by Bob Mayer
Scout noted that Foreman was checking his watch and making some notes in a small pad, which he slipped back into his breast pocket.
“Who’s that?” Nada asked, nodding toward the old man seated near the front.
“Good question,” Moms said. “Someone who wants to keep his information close to his chest. Named Foreman.”
“Where’s Ivar?” Nada asked.
“Gone,” Moms said.
“Gone?” Nada repeated. “Gone where?”
“We don’t know.”
The Keep spoke. “This is Mister Foreman,” she said. “He—” She paused. “What exactly is your job, Mister Foreman?”
“That’s a little hard to define,” Foreman said.
“Right,” Scout said.
“You could try,” Nada said.
“I could,” Foreman agreed, but didn’t say anything more.
“Are you in charge of the Patrol?” the Keep asked.
“I was instrumental in their”—he searched for a word and when he chose it, it seemed he wasn’t exactly happy with it—“formation. But I am not in charge of them.”
“When did they begin traveling?” Doc asked.
Foreman chuckled. “A rather naïve question, especially from someone with so many doctorates. You do understand the paradox involved in the question?”
“Everything has a start point,” Doc said.
“I suppose,” Foreman said in a way that indicated he didn’t suppose at all.
“You know who we are,” Moms said, not a question.
“I’ve read your files,” Foreman said. He reached inside his coat pocket and retrieved a manila folder matching the one the Keep had. “We all have our rules and orders and our information.”
The Keep made a belated, and apparently unnecessary, introduction. “Mister Foreman, these are the Nightstalkers. As you seem to know, they are a special team designed to deal with special problems.”
“Certainly,” Foreman said. “The best of the best and all that. I’m certain. You often deal with Rifts, correct?”
“We shut the last one down,” Moms said.
“You shut it down?” Foreman seemed amused. “I thought it was the other way around. And are you sure it’s the last? Willing to bet your life on it?”
Nada took Moms’s side, as he always did. “There hasn’t been another one since the Zombie at the Dam.”
“Yes,” Foreman said, “when the other side, whoever they are, sent back those from our world who opened Rifts and survived going through. Colonel Thorn, who you might consider one of the first Nightstalkers, took care of the Japanese and Nazi physicists who were, so to speak, spit back to us.”
“You say his name like he was someone you knew,” Moms said.
“I did know Thorn,” Foreman said. “He was a good man. A tough soldier. As evidenced by his last act.”
“What exactly are we dealing with here and now, Mister Foreman?” Moms asked.
“I don’t know what we’re dealing with. That’s why you’re here.” Foreman clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. “We’re above the Time Patrol. The alarm would only be sounded and the outer door closed if one of two things happened. One. There was an uncontrolled reverse breach via the HUB. Someone or something from another time or timeline coming into our time. Or two. The HUB is no longer down there.” He looked at Scout. “In the former, then there might well be monsters down there. So to speak. At least things we would call monsters, which is what we tend to call that which we do not understand. Or in the latter case, there will be just nothing; no Patrol and no HUB. In that instance, we’ve got a bigger problem because we need the Patrol to protect our timeline.”
Doc was focused, as always, on the scientific angle. “So are you talking time travel and travel across to parallel timelines?”
“The Patrol only travels in our timeline,” Foreman said, evading the import of the question. “That’s what makes it different than going through Rifts.”
“Who do they guard us against?” Moms asked.
Foreman responded. “Against those who try to attack our past in order to change our present and our future.”
“And who exactly are these attackers?” Moms asked.
“People and things that open gates into our timeline,” Foreman said. “While we can travel back in our timeline, we do not yet have the controlled ability to travel across timelines like others do. Rifts were aberrations and, as you know, uncontrolled on our side.”
There was a short silence as everyone absorbed this.
“So,” Moms said slowly, “you’re saying the Patrol might have been attacked by another timeline?”
“Yes. If so, I suspect a two-pronged assault. One is to incapacitate the Patrol, while at the same time, our past is being assaulted in order to alter our timeline.”
“What are gates?” Doc asked. “Are they a form of Rifts?”
Foreman shrugged. “I’ve followed all the reports from the very first Rift back in 1947 to your encounter in Tennessee this past year. Quite remarkable, and I applaud the way you’ve handled them. Rifts have been the result of us, our timeline, our scientists, trying to punch through to parallel worlds. We’re probably very far behind some of the other timelines in that regard.”
“Clock’s ticking,” the Keep said. “We can deal with theory after we find out some facts.” She focused on Foreman. “So whatever is down there is a threat to our world?”
“It could be,” Foreman allowed.
“Who else do we need,” Moms asked the Keep, bypassing Foreman, “according to your instructions?”
“We have enough,” Foreman said.
“I don’t take orders from you,” the Keep replied.
Foreman spread his hands and sat down in one of the bucket seats. “Whatever. But if you check the third page of your instructions you will see that you do indeed have enough, even though you are missing one of the Nightstalkers, a Mister Ivar. But it appears we have an addition to the team which balances that out,” he added, looking at Scout. “Sometimes it’s all in the fine print. Equalization by subtraction and addition.”
“We’ve waited long enough,” the Keep said, trying to regain command. “The last addition will get here when he gets here. Charges ready?” she asked Mac, who was standing by the door of the command post, having come back up with Kirk.
“Roger that,” Mac said. “Enough to take out the door. Beyond that, I don’t know what’s down there. I could try cutting a hole and putting a probe—”
The Keep cut him off. “We don’t know what’s down there but we’re going to find out.”
“Then let’s blow the door,” Roland said, cutting to the chase as he always did. “But you know there was this really weird thing that happened on the Sanction Neeley and I just did and—”
“Let’s go,” the Keep said, heading out the door. She paused as Foreman tried to get up to follow. “Why don’t you wait here, sir?”
Foreman spread his hands once more, seemingly unconcerned. “Sure.”
The rest of the team followed, except for Scout. She grabbed Roland’s arm as they trailed the team.
“What happened?” Scout asked.
The team didn’t see the irony in the OUT OF ORDER sign on the old elevator. They stood patiently, waiting, as the Keep checked her folder and then opened a panel exposing a keyboard, entering the long, complicated code that she’d given to Mac and Kirk. With a lurch, the elevator began dropping.
At least there was none of that elevator music.
“Nada,” Scout said.
“Yeah?”
“He’s lying.” No one seemed surprised at Scout’s announcement about Foreman.
“He’s a spook,” Nada said. “They lie every time they open their mouths, even if it’s just to breathe.”
“She’s right,” Kirk said. “I don’t like this.”
“All right,” Moms said, casting an uneasy glance at the Keep and knowing Scout was still green. “Keep it tight
, team.” What she really meant was shut up in front of the outsider.
They reached the bottom in silence and the elevator opened up.
“Whoa,” Scout said. “Bad vibes.”
Everyone hesitated for a moment, and then Nada indicated for Mac to proceed.
The team waited in the questionable safety of the elevator, looking down the narrow brick-lined corridor to the steel door Mac and Kirk had covered with a shaped line of explosives.
Mac held up the remote detonator. “Fire in the hole.” He pushed the button and there was a surprisingly disappointing small crack of explosion. The shaped charges cut through the steel, and the door fell outward.
Nada was first through, his old standby, the MP5 submachine gun, tight to his shoulder. He went low. Moms was right behind him, going high, carrying heavier firepower in the form of the MK-17 SCAR (Special operations Combat Assault Rifle) chambered with 7.62 NATO rounds that carried a punch.
“Freeze!” Nada yelled, centering the muzzle of his submachine gun on the tall figure standing under the cheap lighting.
“Please!” the woman called.
The Keep pushed her way through the armed Nightstalkers. “Edith Frobish?”
“Yes! Yes! That’s my name!”
The Keep indicated for the team to lower their weapons.
Nada and Moms ignored her and pushed past Edith, checking out the rest of the corridor. They paused at the guard station.
“Someone made contact,” Moms reported. “There’s blood and a bunch of expended brass.”
Nada was staring down the corridor at the black opening at the end. “Someone put up a fight. And lost. No body, though.”
“What can you tell us?” the Keep asked Edith.
“We’re not clear yet,” Moms said, gesturing with the muzzle of her automatic rifle toward the steel door guarding the other end of the corridor. “Can you open that?” she asked Edith.
“Hold on,” Mac said, pointing. “We’ve got another door that isn’t sealed right here.” He pointed at a slit in the ceiling. “I’m willing to bet Eagle’s Prius that it slides down when that door opens, keeping containment.”
“Keep it from sliding down,” Moms ordered.
“Roger that.” Mac pulled some gear out of his pack and, with Kirk’s help, got to work. After a minute of drilling and hammering into the side wall, Mac gave a thumbs-up. “Should be shorted out.”
“ ‘Should be’?” Scout muttered.
Moms turned back to Edith and repeated her question. “Can you open it?”
“I don’t know.”
Mac was looking at the sensor. He whistled. “Never seen nothing like it except in mock-ups. A DNA sensor.” He pointed at Edith. “If she belongs here, her DNA can open it.” He hooked his finger. “Come here, darling.”
Edith came forward and Mac gently took her hand and placed it over the sensor. The light flickered and the door slid up.
The rest of the Nightstalkers pushed past Edith Frobish. They gathered, weapons at the ready, at the entrance to the cavern.
“Give me some light, Kirk,” Nada ordered.
Kirk pulled a flare gun out of his pack. He fired one, reloaded, and fired two more as quickly as possible.
They arced up into the cavern and promptly were sucked into a dark wall twenty meters in.
“Whoa!” Roland said. “What the frak is that?”
Kirk fired a flare at an angle, bouncing it off the walls of the cavern and avoiding the pitch-black entity.
The rough rock walls and ceiling and the smooth floor were illuminated in the flickering red light, casting dark shadows on the crevices and being absorbed into the darkness. The Nightstalkers moved in, spreading out, eyeballs scanning, muzzles of weapons following each person’s gaze. They were all avoiding the darkness.
“It’s shrinking,” Doc said. “A meter at least since we entered.” He had a handheld scanner up and was peering at the readings.
“What was in here?” Moms asked. “Or in there,” she added, with a gesture of the muzzle of her assault rifle toward the darkness.
Kirk fired another flare as the last one sputtered out.
“I don’t know,” Edith said from behind them, standing at the entrance, but not taking a step in. She had a hand pressed against the side of her head, her eyes screwed shut in concentration.
“This feels bad,” Scout said.
“Roger that,” Kirk said. “We need to get out of here.”
“Ditto,” Nada muttered.
“All right.” Moms indicated for the team to back up out of the cavern. “Let’s get an idea of what we’re going into before stepping into it. It looks like that thing is going away, so that’s good. I guess.”
Nada gestured. “Kirk. Mac. Maintain overwatch that way.” He indicated the cavern.
The two Nightstalkers had their weapons at the ready, pointed in.
The rest gathered in a circle around Edith and the Keep.
Scout was back by the cavern entrance between Kirk and Mac and the rest of the team, part of the group, but separate. She wasn’t sure of her role, so she figured she’d do what they had recruited her for in the first place: Scout. Which right now meant watch and observe.
“What do you remember?” the Keep asked Edith.
She shook her head. “I know my name. But I don’t really know where I am right now.”
“The Time Patrol,” the Keep nudged.
“Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“And?” the Keep asked.
Edith shrugged. “That’s it. I did what I was told to do in case something happened, and so I pulled the alarm. Beyond that, I’m having a hard time remembering clearly.” Edith struggled, working her jaw, but she remained frustrated. She pressed both hands against the sides of her head. “I know it! I know I know something about this place. But I can’t remember what!”
Moms put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. Let’s back up. Why here? Why are you here underneath the Met?”
Edith blinked and nodded vigorously, touching on something she could access. “I track the art.”
“Why?” Moms asked.
“I don’t know. But I went to Columbia and majored in art and history.”
“Art is history,” Eagle contributed. “A record of it.”
Nada took half a step forward as if to say something, but stopped. Behind him, Scout felt a chill touch her back, sliding up her spine and lifting the hairs on the back of her neck. She looked over her shoulder into the darkness of the cavern, but could detect nothing. Of course it was dark in there. Darker than anything Scout had ever seen. The black wall sucked in what scant light there was. But it was further away, receding and shrinking, so she wondered why she felt worse. Sick to her stomach. Kirk and Mac were sweeping their weapons back and forth, quartering the floor of the cavern with the high-powered lights on the guardrails of their artillery.
“Hey guys,” Scout said. “Why don’t we discuss this upstairs?”
No one paid attention to her, except for Nada, who frowned and moved out of the circle close around Edith and stood next to Scout.
“And if the art or history changes?” the Keep asked.
“That’s called a . . .” Edith stopped short of the answer. She closed her eyes, trying to remember.
“Nada,” Scout whispered.
Nada leaned close. “Yes?”
“We need to get out of here.” Scout looked over her shoulder into the cavern. “There’s something bad in there. Something bad coming this way.”
“ ‘Coming’?” Nada repeated. He turned around. He flicked on the light underneath the barrel of his submachine gun and aimed into the darkness. The thin finger of light was sucked into the black wall, but it was still shrinking. “Anything?” he asked the overwatch team.
“Negative,” Mac said.
“What kind of bad?” Nada asked Scout.
“Bad bad,” Scout said. “Stay Puft Marshmallow Man bad. Do I get a gun?”
“Surprise
d you didn’t ask earlier,” Nada said.
“Surprised no one gave me one earlier,” Scout said. “I qualified on everything they handed me in training.”
But then a look crossed Nada’s face and he hesitated. He swallowed hard. “All right. Take my pistol. But be damn careful with it, Scout. It’s not a toy.”
Scout stared at him for a moment. “I know it’s not a toy.” She grabbed the pistol out of the cross hand holster on Nada’s combat vest. She pulled the slide back slightly, confirming, as she expected, that there was a round in the chamber. The safety was off. “My finger is my safety,” Scout whispered.
“Always,” Nada said.
“Excuse me,” the Keep called out, interrupting the dead-end questioning of Edith Frobish. “What are you two doing?” The Keep was closest to the guard station, having let the operatives take the lead entering the facility.
“Scout says there’s something bad in there,” Nada said. “Kirk. Get me some more light.”
Kirk took a step forward and fired a flare upward into the cavern.
It hit something less than five feet in front of and above him and bounced back, missing Kirk’s head by a fraction of an inch, and skittering ablaze down the corridor.
A moment later a spear darted forward, piercing through Kirk’s body armor and impaling him. He was lifted up, his body sliding down the haft of the spear. A clawed hand reached down from above, grabbing the top of Kirk’s head as he disappeared upward.
Nada and Scout fired at the same moment. A tall figure was swooping up, holding Kirk in one claw, twenty feet above the cavern floor, while the other held the spear. It was over seven feet in height, encased in white armor, with a red cloak swirling about. Blood red hair crested over shoulders. Two red bulging bulbs instead of eyes. No mouth.
It was hovering about five feet over the ground.
Kirk was screaming, while both hands were on the claw, trying to keep his head from being ripped off his body.
Nada and Scout kept firing, bullets flashing close by Kirk. The creature emitted what could only be described as a scream, a sound that cut into everyone’s core and caused even the stoutest Nightstalker to take a step back.
The thing let go of the spear and sliced with its other claw, passing right through Kirk’s body armor and body, cutting him in two. The separate parts of what had once been the Nightstalkers’ commo man fell to the floor.
