The Traveler's Quest: Book Two (The Traveler Series 2)

by L. Eira

  “William, this kid is taking a lot of your time when I need your time the most,” said Harvey.

  “You’re right, of course,” said William. “I need to put all of this aside. I may never find out how the hell he got my genes.”

  “Good,” said the general, with a wan smile. “I’m going to have a conference with the president and her staff.”

  “Are you declaring war?” said William. “Are we ready for that?”

  “We are,” said the general. “The men are ready. Thanks to you, the weapons are ready. It’s time to get on with it. But I need you on your A game, William.”

  William got up and walked to a table on which three liquor bottles stood. He grabbed two glasses.

  “Let me propose a toast, General.” William gave a glass to Harvey. “Let’s rule this country and make it powerful and right again.”

  A platoon of soldiers marched briskly until the sergeant’s loud command that it was time to take a rest.

  “At ease, men,” he yelled out.

  The warriors halted their tramp and broke the rigorous formation they had worked to maintain while trooping. They sprawled in the area around a water well several yards away from the building dubbed the science barracks.

  Some of the soldiers sat on the ground, and others leaned against the trees surrounding the well. A few drank out of canteens. Other filled their bottles with well water.

  “Zackary Baten,” said one of the soldiers, pointing at Zack’s name tag. “What the hell kind of last name is Baten?”

  “Leave him alone, Smock,” said another soldier. “You shouldn’t talk with a name like Schmuck.”

  “It’s Smock, you son of a bitch!” He turned back to Zack. “Let me see that.” He ripped off Zack’s name tag.

  Zack shoved the soldier’s chest, but the well-trained marine grabbed his arm and forcibly pushed him down, causing Zack to fall flat on his face. Smock then placed a heavy boot on Zack’s back and grasped a twelve-inch knife from inside his own boot. “Let’s change this tag, shall we?” Smock scraped off some of the letters from Zack’s name tag. When he was done, he grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled Zack to his feet with ease. “Here’s your new tag. Put it on, faggot!” He handed Zack the name tag.

  Zack repinned it where it belonged and looked down at the letters. “Private Zackary Bat.” Zack felt the blood drain from his face, and he felt weak in his knees. The Target Soldier.

  Someone shouted, “Attention!”

  All soldiers immediately stood and lined up in precise attention formation. An older man with red hair came out of the barracks, accompanied by several other officers.

  “Private Zackary Baten,” yelled out one of the captains. “You’re coming with us. Get your gear! Put on your best uniform and be at headquarters in thirty minutes. All others, dismissed!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  While the computer continuously tracked William’s progress at the hospital, Future Ellie and the teenagers pondered their next move. The three were sitting just inside the cave.

  “There’s nothing we can do right now,” said Older Ellie. “Hopefully the doctors can save William from his wounds.”

  Younger Ellie got up on her feet and walked a few feet into the cave, a light app in her hand. She had continued to be highly disturbed by the rock drawings in her own handwriting. She was sure that the message meant something important and that deciphering it would advance their cause greatly.

  “Why can’t I remember writing that stuff, when it clearly is my handwriting?” She was perturbed to no end. “When did I write this? And most important, what the heck does it mean?”

  Older Ellie smiled. “I was going to say I used to be just like you when I was younger. Then I realized I was you when I was younger.”

  “No mistaking that,” said Brent. “That’s for sure.”

  As Younger Ellie continued her diligent search for more rocks with her writing on them deep inside the cave and persisted with her deep contemplations about the meaning of the message, Older Ellie and Brent conversed at the entrance to the cavern.

  “If William survives, do you think there’s any hope of getting him out of jail now?” asked Brent.

  “There’s always hope, I suppose,” said Older Ellie. “But I am less hopeful now than I was before, after today’s carnage at the prison.”

  “What do you make of Harvey Homer being dead now? I thought he was instrumental in the global war over the next forty years.”

  “He was,” said Older Ellie. “That may mean that the timeline has changed and that no global war will occur. And hopefully William will have a different fate as well. Wish I knew!”

  Brent looked at Younger Ellie, who was deep in thought, fiercely writing something on a paper pad, three floodlight sources set up on tripods all around her. She had borrowed Older Ellie’s handheld computer to search the Internet. She programmed the device to pick up local radio stations for music and settled on one playing classical music, which relaxed her and helped her think. While the London orchestra performed their rendition of Verdi’s La Traviata, Younger Ellie deliberated, rummaged, and feverishly researched the information on the Internet.

  “This is really bugging her,” said Brent, interrupting the long moment of silence.

  “She’s dogged about mysteries. She’ll never give up.”

  “That’s what attracts me so much to her,” said Brent. “But don’t tell her that.”

  “She knows. Believe me, she knows. She’s counting on it.”

  “Why haven’t we heard from Alexandra in so long?” asked Brent.

  “Nothing to tell us. She’ll show up when she has something to present to us.”

  “Wish we could summon her.”

  “That would be nice,” said Older Ellie. “Typically, she just shows up in my dreams. I have tried to summon her, but she seems to come only when she needs to show me something.”

  Brent briefly gazed deep into the cave. Younger Ellie punched numbers on the handheld computer. Melodic classical music filled the background.

  “I got it,” yelled out Younger Ellie, now on her feet, a pad in her hand, and a smile on her face.

  “What?” said Older Ellie. “What did you find?”

  “There’s only one way to explain this writing. These numbers.”

  “Well, are you going to share?” asked Brent.

  Ellie ran over to the others. “Look at these calculations.”

  Brent and Older Ellie looked intently at her calculations. After a long moment, Brent shrugged his shoulders.

  Soon after, Older Ellie’s eyes brightened up. “Earth has been on a repeating time loop,” she said.

  “At least five times,” said Younger Ellie.

  “What does that even mean?” said Brent. “Let alone how do you get that from these numbers, these calculations?”

  Both Ellies looked at one another. Younger Ellie began, pointing at the sketches on the rock faces as she went. “The consistent aspect of my drawings is the earth and the moon and the arrows between the two. What changes is the number of years between the two. This one says forty-six years.” She pointed at another. “On this one, the number of years is one hundred and thirty-eight. On this one, one hundred and eighty-four years.”

  Brent’s forehead furrowed. He shook his head. “Sorry, none of this makes any sense.”

  Younger Ellie continued. “We’ve been assuming that the number of years meant some sort of travel time between the two, but of course that makes no sense at all. Even nowadays, it only takes three days to get from the earth to the moon. Not years.”

  “OK, that part I get,” said Brent.

  “What helped me figure this out was that the radio station I was listening to in there went to the news,” said Younger Ellie. “There was a piece on how researchers are puzzled about how the distance between the earth and moon had increased significantly from when it was last tested.” She picked up the handheld computer and touched the display a few times. “Look. Th
e moon is getting farther and farther from the earth, at an average of three point eight centimeters per year. In the last six months, the distance increased significantly more than that. When I do the math, I can see that the distance increased as if two hundred and thirty years have passed.”

  “Wow,” said Brent. “So how do you explain the phenomenon?”

  Older Ellie chimed in. “There are forty-six years between now, 2013, and the time I returned back in time from the year 2059, right?”

  “Right,” said Brent.

  “All the numbers of years written on the rocks are multiples of forty-six years,” said Older Ellie. “Forty-six years,” she said, pointing from rock graffiti to rock graffiti, illustrating her point, “one hundred thirty-eight, one hundred eighty-four.” She looked up and met Brent’s gaze. “And the latest report on the radio was that the moon-to-Earth distance increased as if two hundred and thirty years have passed in the last three months.”

  “The only explanation to all this is that we have been on a time loop,” said Younger Ellie. “Two hundred and thirty years divided by forty-six years that have actually passed equals five. So there’s been five loop arounds. But the loops aren’t interfering with the moon, which keeps getting farther and farther from Earth.”

  Brent sat down on a large rock. “The only person”—he thought a second—“the only being capable of doing this is Alexandra.”

  Both Ellies nodded.

  “That’s pretty evil,” said Brent. “Why would she do that?”

  “Is she playing with us?” said Younger Ellie. “Playing with humankind?”

  “William may have been right all along,” said Older Ellie. “Alexandra may be the one causing Earth’s destruction.”

  “Yeah, the virus that kills all humans over twenty,” said Younger Ellie. “The global war that wipes us all out.”

  “There may have been other calamities,” said Older Ellie. “The other time loops may have had other tragedies that end the world.”

  “And the end result seems always the same,” said Younger Ellie. “Armageddon.”

  “The sad part is that there’s probably nothing we can do about it,” said Brent.

  “Dr. Ellie Smithson,” said the computer voice. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but William is out of surgery. He is described as being in critical condition and is not expected to survive the night. His injuries were near mortal.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Despite his short stature, General Harvey Homer stood out prominently in the crowded room of dignitaries. For one thing, his sparse red hair was unlike anybody else’s, but what set him apart from all the others was the air of arrogance he exuded. He walked in cocksure, his body language that of a man in charge. The air of a man for whom winning was everything and losing was not an option and was to be avoided at all costs, even if it meant the loss of countless lives.

  As he entered the auspicious conference room, all stood at attention until he uttered the words allowing them to release. “At ease,” he said. All sat down around the large oval table, General Homer first. There were twelve armed forces higher-ups, all branches included, all leaders. But General Homer ruled over even them. He was feared, and, as such, also respected.

  “The president is on standby, and we’re ready when you are, General,” said a man with a timid voice.

  General Homer gave a nod, and, in an instant, the large screen came alive. On it, a group of ten bigwigs sat around a roundtable. President Denise Wagner spoke. “Good morning, General Homer. We are gathered here as you requested. We are all hopeful we can reach a diplomatic—”

  “Denise, let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” interrupted the general. “This country was reduced from a world power with the strongest military, economy, and health care to the weakest on the planet. Those who won’t produce have become entitled and encouraged to do so at the expense of those willing to work hard. We have transformed our country, our government, our people, from a powerful democracy to a wimpy social regime. And we, the military, will no longer stand for it.”

  “General Homer,” said the president, “we will work together to build the country back up to its full potential. We will—”

  “I gave you three years. It’s all going to hell. Time’s up, Denise.”

  “General Homer, I can’t allow you to—”

  “You can’t allow me?” General Homer laughed. “You have no power without the military. And I am the military. The power. I have the bite.” His smirk morphed to a scowl; his jaw clenched; his teeth bared. With his left hand in a tight fist and his right index finger pointing right at the screen, General Homer continued. “If you and that pathetic congress of yours don’t give me complete power right here and now and step aside so that I can do the cleanup you’ve been promising, I am waging war against the United States of America.”

  “You would use our weapons against your own people? The weapons we entrusted you with and—”

  “I don’t need your weapons. I have my own. And just to show you how easy it is going to be for my army to defeat you, I will demonstrate my weapon on one of my own soldiers. We’ll be back on the air with you in fifteen minutes. Be prepared to be amazed.” The general turned to the computer terminal. “Computer, terminate connection!” Then his gaze met his right-hand man’s. “Colonel, get the pulverizer ready and put Private Zackary Baten on the pedestal. I want this demonstration to be magnificent and to make a point.”

  The colonel nodded.

  The general continued. “Let’s make Zackary our first fallen hero of this battle.”

  Back in 2013, Older Ellie and the two teens were attempting to infiltrate Memorial Hospital and reach William in the hopes of saving his life using medical technology from the future. Getting inside the building was easy. Usurping a woman’s white lab coat about Older Ellie’s size was a little more challenging, but they accomplished the task unscathed. The biggest obstacle became readily apparent when the group reached the area right outside the intensive care unit. ICU four was jam-packed with medical personnel. Right outside the entrance into the cubicle, four police officers stood guard.

  Their contemplations of how they would get through the sentinels were immediately overwhelmed when it became clear there was some sort of medical emergency involving William. Nurses rushed in as others ran out of the room. Orders were yelled to the secretaries, and messages were passed on to the medical person in charge.

  Out of the whole melee, one command from ICU four was overheard loud and clear. “We’re losing him! Let’s take him back to the OR stat!”

  Within seconds, a mass of people surrounded a hospital bed. Several people pushed and tugged on the bed as it exited the ICU cubicle. A nurse kneeled on the bed next to William. She was counting out loud as she compressed his breastbone. A respiratory therapist squeezed a bag, pushing oxygen into a tube entering William’s mouth. The bed moved slowly in the direction from where Older and Younger Ellie and Brent were spying.

  “Why are they doing CPR?” whispered Brent.

  “He’s crashing,” said Older Ellie. “Dying. I must do something now. You two wait here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Counting on the confusion and the commotion of the moment, Older Ellie joined the fracas as they passed by. She muscled herself closer to the bed. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, she grabbed her handheld with her palm and passed the medical instrument as close to William’s chest as possible.

  “Computer, scan the person who is horizontal,” she said softly.

  “Computing,” she heard the familiar computer voice in her ear.

  “What did you say?” said a man next to her.

  “I’m not talking to you. Help push the bed. Come on. Let’s get him in there.”

  “Who are you talking to?” he persisted.

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Ellie trying to position herself even closer to William and farther away from the nosy man. The uproar increased further as the bed slowly made its way
toward the surgical unit. More orders were shouted.

  “He has no blood pressure,” yelled one of the nurses.

  “The pulse rate is sky high,” hollered another.

  “Let’s move quickly,” said one of the doctors. “His only hope is if we get him into the OR.”

  “Dr. Ellie Smithson, my scan is consistent with multiple organisms,” said the soft voice in Ellie’s ear. It was rather difficult to hear the computer with all the turmoil around her. “One of them appears to be that of Dr. William Augustus Baten, but his cellular structure and DNA makeup is consistent with rejuvenation from last scan. I need you to rescan, please.”

  “Computer, the organism I want you to pay attention to is that of Dr. William Baten. Disregard rejuvenated aspects of scan and all other organisms around William. Determine internal injuries and plan management options. Also, determine chances of complete survival.”

  “There you go again,” said the man who had come closer to Ellie as he helped push and guide the bed. “You’re talking to yourself again.”

  “Leave me the hell alone, goddamn it!” Ellie yelled out.

  “The mesenteric artery is bleeding out into the abdomen,” said the computer softly.

  “It’s the mesenteric artery,” said Ellie to an older man who she surmised was the head surgeon.

  He looked at her quizzically. “Yeah, probably. But it can also be—”

  “Don’t waste your time looking for other arterial bleeding. It’s the mesenteric artery that is ruptured, seven centimeters from the aorta. Look there first.”

  “Only those in scrubs past this point,” commanded a nurse as the procession crossed into the surgical unit. “We’ll take it from here!”

  Those in street clothes stood back as many others in scrubs took over navigation of the bed where William lay unconscious and received chest compressions.

  With a perplexed look in his eyes, the surgeon continued to follow the group, his gaze still on Ellie until the swinging door closed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT