Instinctively he ran upstairs; the impressive curved stairs, carpeted in the middle section, offset by perfect oak flooring, led off from the marble entrance lobby. The whole area and the stairs leading to the bedrooms was soaked in blood, still wet but tacky underfoot.
The master bedroom doors, in solid oak with carved crosses in each door − a symbol of his Christian faith − were flung open. Scott stopped in his tracks at the sight. An evil sacrifice laid bare before him − his wife. Monica was dead. Her eyes had been gouged out and blood oozed from every orifice: her mouth, her ears. The bed sheets were stained completely red. His wife had been subjected to a brutal reproduction ritual.
The tears streamed, his face glistened as the incoming sunbeam lit up his moist cheeks. A loud cry, an agonising, haunting bellow of ‘No’ screamed out of Scott. The carpet, once pure white, depicted the splattering frenzy of blood littering the area surrounding the bed. The walls had been pebble dashed with droplets and the monster’s footprints led to a smashed patio window – open. Glass fragments were everywhere. Scott fell to his knees beside his wife’s mutilated body.
A scream from one of the bedrooms, a muted cry for help sounding like it was coming from a closet, alarmed Scott. ‘Millie!’ thought Scott. Running towards the back bedroom, Scott could see the monster’s footprints leading to it. He could hear clawing noises, as if someone or something was scratching at a piece of furniture. Scott slowed as he approached his daughter’s bedroom, the scratching sound getting louder as did the cry for help.
Scott held his weapon. There was a commotion outside and laser fire could be heard followed by squeals of pain. The Drayzaks were returning to finish their meal. Scott pushed his back to the wall outside the bedroom and peeked into the room. The wardrobe was locked. Millie’s dressing table had been pushed up against the closet door and a Drayzak was perched on the table clawing at the door.
Scott stood at the door, now in full view of the Drayzak. The creature stopped, turned and spread its bat-like wings as if in a ritual, preparing itself for the battle. The first laser shot hit the enemy in the stomach; the squeal replicated the noise Scott had just heard at the rear of the house. The second, third, fourth and fifth shots spattered the Drayzak like a hammer to a peach.
Scott ran to the dresser and shouted, ‘Millie, it’s Daddy! It’s okay now, Daddy’s here!’ He pulled the dresser away; the door was locked and no sign of a key. Time was of the essence, the commotion in the back seemed more frenetic − he just so desperately needed to get Millie out of there. ‘Stand back, Millie! Stand well away, Daddy needs to break the door!’
Millie was curled up, thank goodness, her hands over her eyes, crying uncontrollably. Scott picked up his daughter; she was alive, but what of Marcus, his five-year-old son?
With Millie in his arms he ran towards his son’s bedroom. Millie clung to her father, arms wrapped tightly around his neck; she was not letting go. As with Monica, his son’s room was also blood-ridden with furniture strewn. A battle had taken place. Marcus had not gone without a fight, as small and fragile as he was. Scott walked slowly to his bed; the item he stood on could have been anything − his son’s baseball glove, a soft toy. Scott looked down and lifted his foot gently from the item. The blood was a giveaway, the severed hand instantly recognisable.
Millie was all that Scott could salvage. His decision earlier not to return would haunt him forever. He began to despise these aliens, good bad or indifferent, he had allowed himself to be distracted, taken his eye off the only thing in the world that mattered − his family.
Scott needed to get his daughter to safety; he had to leave the house of horrors. Running downstairs, the same stairs that had led him to the mutilated bodies of his wife and son, he followed the same path to the rear of the house through the kitchen. The dorker was now in full view of the patio doors, the invisibility function now disabled. The Undarthian soldier was signalling for Scott to hurry. The rear of the garden was a frenzy of laser fire as two Drayzaks hovered, weaving in and out of the trees.
Scott mounted the dorker, clutching Millie for all he was worth. Scott and his Undarthian warrior began firing at the Drayzaks to provide cover for the other dorker to join them. In the next moment they were gone. Scott looked behind to savour the last view of a home he might never see again.
At 1,000 feet high, camouflaged and travelling at a vast speed, they were safe − for now at least.
CHAPTER 9
TIME TRAVEL JEOPARDY
Senator Lace Adams pulled Samuel Parker to one side.
‘Once you have set up Klade to return to Area 51, is there somewhere we can have a private word?’ asked the senator.
‘Sure, my office,’ replied Samuel.
‘Meet you there five minutes after the transportation, if successful.’
‘No problem, senator.’
Within 30 minutes, the transportation of Klade would be complete, but there had been an inexplicable problem. The second time machine overrode the ability to use the same diagnostic travel co-ordinates, set previously on the master board in Samuel’s operating room for Robert Stave. The time machine had an inbuilt mechanism, software that was installed by the Council of the Light to protect the integrity of any given mission.
There were three new time machines at the senator’s disposal, each set with a fail-safe coding that would not allow the transportation of any individual who immediately followed a mission, within a 72-hour period, to travel to the exact same destination without at least a 24-hour time difference following the previous mission.
Commander Lucas and Dr Laderman had a decision to make to either abort the mission or send Klade to a time 24 hours before Robert Stave would have arrived at Area 51, Nevada.
‘We need to talk to the senator,’ pleaded Dr Laderman.
‘We don’t have time,’ stated the Commander, ‘the machine needs to be set and ready to transport.’
Maxius nodded in agreement at his Commander’s understanding of their predicament.
Samuel took his opportunity to intervene. He knew that he would be speaking with the senator shortly and, in any case, nothing could be done to change the implementation of the restrictions within the time capsule.
‘I agree with the Commander,’ said Samuel. ‘In any case, we have no choice but to run with what we have. The software is explicit and cannot be overridden. The time is set to auto, 24 hours before Robert Stave would arrive at the destination.’
‘Send Klade,’ instructed Commander Lucas.
‘On your head, be it,’ replied Dr Laderman.
‘It usually is, anyway.’
The mission was a success. Klade did not burn alive − an intercom device in the time capsule informed Klade that the order was given to locate Stave by any means necessary. The mission statement couldn’t be clearer. Bring back Robert Stave, preferably alive, but prevent his mission from being successful.
Dr Laderman, Commander Lucas and Maxius all left the building; Samuel assured them that he would take care of securing the building following their departure. He made his way to his office at the other end of the building where the senator had been patiently waiting.
Samuel entered the office. The light was off, ‘an irrelevance’, thought Samuel as there was no one else in the compound. The light was activated by his verbal command; the setting instructed for dim light. Samuel’s office was state of the art. The 3-D computer imaging was the most recent in human development. All instructions were verbal and he could operate any programme within the holographic computer with just a word. All systems were both retina and thumb print activated preventing the senator or any other unauthorised individuals, access. In recognition of the superiority of Samuel Parker, the senator had respectfully parked his backside in a seat opposite Samuel’s chair. Both men were now seated.
‘Senator, what can I do for you?’ asked Samuel politely.
‘It concerns me…’ the senator paused, ‘…it concerns me greatly, the predicament we find oursel
ves in if Klade fails.’
This was the opportunity Samuel needed to put the senator in the picture.
‘Senator, we do have an additional problem.’
Whatever was concerning the senator was going to be magnified greatly by Samuel’s latest development.
‘What, more problems? I didn’t think it could be possible to have more problems, Samuel?’
‘We managed to send Klade successfully, senator.’
‘Then, what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is the Council of the Light. They are not stupid. A fail-safe software programme has been installed in every new time machine. Ordinarily we would never need to refer to the settings where two transportations to an identical destination are so close to one another.’
‘How does that effect Klade?’ asked the senator.
‘Because,’ replied Samuel, ‘the restrictions mean that the nearest we could transport Klade to the arrival time of Robert Stave is 24 hours previous. Klade will have to endure 24 hours before Stave arrives; it could put him in danger of possible arrest or capture.’
The senator had been about to ask Samuel his opinion on a further mission. The news from Samuel only added to the urgency and validation of the senator’s request.
‘Samuel,’ urged the senator, ‘look, Klade can handle himself so don’t worry. I have an idea. I need you to set up the third time machine.’
Samuel looked at the senator with a quizzical expression. He rubbed his chin. Just setting up the third time machine was a real issue; he did not have the overall authority to activate the time machine alone.
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, senator.’
‘You can with my authorisation, Samuel. I will exonerate you from all responsibilities. I will take the flak if anything goes wrong. I have stated as much. I can send my declaration to your computer now, so you can lock it in.’
Samuel paused. ‘Senator. Why do you wish to activate the third time machine? May I remind you if you weren’t already aware, the only time machine now at our disposal?’
‘In order for you to send me to the past. The distant past.’
‘I don’t think I understand, senator,’ stated Samuel.
‘Let me explain, Samuel. See, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Listening to eminent authorities on the matter of time travel. People like Dr Laderman and, of course, yourself. What I am thinking, correct me if I’m wrong, is that if I travel back to the past, the distant past and alter something which might change the trajectory of the present, I should be able to return to the now, this present, with subtle yet important differences. As long as I have not changed anything drastically, for example, wiped out the human race, I should be able to return to a slightly altered present,’ said Senator Adams.
‘I apologise if I sound rather stupid, senator, but I still can’t fathom where you are going with this.’
‘Okay. Robert Stave and Klade have travelled back to Area 51 at a similar point in time. Either they are going to change the outcome of the present or they could have created another timeline, a dual reality. They may have already returned but not in this reality.’
‘That’s quite feasible, senator, but what does that have to do with you needing to use the third time machine?’ asked Samuel.
‘Because if I travel back to an earlier past and you set my time machine to return just prior to the time you have set Klade’s machine to return, then I will be proof of what the outcome of changing the past has been. If I don’t return, then neither would Robert Stave or Klade. However, if I do return it may be a far more favourable outcome.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me again, senator,’ admitted Samuel.
‘We have the archived history of the Olympianas. We know they originated from Earth 3.3 million years ago. Their case, to claim Earth as their own ancestral heritage, is lodged with the Council of the Light. What you don’t know, Samuel, is that we have hacked and obtained their full dossier. They have a custom, a sort of religion, and a date when their whole race evolved. We have say, Jesus Christ, as the historical figure who changed the world. They have their originator, a being who propagated their race, or so the tale goes. There is a date. There is a place. It’s a long shot but worth taking the chance,’ explained the senator.
‘Am I right in deducing that you wish to prevent their very existence?’ asked Samuel.
The senator smiled. It made perfect sense. Without their race there would be no evacuation of Earth. There would be no Qudor Volkan to return, no Drayzaks and no claim with the Council of the Light − in essence, an alien-free world.
‘Senator, if I set up the time machine, there is a chance it will fail.’
‘A small risk, Samuel. If this works I should be back shortly, before Dr Laderman and the others return in the morning. I have a weapon, a powerful weapon. I have the date and place. If it works, there should be no Council of the Light to contend with because Qudor Volkan would not have prevailed. Earth would surely be an Earth under human control. I understand that the Zaagan versus Undarthian battle may still have occurred but if this mission works we can figure that out later. The only thing I am unsure of is how this city might now look or whether I too, like Robert Stave and Klade, might return to a different timeline. It’s still worth a shot.’
‘It’s a big risk, senator.’
‘It’s a better outcome than if Klade fails and Robert Stave succeeds.’
Samuel knew the senator was right. The fact that they had sent Klade back without consent from the Council of the Light meant they were already in trouble. If this worked it would trump anything Klade or Stave did. Their reality would be different once the senator eradicates Qudor Volkan.
The time machine was unveiled. Samuel set the machine to return to the precise date, time and place that the senator revealed from his official classified source. The weapon the senator was carrying was the plutonium fused Z1845X. A weapon no larger than a tennis ball but enough power to destroy a city. Enough power to destroy a race.
This was literally a race against time, a race against all odds.
CHAPTER 10
DANE’S PROMISE
Dane Vhastek needed resources. Annaluce was in the hands of the dastardly Qudor Volkan. Drayzaks threatened the very existence of humans and Daxzus was dead.
Dane confronted Oosapeth, still deep in conversation with his military strategists to devise a war plan.
‘I need warriors,’ said Dane.
‘On a mission again? Too dangerous,’ replied Oosapeth, still wearing his translator helmet, almost ignoring Dane as he sought a solution to the war unfolding. ‘I’ve already saved you once, Dane.’
‘You don’t understand. We need help. We need ground troops, lots of ground troops. I had mentioned Zarduzian and the squalors as a possible ally.’
‘You did but we haven’t time to train them. They might not even agree to fight. We can’t arm them either. A bad idea.’
‘Do you have a better idea?’ asked Dane.
‘No, but it’s still a bad idea.’
‘It’s our most plausible plan and you know it. I have to return to Zarduzian. Daxzus, their commander-in-chief is dead and Annaluce is in the hands of Qudor. The council in Larquiston will surely help. Even if we have to agree a deal, a co-existence of some kind with their planet’s elite, at least we might have a chance,’ said Dane.
‘What makes you think that squalors can overcome the Drayzaks, who are multiplying at an incredible rate, I might add?’
‘Death bait games, Oosapeth. Death baiters fly, just like Drayzaks. The squalors have weapons specifically to kill or maim flying machines. I’ve seen them in action. There are billions of squalors. Think about it. What would you choose, the option of a new life, a free life, or continue to live in misery? All that is expected of you is to do what you do best − kill flying machines except they are called Drayzaks rather than death baiters.’
Oosapeth shrugged his shoulders as if to acknowledge that Dane would do as
he pleased anyway.
Demitri and Patrick had overheard the conversation. Both yearned to go home as Bella and Scott had. Both had to accept the reality of having to be patient. The ice caves were cold, unwelcoming and Patrick and Demitri felt almost inadequate. Patrick needed a change.
‘Demitri!’ called Patrick, wagging a finger to suggest he needed a quiet word.
Demitri did as ordered. His English was of a good enough standard to understand; Patrick could not speak Russian so English became the common language.
‘We are not going to see family for some days to come. Bella and Scott will be a while. This is our planet at stake here. We should help Dane put our case forward with the Zaagans. What do you think?’ asked Patrick.
‘Beats sitting around here in the cold watching Oosapeth all day. I’m in.’
Patrick approached Dane. The worry of Annaluce, still an obvious distraction, by the tortured look on his face. At the moment he wasn’t thinking rationally. Still, Patrick needed to get his point across in a manner that would get the desired result.
‘We need to come with you on this mission, Dane,’ said Patrick, his translator activated that by now had become a normal function when addressing an alien. How bizarre had Patrick’s life become? How would his pa react to the thought of his son engaging with not just one alien race but many?
‘I can handle this on my own with a couple of my trusted comrades,’ replied Dane.
‘I don’t believe that to be the case. I understand that you act as the gatekeepers and that you propagated our planet, therefore we are descendants of your species, however, you cannot take full responsibility to argue our case. We, on behalf of our own species, must be allowed to put our case forward. This is a battle to save our species − not yours,’ said Patrick in a forthright manner even he found surprising. The thought did occur to him, ‘My pa would be proud’.
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