by Martin, CJ
It lasted only a few seconds before the last voice was silenced. A few additional seconds of silence later, the flame also died, taking every trace of the three Nephloc with it.
All that remained were their shadows on the floor.
She turned back to the fourth Nephloc. She saw it was smiling. “Come here.”
The creature dropped the smile. In an instant, it had fallen to a embryonic position and was sobbing loudly.
Again, her hand reached out with her fingers wide. As she drew them in, the Nephloc was pulled to her.
“Stand up, you fool. I have something for you to do.”
Her hand jerked, pulling the creature up as a puppet slaved to its invisible strings. It looked up at her face. Instead of pure anger, it saw something else. She even had a smile.
“My poor, pitiable child,” she said as she moved to the still shaking—but now standing—Nephloc. “Do this for me and all will be forgiven. I will even make you Perazim.”
The shaking stopped, but it kept its head low. “Lady, what isss required?”
She leaned in. With both hands, she removed the Nephloc’s hood. Her hands moved forward, gently caressing an extant section of skin on its cheek. Before the creature could understand what was happening, she locked her lips onto what remained of its, kissing the terrified creature as passionately as lovers reunited after an extended absence.
She stepped back; it just stood there.
“You will return to the Temporal. There, you will befriend our enemies.”
Chapter Seven
After leaving the president, the group was driven a few miles to an underground parking lot. They followed Dr. Bracker through a series of corridors and out to a service entrance. From there, they were escorted through a short but thorough security check that led to a nondescript elevator. Sam saw no indication of how many floors it served or even which floor the elevator was currently on.
Dr. Bracker presented his credentials to the two guards in front of the elevator. Instead of going up, the down light lit. Seconds later, they were an unknown number of floors underground. The elevator stopped, but the doors didn’t open until Dr. Bracker swiped a card suspended from a retractable cord on his belt and then pressed a few buttons on a keypad attached to the wall panel.
The elevator opened up to a room with a long table that could easily seat a dozen people on either side. As the president had promised, there were only four men waiting for them in the room. Sam recognized one man to be Lieutenant Harrison who had been instrumental in setting up the trap. The other three men were a mystery to him, but by their dress, they were all important men.
A large man in full dress uniform next to the lieutenant stood up and approached Marcus, smiling with a hand extended.
These were the men the president had handpicked to coordinate the operations, his most trusted military advisors. These also would soon represent the majority of humanity who knew of the Temporal’s existence.
As Marcus took the proffered hand, Sam focused on the large man who was clearly the one in charge. He was still smiling, but the smile was not simply a friendly gesture; it was the smile of a man in control, someone comfortable with heavy responsibility and eager to take it on. Above a deeply wrinkled forehead, he had bristly black eyebrows that stood in stark contrast to his nearly pure white crew-cut.
Looking beyond that man, Sam could see the table had three large flat-screen monitors at equidistant spacing. Each was recessed into the wood finish and had an animated globe on the screen. The symbol of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—a wreath with four swords and a shield—was superimposed over the globe.
“Thank you, Bill. I’ll take it from here,” said the highly decorated man whose large figure easily overshadowed the diminutive Dr. Bracker. He handed a thick folder to the lieutenant waiting beside him.
“The president wishes…” said Dr. Bracker before being interrupted by their greeter.
“I’m sure you understand the sensitive nature of what we will be discussing. Unless you have direct orders from the president authorizing your presence, I can take it from here.”
Dr. Bracker seemed slightly unnerved. “The president will not be thrilled. I was to stay with Marcus until this is resolved—to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
The general simply raised an eyebrow waiting for a piece of paper affirming authority. Failing that, he waved his hand in the direction of the elevator.
Sam sensed something was wrong. He could not read the thoughts of the two men, but their eyes were locked like two old tomcats in a standoff over a dead mouse. Dr. Bracker, with his flared nostrils and cold, steely eyes, appeared to be particularly angry and that usually heightened Sam’s senses. The other man kept his cool, but it was obvious he would not relent.
Sam didn’t understand his own gifts, but while he rarely could hear actual thoughts, he could often at least make out intentions. He was able to see these intentions or feelings materialize as a rainbow of colors—many colors he had never experienced in nature and could not begin to describe in any human language. Dr. Bracker’s signature, however, was simply nonexistent. Sam hadn’t met anyone since receiving his gift that gave off nothing. Dr. Bracker was the first.
“Dr. Bracker,” Marcus said in a voice intended to defuse the situation somewhat. “I deeply appreciate your offer of help, but perhaps you could coordinate with the president to come back later? I’m afraid time is of the essence.”
Dr. Bracker relaxed his shoulders and then turned back to Marcus with a smile produced too suddenly, plastic and false. He dipped his head slightly—not in agreement but in bitter submission to the old man’s desire. “Yes, of course.” He turned his head, making eye contact with each of the other Temporal in turn, lingering slightly longer upon Ian before heading toward the elevator door. As the door opened, he turned once more toward Marcus. “Please do contact me if I can be of any service.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bracker.”
As the elevator closed, Marcus turned to the man that had expelled Dr. Bracker. “General Gordon, I do not know what that was about, but we have a job to do and not much time.”
The general didn’t seem to be curious how the old man knew his name. “Yes, sir. Right this way,” the man said sweeping his arm toward the head of the table. “I cannot discuss my concerns about Dr. Bracker in detail, but let’s just say we have no need for a politician right now. This,” he said with a second sweep of his arm toward the man who held the general’s folder, “is Lieutenant Scott Harrison. He will be staying with you at the Berkshire House and providing any personal assistance you may need while the three of us arrange for the worldwide transports.”
The Berkshire House had been the residence of Colonel John W. Berkshire who, upon being appointed to the position of senator of the state of West Virginia, built a house worthy of the new nation’s capital. During the War of 1812, the British forces led by Major General Robert Ross occupied the house and made it his base of operations. Many public buildings were destroyed during the skirmishes, but due to the quartering of British troops there, the Berkshire House was spared.
Adding to its colorful history, cameras and audio equipment were installed in most of the rooms during the Cold War. This made the Berkshire House a preferred location for entertaining certain Eastern European foreign dignitaries. And now, it would house the incoming Temporal.
“Yes, Lieutenant Harrison has been of considerable help already,” Marcus said while sitting in the chair at the head of the table.
General Gordon spoke as he let his heavy frame fall into the chair to the right of Marcus. “Admiral Hartling, Vice Admiral Cunnings, and I will be managing the operation from here. We have dozens of planes ready for immediate takeoff across the globe. There are but a few locations in the world that we cannot reach within the hour.”
The two other men at the table sat down in front of their respective screens.
“Good,” said Marcus. He used his arms as a brace while leaning on the table
to maintain eye level with the three seated men. “I am sure each of you understands the importance of keeping sensitive information secret. I cannot go into the nature of whom you will be transporting, but it is of absolute importance that they be picked up safely, quickly, and most importantly, quietly. I need to know that everyone here is with me before I give the first coordinate. Do you swear to obey my commands—within this mandate—and never tell a living soul of it?”
While General Gordon stared unblinkingly at Marcus, the other two men, who had not been as thoroughly briefed by the president, looked at each other wondering what the meeting was really about.
One of the men, Vice Admiral Cunnings, shook his head. “We are members of the president’s council, the Chief of Staff. And yet, we don’t know exactly who or what we are transporting. While I can accept taking orders without complete information from the president, I find it odd that—and I mean no disrespect—I should take orders with incomplete knowledge from civilians—especially civilians of other countries.”
“Completely understandable,” said Marcus, “but I’m afraid you will have to leave.”
Both the admiral and the vice admiral were on their feet. “This is most irregular,” said Admiral Hartling with his fists firmly planted on his hips and his chest thrust out.
Marcus held up his hand and waited for the two to settle down. “It is most unusual, and admiral, under any other situation, I would be in total agreement with you. All I will say is this. The Manhattan Project was conducted within extraordinary secrecy and yet spies infiltrated the program. The potential devastation from a failure to maintain a tight blanket of secrecy today could result in many times the explosive power of an atomic bomb. While I cannot know the end result of failure, many worldwide deaths and much sorrow will at the very least occur. Do you, gentlemen, all swear to obey my voice—within the stated mandate from the president—and maintain absolute secrecy?”
The eyes of the three military service chiefs met and they each slowly nodded in agreement.
“Then,” Marcus said, pulling three envelopes from his pocket, “here are the coordinates in Asia, Europe, and South America. The sooner the planes depart the better.”
General Gordon took the envelope marked, “Europe” and passed the other envelopes around. In an instant, the three men were reading their papers and organizing them according to their respective authorities.
General Gordon tapped the screen of the monitor directly in front of him. The spinning globe and Joint Chiefs of Staff symbol faded into an image of a static world map. He then tapped a search icon and typed a set of coordinates after the virtual keyboard appeared.
The monitor immediately zoomed into a five hundred mile radius of the coordinates. Several red lines appeared, radiating out from what Sam figured must be four US military bases. Above each line were numbers representing the estimated travel time. The estimates ranged from twenty-four minutes to two hours.
There was much discussion among the three men as they divided the locations based on whose command could have a plane in the air the quickest.
Sam watched as the general tapped the smallest number on the monitor and then pulled out a secure phone from under the table. Looking around, the other two high-ranking officers acted similarly. His eyes widened in wonder. The plans to gather the scattered worldwide remnant were in motion.
Chapter Eight
“Sam.”
Suteko’s voice startled him. He had been completely engrossed in the drama and apparent seriousness that was heavy in the room. What they were doing was no small matter; he was witnessing the organizing and implementation of a worldwide rescue operation.
It was only after she touched his shoulder that he realized she had healed him of a stiff neck.
“There is a room with refreshments and comfortable chairs. We can do no more here.”
Sam followed Suteko down a short hall to the entrance of a large room where he could see Ian and Catherine already seated—on opposite sides. Ian was buried in a magazine while Catherine appeared to be napping.
“Sam,” Suteko said in a whisper, pulling him aside before they entered the room fully. “Go talk to Ian. I’m just as uneasy about him being here as you are, but the old man needs him—we need him. Try to start over with him. I don’t think my words will calm Ian. He is still upset with me for something I did in the nineteenth century. But you might be able to help him understand the seriousness of the crisis we are facing.”
Sam’s stiffness returned. What little peace her touch had given him was countered by the thought of having to get to know Ian better. Sam pulled his right arm back, retightening the knot in his shoulder. But worse than facing Ian, now he had the jealous rumblings of a man realizing his girl was still a complete mystery to him.
“What exactly did you do in the nineteenth century?”
Suteko hesitated with thought before leaning over and whispering in his ear, “I promise I will tell you later. I need to spend some time with Catherine and do the same. Remember, play nice,” she said, punching the thick of his arm playfully. “No physical contact. If he insults you and you can’t take it, just get up and leave. I’ll follow you out.”
Before Sam could make a response, Suteko had left his side and was standing next to Catherine. As she sat down, Sam saw her mouthing the words, “no physical contact.” He shrugged his still-stiff shoulders and headed toward Ian. From what the old man had said, he knew he didn’t want to be on Ian’s bad side. Despite the bubbling jealousy Ian’s presence provoked, Sam did not need an additional enemy.
Suteko placed a warm hand on Catherine’s leg. The energy from Suteko forced Catherine’s sleepless eyes open.
“Catherine,” Suteko said in a voice soft enough to be heard by Catherine but no one else. “Look, I know we have never seen eye to eye.”
The edges of Catherine’s lips turned up into a self-satisfied smirk. “If it hadn’t been for Ian’s insistence, I’d just as soon let the Nephloc have you. I have nothing to say to you.” Catherine closed her lips and her eyes once again.
Catherine had been cordial to Suteko—at first, but things changed. As the days wore on and Ian’s obsession with Suteko became obvious, Catherine could no longer maintain a cordial facade. Civility died, being replaced by overt disdain.
“Nevertheless, I do have something to say to you.” Suteko pulled in closer to the reluctant Englishwoman. She stopped short of forcing Catherine to look at her, but Suteko allowed warmth to flow out of her and into Catherine’s direction.
Suteko had a way of affecting those around her. It was her gift. It wasn’t that she influenced their thoughts as much as her energy softened their outlook, their resolve. “Catherine, we must stay together if we have any hope of defeating the enemy.”
“They didn’t look too tough last night,” Catherine bit back, turning her head toward Suteko in a jerky motion. “You are enjoying this aren’t you?”
Suteko had a puzzled look on her face, but deep inside, she knew where this was going.
“Ian and I have a dream about you, he drags me across the pond, and now everyone is fawning over lovely Suteko.”
Suteko shook her head. “The Nephloc we encountered and the enemy we face are hardly comparable. You know the stories. There are dangers far worse than those. Kaileen even gives Marcus pause…” Suteko let her words sink in. “If we do not band together, we are all lost.”
“They don’t want me. Why should I care?” Catherine’s face had turned back straight ahead. Her eyes landed on Ian across the room. Ian seemed about as thrilled to speak to Sam as she felt about speaking to the Japanese woman. The thought provoked a half smile.
“Sam has read their thoughts, their plan. It isn’t just me. In fact, it isn’t me. They only wanted me to get to Sam. They wanted to get to Sam to get to us all. The list—Kaileen has a complete list of the Temporal.”
“If Kaileen has a full list, what does she still want with Sam?”
“That is yet to
be discovered,” Suteko said with a sigh.
“All right. I’m here. I came thus far despite my better judgment, but I’m here.” Catherine turned to look Suteko in the face. “I’ll cooperate. Just give me space. You know I don’t like what you did to Ian.” Catherine turned forward once more, looking at Ian. “You damaged him. He’s a good man. He really is and what you did...It’s just unforgivable. Ian is sick and you are the disease. The sad thing is he doesn’t even know it.” Catherine turned back to Suteko and continued in a lower voice. “I tried to talk some sense into him last night. Unbelievably, he is still defending you.”
“Fine. You are angry. I get it. I did what I did without malice or even a full understanding of my gift. I had no personal feelings for Ian. He knew that. He let his feelings get out of hand. I was young, both as a human and as a Temporal. My gift...I just didn’t know it had that kind of affect on him.”
“Your gift...You use them and then lose them.” Catherine shook her head.
Suteko was having a hard time controlling her emotions. She knew Catherine loved Ian and saw Suteko as the only obstacle to the realization of that love. That lie had formed a love triangle that had lasted a hundred and fifty years. Suteko had avoided Catherine and Ian since before the First World War and she had hoped that time would have been enough to heal the wounds. She had agreed to meet them with the thought that they were needed in the current situation and enough time had passed. It hadn’t.
Suteko knew that Catherine believed all she had to do was will a man to love her and any man would do her bidding. It was possible her gift gave her that power, but she never used it like that; she never abused it. And to insinuate that she did was highly insulting to Suteko.
“Catherine, you know I didn’t do that. And if I...influenced Ian those many years ago, I did so ignorant of my gift. I was a new Temporal, inexperienced, young, and without a coach.”
“And Sam, you’ve obviously cast your love spell on him. In what torturous manner will you get rid of him when you are done playing?”
