“Bruno, I need Dr. McKnight here now. Dave’s non-responsive,” Kleezebee said, continuing resuscitation on Heller.
“I’ll go find him,” Nellis said after Bruno had revived her. She ran past the powerless jump pad, opened the emergency hatch, and climbed down the exit ladder to Deck Two.
“Is there anything I can do?” Blake asked, favoring his badly burned arm.
“Both of you, grab what you can and get to the escape pods. I’ll meet you on the surface,” Kleezebee said, continuing CPR on Heller.
“Captain, I should remain here with you,” Bruno replied.
“No, you need to go. That’s an order, Commander. Make sure Chuck and the rest of the crew get off the ship safely.”
Bruno nodded, helping Blake to one of three escape pods along the rear wall of the bridge. He pressed a red, flush-mounted switch on the wall to the right of the pod, raising its hatch. Blake took a seat and Bruno strapped him in.
The egg-shaped pod was just big enough to accommodate two adult passengers and had a seven-day supply of battery power, air, vegetarian ration packs, and water. Each pod was equipped with an on-board navigation system, short-range communications, two EVA spacesuits and a portable toilet that the crew affectionately called a bumper-dumper. There were no weapons.
Bruno turned around, unlocked the cabinet below his weapons station, and retrieved all three stun guns plus the four extra energy cells.
“These might come in handy,” he said, handing the energy weapons to the injured Blake. He hurried over to the science station, opened a sliding panel door, and pulled out the removable data drive before returning to the pod. He handed the data core to Blake. “Keep this safe. As soon as I close the hatch, press the green button to eject the pod.”
“What about you?” Blake asked, looking at the open seat next to him.
“I’ll take the next one,” Bruno said. “When you reach the surface, use the nav-system to locate the nearest shoreline.”
“Then what?”
“Use the pod’s thruster assembly as a boat motor. Just be sure to sample the atmosphere before popping the hatch.”
“How will I find the others?”
“Hone in on the emergency beacons. They activate automatically as soon as a pod is launched. Now go,” Bruno said, lowering the hatch until it latched into place. Moments later, he heard the pod eject.
“I thought I told you to evacuate with the rest of the crew,” Kleezebee said, dragging Heller’s body away from the rising water.
“I know, sir, but you’re going to need my help with Heller.”
“Did someone call a doctor?” McKnight asked, climbing out of the emergency hatch, carrying a med-kit.
“Good to see you made it, Doc,” Bruno said.
“Damn, I should’ve brought my swim trunks,” McKnight said on his way to Kleezebee, high-stepping through the water filling up the left side of the bridge. “What do we have here?”
“He was hit by an energy discharge from his station. I’ve been administering CPR, but he’s been unresponsive for about five minutes.”
McKnight held up his flashing medical scanner, passing it over Heller’s chest and head several times. “I’m not detecting any brain activity and his lungs have been thermalized,” he said, pulling the device away.
“Wait, you have to do something,” Kleezebee said, grabbing the Doc by the elbow.
McKnight’s shook his head, his voice filling with sorrow. “I’m sorry, sir. But I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do for him. He’s gone, Captain.”
Kleezebee squeezed Heller’s hand gently, then bent down close to his ear. “Goodbye, cousin,” he whispered, thinking of all the times they’d played Ultimate Rummy together in his quarters. “And just so you know, I never once let you win a hand.”
“Captain, we’re running out of time,” Bruno said, seeing the water level rising dangerously close to their position.
“Where’s Lieutenant Nellis?” Kleezebee asked.
“She’s helping evacuate the crew on the lower levels,” McKnight said. “We’re taking on water all over the ship.”
“All right, then, to the escape pods. Let’s hope the bugs in engineering can’t swim.”
* * *
Kleezebee felt the bottom of the escape pod scrape along the floor of the shoreline, right before the capsule leaned forward and came to a dead stop. He opened the hatch, and felt blistering rays of sunshine on his face and a stiff breeze in his face. A hand appeared through the open hatch from the outside.
“Good to see you, Captain,” Bruno said, helping him out of the pod.
Kleezebee found himself standing on a rocky beach in the middle of a makeshift camp. Stacked up around the site were corrugated containers, dozens of ration packs and water containers, two bumper-dumpers, one quart-sized glass container filled with the gooey nebula substance, and a portable communication unit. “How many made it out safely?”
Bruno’s face went dark. “Twenty-four.”
“Only twenty-four?” he asked, his heart feeling a stabbing pain.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
The news hit Kleezebee hard. Seventy-five souls went down with his ship. On his watch. He swallowed hard and turned away from Bruno. He looked back at the ocean, past the fourteen empty pods pushed up on shore, hoping to see additional capsules bobbing their way across the whitecaps. There were none. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then asked, “Any sign of the Krellians?”
Bruno shook his head. “None at all. I don’t see how they could’ve survived the swim from that deep in the ocean.”
“Have you determined our location?” Kleezebee asked, looking at the moon low on the horizon. Its crescent shape was still visible despite the abundant sunshine filling the sky. He wiped off the sweat dripping from his brow.
“It looks like we made it home,” Bruno said, handing him an empty, rusty tin can of Maxwell House coffee, though the label was in Spanish. “There’s more trash like this along the beach.”
Kleezebee was surrounded by Lt. Nellis, Chuck Blake, and Dr. McKnight, plus seven security team members, two astrobiologists, one geneticist, two ensigns, two nurses, one chef, the barber, two machinists, and one engineer—Lt. Roddenberry, whose nickname was E-Rod—a brilliant man he’d known since his first year at the Science Academy. In all, six females and eighteen males had made it out alive.
“Are we picking up any radio chatter?” Kleezebee asked Bruno.
“Nothing on standard Fleet frequencies. But we’re receiving several broadcasts on the lower AM band. Most are in Spanish, but we did find a faint signal in English.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Bruno played the broadcast on the portable comm unit.
“. . . more following today’s top stories. Casino Royale’s premiere makes a splash with Sean Connery at the helm. Surveyor 3 successfully lands on the moon after historic three-day trek. Violent war protests break out in San Francisco over recent U.S. bombings in Haiphong. The Beatles sign a contract to stay together for ten more years. Two thousand Red Sox fans burned alive when gas main erupts and levels Fenway Park.”
“That’s enough, turn it off.”
“What do you think, Skipper? You’re the history buff.”
“You’re right, we’re on Earth. April, sixty-seven by the sounds of it. I’d say we’re probably in Mexico, given the excessive heat and the Spanish broadcasts.”
“Nineteen sixty-seven? As in the past?”
“Yes, it appears so.”
“How?”
“Perhaps when the Krellians fired on the rift’s event horizon, their weapons somehow ruptured the fabric of subspace, sending us back in time,” Nellis answered.
“But I thought time travel wasn’t possible,” Bruno said.
“It’s not. It’s simply a myth started by a few over-imaginative science fiction authors of the twentieth century. Einstein was proven wrong in twenty-one eighty-seven when E-121 was first discovered and we used it
to power our engines close to light speeds. Time does not slow down when you approach light speed, it simply shudders, like a three-legged table in an earthquake. What has already transpired cannot be undone.”
“But the radio broadcast?” Nellis asked.
“It may be a fake,” Bruno said.
“Or we’re not on Earth,” Nellis added. “We might be picking up an ancient radio signal that has traveled from Earth, arriving here four hundred years later. However, that would also mean someone went to all the trouble to fake the rubbish along the beach, too. That seems unlikely.”
“What do you think, Skip?” Bruno asked Kleezebee.
The captain bent down and picked up a crumpled sheet of heavy-bond paper buried in the loose sand. He wiped off the paper and read its contents aloud. “Playboy . . . February, nineteen sixty-seven . . . Kim Farber . . . Playmate of the Month.” He tossed the paper aside. “I don’t know how, but I’m pretty damn sure we’re on Earth. But a couple of things concern me . . . David Niven was the star of Casino Royale, not Sean Connery, and I don’t remember reading about a deadly gas explosion at Fenway Park in nineteen sixty-seven.”
“Orders, sir?” Nellis asked.
Kleezebee didn’t respond. He couldn’t stop thinking about the 3D holo-cell of his wife and son at the Grand Canyon, now buried deep at the bottom of the ocean. Half a mile down, and a lifetime away.
“Captain?” Nellis asked again.
Kleezebee snapped out of his trance. “Let’s set up camp for the night and see if any more survivors make their way here. We’ve got about an hour or so before sunset, so let’s get to it. We’ll head inland in the morning to find the nearest city.”
“Aye, sir,” several members of the crew said in unison, before walking away.
Kleezebee grabbed one of the security team members by the elbow. “Lieutenant, establish a secure perimeter at fifty meters, and rotate your guards in three-hour shifts. Pull in some of the other men if you need to fill shifts.”
“Roger that,” the lieutenant replied.
“E-Rod, do you have a moment?” Kleezebee asked his longtime friend, looking to the rear of the crowd.
The engineer stepped forward.
Kleezebee put his right arm across the back of Roddenberry’s shoulders. “Eugene, I need you to scuttle the pods before we leave tomorrow, so make sure you’ve cannibalized whatever you can from them tonight. We’ll also need the emergency beacons deactivated. We don’t want any unfriendlies salvaging our equipment.”
“You got it, DL.”
* * *
Just after sunrise the following morning, Kleezebee woke up to the sound of a donkey braying in the distance. He rolled over in the sand, sat up, and looked inland. A short Hispanic man wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, a dirty long-sleeved shirt, and gray slacks was leading a pack mule down the dirt path to their base camp. His dark brown face was almost as weathered as his prehistoric leather sandals, looking as though he’d spent every moment of his life under a heat lamp.
“Hola muchachos,” the man shouted in a friendly voice, grinning from ear to ear. His dark eyes beamed with youthful mischief, despite his obvious age.
Kleezebee sprang to his feet and rushed over to the visitor. Kleezebee’s security detail was only a few steps behind him. The captain stopped a few feet away from the man when a waft of body odor hit his senses. The Spanish-speaking man smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. “Do you speak English?”
“Sí, señor. I speak very much Engleesh.”
“Can you tell me where we are?”
“You are on a beach, mi amigo.”
Kleezebee tried not to laugh, but couldn’t stop himself. “Not what I meant. Is there a city nearby?”
“Sí. Very much close.” The man held out his hand and shook it, palm up. “For five dollars American, I will take you.”
One of Kleezebee’s soldiers pressed the barrel of his stunner pistol to the Mexican’s temple. “How about you just tell us where it is?”
The man pointed inland to the north. “Chicxulub. Two kilometers.”
“Thank you,” Kleezebee said, pulling the guard’s hand down and away from the visitor’s head. “What’s your name?”
“Jose Cesar Enrique Humberto Ramirez,” the man answered, pulling out a colorful Mexican blanket and a necklace from one of his donkey’s packs. “You need blanket? Only two dollars.”
“No, thanks.”
“I like you, Gringo, how about one dollar?” the peddler asked, pressing the blanket close to Kleezebee’s face. It smelled of donkey and sweat. Kleezebee turned his head, pushing it away.
“What about necklace? It was mi esposa’s. Real turquoise. Good deal. Only one dollar.”
“No, but I’d be interested in your donkey and packs. We’ll need them for our long trip home. How much?”
“For you, mi amigo, I make you good deal. One hundred dollars,” Jose said. “I give you blanket and necklace. No charge.”
Again, the soldier put the stunner to Jose’s head.
“How about ten dollars,” Jose said without hesitation, his eyebrows raised and face filled with nervousness.
“We don’t have any money. How about a trade?”
Jose pointed at the soldier’s weapon. “Sí, señor. The pistola?”
“No. Not the pistol. Pick something else. We have food, water, and supplies.”
“I very much like the watch,” he said, staring at Bruno’s wrist.
“Deal,” Kleezebee said, not hesitating. He motioned for Bruno to give up his watch. Bruno took it off and gave it to Jose.
Jose slipped his hand through the twist wristband. “Gracias, señor. Muy bueno.” He stood silent for at least a minute, playing with the buttons around its perimeter.
“You should probably be on your way now,” Kleezebee said, ushering the man gently with his hand.
Jose smiled, took off his straw hat, bowed quickly, then turned around and walked back down the path, leaving his mule, trinkets, and packs behind.
Kleezebee waited for the man to disappear over the shallow rise just beyond the end of beach, then went and sat next to Bruno and E-Rod near the campfire, rubbing his hands above the flames. “We’re going to need cash if we plan on surviving in this time period.”
E-Rod flicked a coal over with a stick. He pushed it to the middle of the crackling fire. “I suppose a rescue is impossible.”
Kleezebee shook his head. “Nobody knows where we are—or when we are, for that matter. No, I’m afraid we’re stuck here for a while, until we can figure out a way home.”
“Orders, Skipper?” Bruno asked.
“You, E-Rod, and I will walk into town to see if we can barter for transportation or additional mules. It’s a long way home to the U.S.”
The donkey let out several snot-filled brays just behind Kleezebee. The animal nudged him in the back of the neck, twice, with its soggy nose. “Anybody know what we’re supposed to feed this thing?”
Bruno laughed. “I don’t think the ration bars are going to cut it, boss.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“Wow, it must have been hard, not seeing your family for such a long time,” Drew said without a hint of disbelief after Kleezebee’s whopper of a story.
“Are you kidding me?” Lucas said to Drew, wondering why his brother wasn’t reacting to what they’d just heard.
“What?” Drew replied with a surprised look on his face.
“You believe all that shit?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I know you’re skeptical, but what I just told you is the truth,” Kleezebee said.
“Sorry, Professor, but it’s a little hard to swallow.”
“Trust me, it’s all true. Every word of it. Why would I make up something like that?”
Lucas shook his head and shrugged. “So now what? Are we supposed to call you Captain Kleezebee?”
“No, I’m still the same old professor you’ve always known. Nothing’s changed except now you know wh
ere I’m from.”
Lucas didn’t respond. How could he? Everything he thought he knew about his mentor was complete fiction. His perception of reality had been shaken to its very core and he needed a few minutes to reassess the situation. It was nearly incomprehensible that his bearded, low-key, flannel-wearing advisor was really a starship captain from the future.
Then there was the whole E-Rod thing, suggesting the famous mastermind behind the Star Trek franchise, Gene Roddenberry, didn’t just invent the mythology of the popular show, he’d actually lived it. It was where he got all the ideas—from Kleezebee’s future.
Lucas took a few seconds to run through it again in his mind, then gave in to the insanity of it all. The whole story was so preposterous, it must be true. What else could it be, other than the truth?
“So what happened after the trip into Chicxulub?” Drew asked.
“We made our way across the Mexican desert and entered the United States. Fortunately, for us, crossing the U.S. border in Nogales was much easier back then, and we were able to get our people and supplies into the country without too much hassle. We entered southern Arizona, found jobs in Tucson, and settled into our new lives. It took a while, but eventually everyone accepted the fact we weren’t going home anytime soon.”
“I can imagine,” Drew said, nodding.
Kleezebee continued. “Some of them paired off and started new families, while others married women from this version of Earth. I still held out hope we’d someday return home, so I never remarried. Instead, I enrolled in the University of Arizona and earned my doctorates in short order, then got a job in the physics department. I worked my way up from there. We’ve been trying to find a way home ever since.”
“Since you’re obviously on Earth in the past, I take it you eventually decided time travel was possible?” Drew asked.
“Actually, just the opposite. It took us awhile to prove it scientifically, but we’re definitely not from your future, or ours.”
“What?” Drew asked. “I don’t understand.”
Linkage (The Narrows of Time Series Book 1) Page 34
