the feathers at the back of his head. The growl was an order, and Jack obeyed.
He threw down his gun, then turned to meet the five lions surrounding him.
— CHAPTER EIGHTEEN —
