Justification For Killing

by Larry Edward Hunt

  The Captain had taken one final look out the closed hatch window before Pegasus left. Standing in the snow waving goodbye were Clem, Penelope and Lonnie Joe. Lonnie had one hand holding Penelope the other was grasping the .45 caliber Colt pistol. Clem was wiping the tears from his eyes with a big ole handkerchief. I wonder if I will ever see them again, he thought. Waving through the window, the Captain softly said, “So long my friends, I wish you well.”

  The time was noon, Saturday, November 23, 1963.

  WE HAVE A PROBLEM

  The hatch had barely finished closing and locking when Captain Scarburg, sitting at the control console, glanced quickly around the cluster of gauges. “Oh on!” He said frantically. “Bud, Lou did you or Rocky pay any attention to the “DEPARTURE”, “ARRIVAL” or “RETURN” gauges?”

  “I’m afraid not,” answered Bud, “we thought Mike had programmed the destination and arrival time on the Texas School Book Depository building correctly. What’s wrong Captain we arrived just as scheduled on top of the Book building Thursday morning. And Pegasus left Friday evening just as we had discussed, and it returned here to the cow pasture. Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong? Wrong? Bud wrong is not a descriptive enough word, for the do-do we are in, and I’m not talking about that cow stuff lying around outside in the cow pasture. We have a problem, a big problem!”

  Captain Scarburg continued, “Pegasus arrived on the TSBD building at exactly 9:00 a.m. on Saturday November 23, 1963 as you correctly stated. The departure time back to our cow pasture was also correct.”

  Bud replied, “That seems fine, then what’s the problem Grandpa?”

  “The “Destination” and the “Arrival time” at the Destination, are both wrong.”

  The Captain stood up and pointed to both gauges to show the SCAR personnel how the dials were indicating the wrong numbers. Putting his finger on “DESTINATION” he explained that the GPS coordinates shown were not for Washington, D.C. but for the cow pasture where they were now sitting. Moving over to the “ARRIVAL” indicator. The date the Captain told the group, was supposed to show their arrival date back in Washington as Wednesday December 7, 2012.

  “Okay, Grandpa,” Bud responded, “that sounds right, but what are you trying to tell us?”

  “This arrival indicator is set for Wednesday December 7, but the year is not 2012.”

  “When Grandpa? What year does the dial show?”

  “The year is... is 1812!! The first two digits have been changed. We are getting ready to dematerialize from this Parallel Universe in 1963 and will reappear exactly where we are now sitting, but two hundred years ago!!”

  “This sounds really bad Grandpa, but you can fix it, right? Right?”

  Before Captain Scarburg could answer there was a brilliant flash of blue light, smoke obscured the front porthole and everyone inside the control room of Pegasus was rendered unconscious. They were all lying around on the floor unable to hear the melodious sound of the bagpipes sounding out the finishing notes of the beautiful rendition of ‘Amazing Grace.’

  The time was 12:01 P.M., Wednesday December 7, 1812.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  ARE WE HOME YET?

  Within a few seconds, Captain Scarburg began to regain his senses. Stumbling to his feet, he was aghast at the scene in front of his porthole window. No, it wasn’t that swamp in Africa, in fact, it wasn’t Africa at all – it was his cow pasture. An abundance of trees were growing everywhere and off to his left he could see what Clem had called the Double Pond Lake; however, those pesky ole beavers had not yet transformed the one large lake into the two smaller ones that Clem remembered.

  On the spot where the large cow pasture and old oil wells will be in the future, now an immense forest of primeval hardwood and pine trees intermingled with an abundance of mesquite flourished. Among the trees and close to the edge of the pond Captain Scarburg saw a faint hint of smoke rising up into the air. Glancing around the area, he saw not only one trail of smoke, but several. Were the woods on fire he supposed? Turning his attention from the changed scenery of his cow pasture to his unconscious crew he began trying to revive them.

  Olive Marie was the first to awaken. “Grandpa! Grandpa! What happened? Are we home yet?” She groggily inquired.

  “Hon, I’m sorry! No, we are not in Washington, unfortunately, you might be right. We MAY BE home! I was hoping I was wrong, but I believe we are indeed in the same cow pasture but by the look of things outside its not 1963. I believe it is many, many years in the past. Try to get the others awake, I’ve got an idea.”

  Turning his attention back to the control console, the Captain flipped on the switch to Mike’s Tachyon transmitter/receiver. Removing his Iphone from his pocket he touched the App labeled “Tachyon” and waited. Nothing happened. He pressed the glass screen again… and waited… again nothing… what is that noise? A slight crackling sound was coming from the phone. Holding the black Iphone to his right ear, the Captain believed he could hear something that sounded artificial. It was not static or background noise.

  Rocky, now awake, noticed the peculiar attention Captain Scarburg was paying to his Iphone and inquired, “Captain, what’s happening?”

  Noticing the same thing, Bud, Lou, Olive Marie, Forrest and Rocky all crowded in closer to the Captain seemingly trying to assist him in any way they possibly could.

  “Back up guys! Give me some breathing room… I am attempting to contact Mike back at the lab. I do not believe I told you all before, but Mike has developed a method to talk, not only between cell phones within a five mile radius of Pegasus as we have been doing while in Dallas. But on my first trip, once inside Pegasus, I was able to talk to him from this very same cow pasture. I’m trying to do it again.”

  “Grandpa, have you gone crazy? I thought you said we were destined to a Parallel Universe over two hundred and fifty years in the past – the year 1812 to be exact. How can you talk to Mike?”

  “I like to admit it when I’m right, but this time I wish I had to eat crow. I believe we are indeed in nineteenth century Texas, twenty years before Texas became a state! I think I can talk to Mike using something called Tachyons – don’t ask, I don’t know what they are either, but they, somehow, allow communication across time according to Mike.”

  The Captain explained to them the beaver pond he saw off in the distance and the unusual smoke he saw rising above the trees, but he had to explain also the finality of their voyage. They were in the year 1812, probably caused by the hand of Ryan Rousseau. He explained to them the terrible news: there was no way to fix the incorrectly programmed computer. He continued trying to contact Mike back in SCAR’s lab. If anyone knew there was a way they could repair the improperly sequenced pile of silicon chips, processors and hard drives known as the Pegasus master computer it would be Mike. He reasoned if Clem Ruby could change the computer setting once, it might just be possible they would be able to do it once again.

  “Okay, Grandpa, we understand. No, that’s not right! I don’t understand anything you have said, but quit talking and start working your cellphone and get Mike on the line,” demanded Olive Marie.

  The frying noise emanating from the Iphone quickly changed to a dial tone, which as quickly changed to a voice, “Hello… hello… is someone there?”

  It was Mike Watkins! “Mike! Mike! Is that you? The Captain screamed into the phone. “Mike, come-in, come-in… over, come-in... over.”

  Forrest quietly turned to Olive Marie and whispered into her ear, “Where does Grandpa think we are – in a World War Two bomber?”

  Before the grin on his face faded the voice had answered, “Captain? Captain? Talk to me... I can hear you. Where are you?”

  For the next couple of minutes, Mike and the Captain conversed back and forth. The Captain explained how the “ARRIVAL” gauge had been changed from 2012 to 1812, but the “DESTINATION” was still set for the cow pasture near Celina, Texas. “Is there anything from your end you can do to help us,” ask
ed the Captain? “We are at your mercy Mike, please do something – we need to get out of this 1812 cow pasture here in Texas.”

  “No, I do not have any ideas readily available, but let me take a look at the original alien construction drawing that we used to build the time-machine. Maybe I can see something I might have missed before. I will get back to you as soon as I know something. Over and out.”

  “Grandpa, I’m scared! What are we to do?”

  “We will think of something, don’t worry. First let’s take inventory of our food and water supplies. We may be here for a while.”

  The Captain passed his hat around the group accumulating what few food items the group had: one Baby Ruth candy bar, a roll of breath mints, a package of chewing gum, some cheese crackers, a peanut butter sandwich. “Whoa,” said the Captain as he removed the items from his hat, “who had the peanut butter sandwich?”

  “It was mine,” said Lou sheepishly.

  “What…? Where…?” The Captain could not contain his amazement. “A peanut butter sandwich?”

  “Yeah, I got it at the boarding house before Bud and I left to go to Dealy Plaza. Mrs. Rodgers made it for me.” Grinning he added, “You know as I have always said, ‘you never know when a delicious peanut butter sandwich might come in handy’.”

  “Well said Lou, well said. Never thought I would have to ever say that to you about a sandwich, but I’m glad you have it, and it will come in handy.” As he was placing the inventory of items in the console drawer, his Iphone began playing The Stars and Stripes Forever – “Yes, Mike I’m here… got any good news?”

  Mike explained how he had poured over the alien blueprints and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance they could override the main computer on board Pegasus by placing a by-pass jumper module across the memory circuit. This might allow the master computer to reprogram the destination back to the Washington, D.C. and arrive on Wednesday December 7, 2012. There was a slim chance they could return to the twenty-first century. The drawback to Mike’s plan was the jumper module needed. From the drawing, Mike deduced the module must be round, made of solid gold, not fourteen-karat, not eighteen-karat, but twenty-four karat gold. The disk had to be exactly 1-7/8 inch in diameter. “We’re goners,” the Captain said out loud without thinking. “Sorry, I did not mean to get so pessimistic Mike, but we have no solid gold. We might have a ring or two, a couple of Olive’s earrings and maybe a gold neck chain, but fourteen karat is about as good as we have. Any ideas?”

  “Yeah, a couple Captain. I figured you would not have the gold, so I looked up the history of Texas. It seems that in the early part of the nineteenth century, the Spanish had a Mission del Celina situated exactly where the city of Celina, Texas is presently located. If you could find this mission it is possible the Padres might have some solid gold objects that you could use to fabricate the golden disk.”

  “Good idea Mike, we…”

  Before allowing the Captain to finish Mike added, “Hold on Captain, I have not given you the bad news. You must be very careful. The priests of that era had little luck converting the Native Americans, or Indians as they were then called, of your area to Christianity. All the Indians wanted to do was steal the mission’s cattle, horses and slaughter and mutilate the inhabitants. They showed little respect to the priests. I cannot emphasis enough the dangers Captain!! You mentioned those fires outside Pegasus in the woods – watch your step Captain that smoke may not be from peace pipes. The Internet article said the Mission del Celina was totally wiped out in the early part of the 1800s by a renegade band of Native Americans, probably Comanches. Most all the settlers, including the Padre at the Mission were murdered.”

  “Comanches,” said the Captain, “those people are not deserving of the name ‘Native Americans’, those savages are pure dee ole war paint wearing Indians, the murdering, scalping, cutthroat kind of Indians. We’ll get back with you later Mike, contact us if you find out anything new... Thank you Mike.”

  “Wait Captain,” replied Mike. “I have not told you ALL the information about the disc – yes it has to be exactly 1-7/8 inches in diameter and 1/4 inches thick. Its face must be divided into four equal sections: one section must bear the resemblance of a man’s head; the second must be a lion; the third represents a bull and the fourth an eagle. The dividing line between the sections must be raised exactly 1/16 of an inch with the dividing lines touching the outer edge at twelve o’clock, three o’clock, six o’clock and at nine o’clock. A laser scanner is built into the master computer that will read these symbols. The dividing line, somehow, routs the electrical charge through the disc in some unknown sequence of pulses that are read by the computer. If you will notice Captain Scarburg, there is a slot on the front of the computer console, insert the disc there when, and if, you get one fabricated. If all goes well when you insert the disc, you should then be able to change the gauges to the correct GPS coordinates and the date can be changed back to 2012.”

  The blood had all but drained from the Captain’s face as he turned to his group with a trembling voice and said, “You all heard Mike. We are between a rock and a hard place. The only hope we have to fix this infernal machine is with that solid gold disc.”

  “Grandpa, did anything that Mike say make sense to you?”

  “Oh yes, I know precisely what the disc must look like. I have seen those symbols many times before. We can do this if we can find the gold. I’m going to try to make my way to the Mission del Celina and see if I can find some solid gold that we might be able to use.”

  “Count me in too Captain,” said Rocky.

  Bud, Lou and Forrest were eager to go also, but the Captain reminded them that someone had to say behind and protect Olive Marie. “Ah Grandpa, she will be fine, you know Pegasus is going to be invisible, so no one will be able to see it, and besides even if they found our time-machine they could not get inside. Pegasus is built practically like a bank vault. Please let us go with you? You and Rocky might need some extra help.”

  “On second thought you may be right Forrest, you are the only one here that can speak Spanish. That Padre at the Mission, if it is still there, probably cannot converse in English – you can come with us and be the interpreter, but the rest of you guys must stay here and protect Olive Marie. And make sure Lady stays inside don’t let her out either. They would have her barbecued over one of their fires before you would realize she was gone. She would be only two good bites for those murdering savages.”

  For the next few minutes, they all engaged in a strategy session. The Captain, Rocky and Forrest would exit Pegasus and head east. The Captain explained that, in the 1963 world, there was a Texas Farm to Market Road Number 604 just past that grove of mesquite trees where all the smoke was coming from. He explained a left turn past the trees, and modern day Celina was up that road about two miles. His reasoned the town must have been built around the old Mission. If the Mission had not been destroyed that is where they should find the Padre. Checking the automatic pistol in his coat pocket the Captain, Rocky and Forrest were ready to begin their trek to find the Mission. The last instruction was to Bud and Lou: “Keep a sharp lookout through the porthole and open the hatch when you see us return, and look after your sister,” said the Captain.

  SEEKING THE MISSION

  As the three neared the hardwood, pine and mesquite trees growing close to what would later become the Double Pond Lake Captain Scarburg could see the smoke he earlier saw was coming from fires burning around an encampment of Indians; although not versed in the Indian culture – these were Comanches he supposed based on the information from Mike. Dozens of tepees were scattered among the trees, and numerous Indians, in buckskins, were milling about the fires sharpening their knives, or repairing and cleaning their weapons. At the edge of the camp dozens of Indian ponies had been hobbled… beautiful mustangs – spotted appaloosas, paints and many were solid colored with every variation imaginable. Quite a few had white circles drawn around their eyes; others had white prints
of their Indian masters hands embossed on their magnificent bodies with paint. Some even had their manes braided with eagle feathers. The animals were handsome, with excellent feet and legs, with as much savvy as any horses that ever lived. Height ranged from thirteen to sixteen hands; weight appeared to be 700 to 1,000 pounds. Even considering modern times, thought Captain Scarburg, those have to be the most magnificent examples of equine flesh ever bred.

  “Shhh”, the Captain quietly said placing his finger to his lips. He pointed to a group of women working close to the edge of the camp engaged in what appeared to be scraping, cleaning and tanning of buffalo hides. Tiptoeing along the soft, pine needle, strewn ground they soon found themselves past the band of Comanches. Quickly they hid within the woods on the other side.

  BUD, I’M THIRSTY

  “Bud, Lou do we have any water? I’m thirsty. I have not had anything to drink since we left the Ponderosa early this morning.”

  Bud annoyingly answered, “No Olive, we haven’t either, but it is too dangerous to go outside Pegasus…”

  “Bud, please just let me go outside, and get some snow, and we will melt that. Isn’t that a good idea?”

  “No! That is not a good idea.” Giving it a bit of though he replied, “Okay, I might slip outside and get a few handfuls of snow.” He said pressing the “OPEN” button on the hatch. The door hissed as it opened and the air escaped from the inside of Pegasus as Bud, Lou and Olive Marie huddled close to the opening ready to scurry down the ladder to the ground.