Adam's Journey (The Aliomenti Saga - Book 8)

by Alex Albrinck

  It was only the fear of the potential repercussions of revealing his parentage—his closest friends all believed his parents were siblings—that prevented him from using the guilt of watching Fil’s struggles and teach him the technique to dial down Energy production.

  He’d felt far worse when his failure to act enabled Fil’s unleashing of horror upon the world as he’d chased a new Assassin across the globe, wiping out major metropolitan areas in his furor and fear before arriving too late to save his wife and daughter from the Abaddon’s fatal stabbings. Had he told Fil before that day, the death toll would have been far lower. He’d tried to console himself by accepting the idea that Fil would have opted to remove the limitations on his Energy the instant he knew his family found itself in jeopardy… and that given the stakes, he wouldn’t be able to blame the man for doing so.

  With his Energy production leveled down to a manageable level, Adam clamped on his Shield to prevent any accidental escape of a force no one in this time could sense. Not to his knowledge, at least. And certainly, not here.

  He massaged his muscles to ensure proper blood flow after his encounter with the brutal weather conditions. He keyed the geographical coordinates of his target into the autopilot—coordinates he’d recorded after painstaking, decades-long research of old maps, computer models estimating the impact of continental drift, stories from historical records that narrowed down the possible physical location he’d need to reach. The craft rose into the air and accelerated north.

  Adam set the seat all the way back to simulate a makeshift bed, set his own nanos to block out the outside lighting and present a completely dark interior, and settled back for a quick nap. He’d need all the sleep he could get, for from his perspective, he’d get very little as he worked through his timeline of events.

  Thankfully, his mind and body didn’t fight him, and he was asleep within seconds.

  ~~~9~~~

  995 A.D.

  His eyelids fluttered open, eyes adjusting to the faint light inside his otherwise darkened sleeping chamber. The chime, soothing in its softer initial incarnation, halted as the alarm recognized he’d awakened, stopping before the volume and pitch shifted from calm quiet to shrieking banshee. He stretched and muttered to the control system in his bedroom, asking that light levels rise to help him fully wake, to return to the real world and leave the one of the strange dream he’d experienced.

  Nothing happened.

  He frowned, and then remembered. It wasn’t a dream. He’d truly commenced the journey he’d planned over the course of centuries, sneaking away with the time machine, leaving Fil and Angel and Will and Smokey behind.

  The chime wasn’t waking him from a standard evening’s repose, but was instead alerting him that he’d reached his geographical target in the year 995.

  Adam felt his pulse quicken as anticipation replaced drowsiness. He did a quick check of his notes, removed the nanos blocking the outside world from his view, and began work changing his appearance.

  He’d eventually be seen in this era, and he couldn’t do so in his own natural form. Instead, he’d traverse this time in the form of a personality he’d dubbed Cain Freeman. His Energy, now charged with his intent and the first images of his desired form, sluiced over each cell in his body, altering them in the subtle manner required to complete the transformation. As his form changed, he pulled his supply bag into the front seat and rummaged through, pushing aside a sealed water bottle and a score of Energy Eaters before locating the mirror. He used the mild adhesive and affixed one corner of the non-reflective side to the clear cabin lid, then stretched the mirror out to a more useful size, affixing each corner in turn. The small mirror was irregularly shaped, but gave him the reflection of the changing physical appearance he required to complete the transformation. He watched his reflection, saw his eyes change color and shape, sighed longingly as his receding hairline moved down his forehead nearer to his brow, nodded as his hair color darkened and thickened, winced at the mild but expected pain of his cheekbones shifting. Once his complexion darkened slightly, he did a final check in the mirror, nodded his approval, and peeled the reflective panel from the window. As designed, the mirror “noticed” that it was no longer hanging from any surface and contracted to its original size. Adam rolled it up into a small ball and dropped it back in his supply bag.

  He’d organized his journal so each data point he’d need would be reached in the sequence he’d need it. Having now arrived in both the correct year and at the correct location, having made use of the reminder to adopt his Cain Freeman visage, he next found the entry regarding the type of clothing he’d wear for his first encounter with those in the past. Heavy boots worn by a frequent traveler. A thick, dark cloak with a hood that kept his face largely hidden. A lump on his back indicative of some type of traveling bag.

  The image of the required attire formed in his mind. The specialized communications nanos inside his brain interpreted that image and transferred it, fully formed, to the swarm of nanos floating along inside the time machine with him. The nanos leveraged the combined computing power inside the quadrillions of individual bots, communicating the exact location of each bot to create in the physical world the image formed in Adam’s mind. Within seconds, they moved, floating through the air, sliding around his body, linking up and giving the appearance of fabric and leather, until Adam looked just as he’d imagined in both body and wardrobe.

  He looked just like the man described by his father during the man’s countless retellings of the events Adam would soon experience, a critical moment in time before the original founders of the North Village, the first home of the Aliomenti, had even met.

  If he failed, his parents wouldn’t meet. They wouldn’t meet Arthur or Genevieve. They’d never escape enslavement to found that walled village in the forest. Hope would never exist. Angel and Fil would never exist.

  He swallowed, his throat dry, his pulse rate elevated. He wouldn’t exist either.

  He laughed out loud, the tone devoid of mirth. It sounded like the plot of an interesting movie. He just wished that was all this was for him, a fictionalized story for his amusement and entertainment, rather than a literal case of life and death.

  He checked the current time—automatically adjusted by the computer to match local time, such as it could be measured in an era without the clocks he’d become so reliant upon—and noted the timeline of events in his journal. Time to finish his final preparations.

  Adam reached into his bag, pulled out one of the scores of Energy Eaters he’d stored inside his supply bag, and activated the device. The Energy Eaters acted as a sort of vacuum, sucking in all Energy remnants nearby and thus erasing all evidence that an Energy user had been there. He’d limit his Energy use in the past to this cabin where possible, and erase the evidence before departing to avoid any leakages into the outside, ancient world. It was probably unnecessary since Will wouldn’t show up for over twenty years—and any trace Energy remnants would dissipate by then—but he’d opted to take no chances. He couldn’t know the impact of trace Energy leakage in a world that didn’t yet know the concentrated use and development to come. And he’d eventually operate in times where Will and others would easily sense his presence if he didn’t take precautions. Best to build proactive habits now when the risk of exposure was effectively non-existent.

  The Energy Eater finished its work. He could feel the change inside the cabin; he was so used to feeling his own Energy inside his private quarters and in this craft that its absence startled him. He checked that his mental Shield was up and blocking the release of any trickles of new Energy now that he’d cleaned up the remnants from his physical transformation. He then wrapped himself inside the nanos not used in his current costuming, set them invisible to hide his appearance, and opened the lid of the cabin.

  As planned, the craft hovered several hundred feet above the surface, a strategic decision made to limit the possibility of physical contact between the time machine and
any human being in the area. It also limited the chances that anyone could see the interior cabin of the time machine, since the invisibility feature only worked on the exterior surface. He located the time machine remote and strapped it to his leg. Preparatory work complete, Adam elevated out of the cabin and floated to the ground.

  ~~~10~~~

  995 A.D.

  He noticed the air of this era more than anything else, thick with the scent of the fires used for cooking and heating, the smaller fires of roadside travelers that provided light and protection from nocturnal predators. It lacked the almost antiseptic smell of his time, where humanity sought to remove any pungent odors from sensitive nostrils and in the process removed all of them. The sky was thick with clouds that looked heavy with evaporated water, hiding the sun and giving the day a dark feel. Adam’s feet finally touched the ground, and he sensed the unevenness of the dirt road below, so different from the smoothed over perfection of the roads of his time, but more like those he remembered from traveling in his youth.

  He jogged into the tall reeds beside the road and dropped the invisibility, leaving the nanos to swarm about him, ready to act if needed. As he moved back to the road, he glanced down at his perfectly clean boots and cloak, sighing. That didn’t fit in during this era, not for a supposed traveler of the world.

  With a sigh, he lay down on the dirt-and-mud road, rolled around until his clothes were properly imperfect, smudged a bit of dirt on his face, and let the excess dust he brushed from his clothes settle upon his boots as he stood.

  There. Now he looked more like someone who’d been walking these roads for many days.

  He headed south, knowing that his father was heading north and toward him at a point several miles away yet. It wasn’t that intersection that mattered, though. He’d not traveled back in time twelve centuries just because a random meeting happened on a road.

  No, it was because his father had initially headed away from a different rendezvous point, the one that would forever tie him to Eva and the others who would be so critical a part of his very long life.

  As he walked, he let his enhanced, Energy-based senses seek out his father, giving Adam a few minutes of warning before their initial encounter in the past. His legs pumped, and he enjoyed the simple act of movement, knowing that he’d be spending so much of his time over the next few weeks—as he lived it, anyway—crammed into the time machine, with little opportunity for even the simplest of activities. He breathed the air deeply, eyes scanning the road to ensure he didn’t too closely remind himself that the carriages of this era weren’t yet of the horseless variety.

  The minutes passed, and he felt his sense of anticipation rising. He wondered how long it would take him to sense his father’s presence, how far apart they were at this moment.

  When it hit him, there wasn’t any doubt who it was. There was deep anger and simmering rage and desperate humiliation, tied together with an overpowering thirst for revenge… all those emotions burrowed into Adam’s enhanced empathic and telepathic senses.

  As did his father’s most recent memories, the source of those emotions.

  The old man sat at the head of the table inside the Gathering Cave, where his people held all great ceremonies. This leader or “first man,” known as “the Adam” after the first man created in the old stories, also sat in this place to render judgement upon his people.

  The Adam looked upon the three young men before him, favoring two with obvious pride, the other with a look of deepest loathing and repugnance. It was the latter to whom the old man spoke. “Nameless child, what is your grievance against my sons?”

  The youngest of the three stood taller, a fiery, defiant look in his eyes. “I believe I am the best man to assume the role of the Adam in the future—the distant future—rather than my brothers.”

  The Adam’s lip curled into a sneer. “You insult them by using the term brother, nameless child. Your birth alone, a horrific scourge and punishment upon our people, has you nameless, and that fact makes my decision an easy one. You will never be the Adam of this people, you disgusting creature. Be gone! And stay out of my sight.”

  The older boys snickered and turned to leave, but the youngest, who’d looked crestfallen with the rendered verdict, stood his ground, the defiance returning. “I… I disagree with your decision.”

  The Adam and the two young men he called sons whirled upon the speaker, shock and anger in their eyes. “The decision of the Adam is final, mongrel,” the older of the boys sneered. “You will never take my place as the future Adam.”

  The Adam’s eyes flashed with pride and agreement before settling upon the speaker once more. The eyes hardened. “Your pride and insolence have grown as you’ve increased in stature. Your claims make me suspect you capable of… unsavory activity.”

  “No, I would never harm—”

  “Enough! I have made my decision, but because you have questioned me, my verdict has changed. You, nameless child, are hereby banished from our lands and may never return.” He flicked his eyes to the two he’d called sons. “Ensure he leaves and… is not able to return.” His eyes softened. Just a bit. “But do not kill him.”

  The two older boys looked disappointed at the limitation.

  Future visions revealed that they’d not limited themselves much because of the order of the Adam. Fists flew. Heavy boots. The sound of bones creaking, nearing their breaking points. Cries of pain. Limbs held up, shaking, bruises and welts forming on skin. A woman with red hair sobbing as the scenery bounced up and down, the nameless speaker carried past a jeering crowd to a boat. Landing face down on the shore of a clearly different land, the insults fading only as those who’d carried him from his home moved farther away.

  Waves of humiliation and embarrassment enveloped the unnamed child. A deep, all-consuming rage filling him. A vow.

  I will come back one day. I will kill every one of you who did me harm. And I will be the Adam.

  Adam pulled back from the emotion and the vision, shaken and shaking. He’d only felt that intensity of anger once before, only when he’d come near the second Assassin, Abaddon, named for the angel of death, a monster unable to control his thirst for blood and mayhem and death.

  And now he’d just sensed that same powerful emotion… in his own father.

  It wasn’t quite the first impression he’d hoped for.

  But it was one he’d expected.

  ~~~11~~~

  995 A.D.

  The emotional intensity grew stronger as his father approached, announcing his visible arrival like a clarion call. Adam wasn’t surprised when his father rounded the bend in the road ahead… but he was mildly surprised by his father’s appearance.

  He knew it was him, despite the more youthful look; the facial structure and eyes gave it away. His smooth face, unmarred by future centuries of living and hardship, gave him a look of innocence despite the surly curl of his lip. He blinked in surprise at the sight of his father’s thick head of hair; Adam had never had much hair, just the thin brown mop he bore in his natural form, the only change over time being a slight receding of his hairline. His father had suffered a greater loss after starting with more impressive locks in his youth. Adam noted with curiosity the brilliant streaks of red in his father’s hair, likely the genetic source of Elizabeth’s fiery red locks. He remembered one scene in the story just relayed to his mind, though, and nodded inwardly. It was the scene in which his grandfather had banished his father from their homeland, a banishment carried out by his father’s half-brothers before a jeering crowd with only one sympathetic face, the crying woman with the red hair.

  His grandmother, and the genetic source of those red streaks.

  But the red-haired woman was not the wife of the Adam, nor was she the mother of the two older boys in the vision.

  It was that reality that led to his father being given no name at birth, forever shaming him for something he’d had no control over, a way for the Adam to pretend that the child bore no rel
ation to him despite everyone in the village knowing the truth. It gave everyone in the village, especially his half-brothers, an excuse to belittle, ridicule, even physically assault him throughout his young life.

  Adam shook his head at the injustice of it all and kept walking.

  His father’s face remained contorted, lips moving as he silently muttered his meaningless threats of revenge against his enemies, eyes staring at the dirt and mud at his feet without seeing. Adam made no effort to alter his course, allowing the inevitable collision as if he, too, were lost in thoughts. The younger man looked at him, eyes flaming with a deep shame, and Adam winced. The bruises and welts were still visible now, several days after the humiliating beating. His skin was slightly burned from the days out in the hot summer sun, and he noted the bits peeling off. He wondered if he could sneak some sunscreen onto the man, wondered if it would do him any good now after the damage had already been done.

  “My apologies, friend,” he said, turning to greet his father, working hard to keep his voice casual, forcing the gruff, growling tone his father had recalled in future-yet-previous retellings of the encounter.

  “I have no friends,” the youngster snarled, his tone cracked as he fought against speaking in anger to one he’d just met. “Just enemies.”

  Adam talked by transmitting the ideas directly into his father’s mind—another reason for the heavy cloak and muffled speaking voice. It left little suspicion in the minds of his dialogue partners as to whether they’d truly heard the words “spoken” to them. Adam likewise “heard” his father’s words via thoughts unknowingly transferred. He’d forced himself to listen to the actual sounds uttered, mostly to hear his father’s childhood voice for the first time… and realized that the English his father spoke sounded little like anything he remembered, even from his younger days in the later 17th century. He’d eventually learn to understand this dialect, to speak it like a native; he’d developed fluency in nearly fifty languages over the course of his long life, and given enough time he could do the same here.