Time Patrol

by Bob Mayer

  “Most likely,” Foreman said. “We know they’ve been dealing in antiquities, stolen during time travel. To get funding for whatever they need funding for.” He turned toward the door. “All we can do now is wait.”

  They all turned as the Keep came back. And she wasn’t alone. Six heavily armed men accompanied her along with two men rolling a trolley. A cylindrical object rested on it.

  “What are you doing?” Hannah demanded.

  “I have Presidential authority to implement Furtherance in order to keep this place secure,” the Keep said.

  “What does that mean?” Edith Frobish asked.

  The Keep ignored her and turned to the trolley, which they parked at the entrance of the cavern. She checked her watch, and then opened a panel on the object. “I am coordinating execution of Furtherance on my command and on a timer for two hours from now.”

  “What does execution of Furtherance mean?” Edith asked.

  “It means,” Hannah said, “that the nuclear weapon, which she is arming right now, will go off when she decides or in two hours. Whichever comes first.”

  * * *

  Scout opened her eyes to the vision of Nada’s face barely inches from her own. She coughed, sputtered, and then he rolled her to her side as she vomited. Her head was throbbing, as if a band of pain had wrapped around, squeezing her brain.

  “Everyone in scuba school drowns at least once,” Nada said. “It’s a rite of passage.”

  Scout finished losing everything that had been in her stomach, and, it felt, part of her stomach. She struggled to a sitting position. “I would never volunteer to go to scuba school,” she managed to say. “Especially if it involved drowning.”

  “It’s easier the second time around,” Nada assured her.

  “Where are we?” She looked around. The other members of the team were scattered about in varying degrees of disarray. Roland was chest deep in black water, disappearing every so often as he dove. He was right next to the base of a six-foot-in-diameter black column that ascended overhead into a misty distance. Scout could spot other black columns of varying diameters in the distance, some quite massive. There were various vessels stranded on the beach, but Scout couldn’t focus yet to make them out.

  “The other side of the gate,” Nada said. He gestured about. “We lost most of our gear. The ATV is down there somewhere.”

  Moms was issuing orders. Mac and Eagle spread out, their pistols, the only weapons they had left, in their hands. They moved about forty feet along the black beach and took up security. No one had their harnesses or body armor on, ripped off in an effort to get back to the surface and then the shoreline. They were down to their black fatigues and the pistols that had been in their thigh holsters, along with their knives.

  “This ain’t good,” Scout said. The pain in her head had receded slightly, but was still a steady throb.

  “Yo!” Roland yelled in excitement as he surfaced, holding an MK19 in his hand, a bandolier of ammunition attached to it.

  “That’s a start,” Nada said. He helped Scout to her feet and they went over to Moms. Doc had his handheld out, but his equipment case was somewhere under that slimy-looking black water.

  “Well?” Moms asked.

  Doc shrugged. “No clue. I’m getting nothing. As if electronics don’t work here.”

  “We might be able to scavenge weapons from the ships and planes,” Nada said. He pointed at some military planes, obviously American with white stars on their wings, but old, propeller driven.

  “Flight Nineteen,” Moms said, recognizing it from the briefing book of strange events she’d reviewed when she’d first been recruited into the Nightstalkers.

  “Oh crap,” Nada said.

  “We’ve gone down the rabbit hole,” Moms said.

  “I take it that ain’t good?” Scout asked.

  “Doc,” Moms said, “can you recognize any of these other craft?”

  Before Doc could answer, Roland popped up, sputtering. “I can’t find anything else. There’s a steep drop-off and I think most of our gear went down deep. I can—”

  “Come ashore,” Moms ordered. “You did good enough.”

  Roland, as always, flushed at the praise, and he waded ashore.

  “That ship there,” Doc was pointing, “is the Cyclops.”

  “Eagle,” Moms called out. “That ship is the Cyclops. What can you tell us? Weaponry?”

  Eagle came over. “A collier, resupply ship in the US Navy. She disappeared in the area known as the Bermuda Triangle in 1918. Probably small arms in a locker on board. I think it had some larger-caliber guns on deck for basic defense.”

  “Great,” Scout muttered.

  “Over three hundred crew,” Eagle continued, “it’s still the largest loss of life for the US Navy that didn’t occur in combat. There is speculation she was sunk by a German U-boat—”

  “Not,” Scout said.

  “—or buckled in a storm, as vessels of that class were believed to have issues with I beams running the length—”

  “Not,” Scout repeated.

  “—of the ship not being sufficient to handle stress, especially with a full load. At the time of its disappearance, it was coming from South America with a load of manganese ore and believed to be overloaded, which led to its foundering. The ultimate determination was that she sunk during an unexpected storm.”

  “Not,” Scout said. “It got sucked into the Bermuda Triangle just like those planes and just like us. And the real question,” Scout added, “is where did those three hundred–plus sailors go?”

  The Nightstalkers looked about, the black landscape and flat water eerily still. And not a good still.

  Moms pointed at the black column. “The first question is, can we go back through that? Doc?”

  “Uh, well,” Doc began, but it was obvious without his gear, his guess was as good as anyone else’s. “No idea.”

  “We need to find these Valkyries,” Nada said. “They know something about the Patrol. Heck, maybe the Patrol is in here somewhere.”

  “But where?” Mac asked.

  Nada and Moms exchanged glances. Moms pointed to the left. “I say we do a sweep in that direction for an hour—”

  “My watch isn’t working,” Scout said.

  Everyone checked their timepieces. They were all dead.

  “We go that way for five kilometers,” Moms finally said. “Using pace count,” she added quickly as Scout seemed about to say something.

  “Roland,” Nada said, “you’ve got the grenade launcher. And point.”

  That suited the big man just fine. He opened the breach on the launcher, checked the rounds, locked it shut, and began to move.

  “Whoa!” Scout called out, pointing toward the water.

  A catamaran appeared out of the mist, moving slowly toward them. There was no sound of an engine and the sails hung limp. It seemed to be relying purely on momentum.

  “Neeley!” Roland yelled as he spotted the figures on the bridge of the boat.

  Ivar saw a golden glow ahead, a distinct contrast to the drabness of the Space Between. “What’s that?” he asked Earhart.

  “Shh,” Earhart said. “Keep your voice down. We’re in enemy territory.”

  “What enemy?” Ivar asked in a lower voice.

  “Everyone’s.”

  The outer wall came into view and it was clear the glow was coming from the base of it. Earhart signaled and everyone stopped and dropped to their bellies. Gesturing, she indicated for Ivar and Taki to accompany her to the forward edge of the dune right in front of them.

  “Geez,” Ivar hissed as he took in the tableau before them.

  A cavern had been cut into the outer wall, with columns of stone spaced haphazardly about. Several dozen upright metal tables were set in rows. On each of four tables, a person was strapped down.

  Ivar’s gaze flashed from body to body, but one thing was clear: these people were literally being disassembled while still alive. Limbs had been am
putated in some cases; skin peeled off and replaced with a clear wrapping that showed the organs underneath. There were other bodies, obviously dead, slumped down against their restraints, decay setting in.

  “It’s hell,” Ivar whispered.

  “A form of hell, yes,” Earhart agreed.

  Ivar stiffened as a figure in white with flowing red hair and just red bulbs for eyes floated into view, hovering a few inches above the black sand.

  “What the frak is that?” Ivar harshly whispered.

  Earhart pointed to the right. Two men were standing in front of one of the tables, apparently arguing. They were dressed in camouflage fatigues and their voices were faint in the distance, but Ivar could recognize they were speaking Russian. The body they were standing in front of was missing a leg, most of the skin from the torso, and both eyes, gaping sockets where they had been.

  “The Russians are doing this?” Ivar asked.

  “That is a Valkyrie,” Earhart said, pointing at the white thing, which floated over and joined the two men. One of the men gestured at the chest of the victim. The other man apparently agreed. The Valkyrie raised an arm, claws snapping into place. It cut into the chest with quick, decisive movements. Seconds later, it had a lung cradled in its claw. It turned and disappeared further into the cavern, the two men following.

  The victim was bleeding, blood pouring down into the sand. There was a gag in the mouth so that the screams were muted. The body spasmed for several seconds and then went limp.

  Earhart rolled on her back and began talking to Taki in Japanese as she wrote a note in a small pad. He nodded in assent, took the note, and slid down the dune. He collected another samurai, and they headed off. The other two samurai came up the dune and settled down into overwatch positions.

  Earhart gestured for Ivar to follow, and they both retreated back down the dune to the main party.

  “Is this what you sensed?” Ivar asked.

  Earhart nodded her head. “This has been going on for a while. We first spotted them a long time ago. Many sleep cycles. Years in your time. But we didn’t have the strength to defeat them. Also, there are several groups like that in here. We’re not the only Outcasts.” She smiled. “And most are not as nice as we are.”

  “Then what—”

  “Others are coming,” Earhart said. “I’ve sent Taki to meet them.”

  Scout focused on Sin Fen as the catamaran scraped onto the beach, using up the last of its momentum. And Sin Fen was ignoring everyone but Scout. She jumped over the side and splashed through the water until she was in front of the young woman.

  “You have the sight,” Sin Fen said.

  “I can see you,” Scout replied, taken aback.

  Sin Fen smiled. “Good. Very good.” She turned to Moms. “You are in command?”

  “I am.”

  Sin Fen looked over the Nightstalkers. Roland had edged close to Neeley, blushing bright red, but saying nothing. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging.

  “Your weapon is useless here,” Sin Fen told Roland.

  Roland looked at Moms, eyebrows and barbed wire tattoo raised in question.

  “Go ahead,” Sin Fen said. “Test fire it.”

  Moms nodded.

  Roland aimed the MK14 out toward the water and pulled the trigger. The firing pin struck home with an audible click, but nothing happened. Roland rotated to a new cartridge and tried again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

  “What does work?” Moms asked. “We fought one of those Valkyrie things, and it took a lot to kill it.”

  Sin Fen looked past Moms. “I believe the answer has just arrived.”

  Everyone turned and stared at the two samurai who had just crested the closest dune.

  “Cool,” Scout said.

  “Awesome,” Roland said.

  “Ancient,” was Eagle’s take.

  “This is getting weirder by the minute,” Nada muttered.

  “It will get stranger,” Sin Fen said.

  One of the samurai jogged down the hill and extended a note to Sin Fen. She indicated it should be given to Moms, as if she already knew the contents.

  Moms unfolded the paper:

  Please Come With Taki.

  Amelia Earhart.

  Without comment, Moms passed the note to Nada, who passed it to Scout.

  “Double cool!”

  Three Hours

  “Our people will come back,” Hannah said to the Keep. “There’s no need for Furtherance.”

  “The President, and I, think differently,” the Keep said, stepping away from the tactical nuclear weapon. The six men flanked her, weapons at the half ready. That they would be vaporized when the weapon detonated didn’t seem to bother them in the slightest.

  “If you destroy this place,” Hannah argued, “there’s no way the Patrol can fix our timeline.”

  “That’s a theory,” the Keep said. “And I agree, most likely true. But this gate is a reality. We’ve gotten a glimpse of what can arrive. According to Mister Foreman, worse things can come through, correct? An invasion perhaps? And we also know about Rifts and Fireflies. The President feels we have to terminate this problem as best we can.” She gestured at the nuke. “This is the best we can do if your people are not successful. Besides, you have your FPF flying overhead with two live nukes on it. I think this would be a much better solution with an underground detonation, the explosion and fallout contained by six hundred feet of granite above us. The yield is not that large, but more than enough to do the job here. And,” she added, “if push comes to shove, we can literally shove this bomb through that gate to whatever is on the other side.”

  Foreman snorted. “We sent a damn atomic pile through to someone’s timeline with the first Rift back in ’47. That just irritated them.”

  “It wasn’t a bomb,” the Keep said.

  “If we’d sent through a bomb,” Foreman said, “maybe they’d have sent a few back at us over the years.”

  “You don’t even know who was on the other side of the Rifts,” the Keep said. “This is all too dangerous with too little knowledge.”

  “So just hit with a sledgehammer?” Foreman asked.

  The Keep didn’t reply.

  Hannah shook her head, realizing the implacability of the Keep. She would implement Furtherance because she’d been ordered to. That was that.

  Hannah turned to Foreman. “I saw the photo you had on your desk. You were standing with Colonel Thorn and Nero. And the members of Odessa at Area 51. That was 1947, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, I was there in 1947.”

  “Were you there when they opened the first Rift?” Hannah asked.

  “If I had been, there’s a good chance I’d be dead,” Foreman said. “That photo was taken about a month before that event. A lot of people died, and the rest disappeared when Odessa opened that Rift.”

  “And you were the one behind it,” Hannah said.

  “In a way,” Foreman replied. “But don’t give me too much credit.”

  Between the team being gone and the nuclear weapon counting down, Hannah’s frustration was growing. “Stop hedging. What happened back then? How did anyone even know about the possibilities of Rifts?”

  “It was 1945,” Foreman said. “Trinity. ‘‘As west and east / in all flat maps / and I am one / are one / So death doth touch the Resurrection.’

  “I’m sure Eagle would know what that’s all about,” Hannah said.

  Foreman deciphered it for her. “Oppenheimer was the one who gave the first nuclear test its code name: Trinity. He said it came from a poem by John Donne. Near as I could ever figure out, that was the poem. Oppenheimer was a strange man. He helped invent nuclear weapons, then spent the rest of his life trying to rein in the beast he’d help create. Sort of like giving birth to a wolf, then trying to hold on to its ears as it grew, trying to control it.”

  “Yes,” Frasier said. “Moms loves to quote Oppenheimer, ‘the destroyer of worlds.’ She also believes that Trinity w
as the real moment the Nightstalkers came into being, not 1947.”

  “She’s correct in theory,” Foreman said. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, but there was no activity. “All rather ironic, talking about Oppenheimer, considering our present predicament,” he added, with a nod toward the Keep and her bomb. “We touched something far beyond our knowledge at Trinity and have been scrambling to catch up for decades and still haven’t.” He turned toward the Keep. “So yes, we are touching the void, but you must be aware that sooner or later, the void will be reaching for us. It might have already.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Keep said.

  “And that is the problem,” Foreman said.

  Golden checked her watch. “We’re down to under three hours.” She was spending half her time checking out the nuke, as if her glances could make it go away.

  Foreman shrugged. “We’re doing all we can.” He smiled grimly. “And the Keep has our fallback position. Perhaps extreme, but sometimes extreme is called for.”

  Hannah shook her head. “No.” She pointed at the gate. “They’re doing all they can. We’re just waiting.”

  “Be that as it may,” Foreman said, “you said you wanted to know, so it’s best you know, because from this moment forward, if we survive this, the Cellar and the Nightstalkers will no longer be as they were.

  “After the war, and detonating three atomic weapons, Oppenheimer moved east to Princeton. Publicly he was working on a lot of theory. Secretly he was working on applying those theories via Area 51.”

  “Via Odessa,” Hannah said.

  “He didn’t know who comprised Odessa,” Foreman said. “If he had, he surely would have never participated in working with the Nazis. It was one of his great regrets that they didn’t finish the bomb soon enough to use on Germany before it surrendered. After the war, Oppenheimer, and others like him, wanted to see beyond what they had done. To understand the elemental forces they had tapped into. They studied quantum physics and focused on elementary particles.”

  Foreman waved his hands in dismissal. “It’s a lot of scientific jargon which Doc, when he makes it back, can take a look at. But they did discover the two types of meson particles: pions and muons.”