by Bob Mayer
Table of Contents
Hallows Eve
The Time Patrol
Where The Time Patrol Ended Up This Particular Day: 31 October
But Before Hallows Eve, and After They Came Back From Valentines Day
The Mission Briefing
The Missions Phase I
The Possibility Palace
The Missions Phase II
The Possibility Palace
The Missions Phase III
The Mission Phase IV
The Mission Phase V
The Return
Our History Afterward
About the Author
ATLANTIS
The Drought AD 800
Hallows Eve
A TIME PATROL NOVEL
by
BOB MAYER
“I’m not superstitious. I’m a witch. Witches aren’t superstitious.
We are what people are superstitious of.”
Terry Pratchett
The Time Patrol
There once was a place called Atlantis. Ten thousand years ago it was attacked by a force known only as the Shadow, on the same date, over the course of six years. The seventh attack led to Atlantis being obliterated to the point where it is just a legend, but our ancestors managed to survive.
There are many Earth timelines. The Shadow comes from one of those alternate timelines. It is attacking our timeline by punching bubbles into our past that last no more than twenty-four hours. In each bubble, the Shadow is trying to change our history and cause a time ripple.
By itself, a single time ripple can be dealt with and absorbed. But a significant time ripple that is unchecked can become a Cascade. That changes things, but the timeline still survives.
However, six Cascades can combine to become a seventh event: a Time Tsunami.
That would be the end of our timeline and our existence.
To achieve its goal, the Shadow attacks six points in time simultaneously, the same date in different years.
The Time Patrol sends an agent back to each of those bubbles in those six years to keep history the same.
This is one of those dates: 31 October .
Popularly known as Halloween and traditionally called: Hallows Eve.
Where The Time Patrol Ended Up This Particular Day: 31 October
! ! ! Attention government sponsors of cyber warfare and those who profit from it ! ! !
Beginning of Patebin Page of the Shadow Brokers
ZERO DAY; ZERO YEAR
The Gunman shot the guy in the Fedex outfit in the left eye. The slice of pizza Fedex man had been holding hit the floor with a splat. He slumped in the seat, dead before he was aware he was going to die.
“No double-tap?” Ivar asked, trying to remain calm.
“No need, as you can clearly see.”
“Right. I was taught double-tap.”
“You were taught correctly,” Gunman said, “but situations differ.” He waggled the gun, which was now pointed at Ivar. “Twenty-two High Standard. A classic. One shot, eyeball, is enough. But you must be very accurate. The eye socket is a small target.”
“Right.” Ivar swallowed. “And now?”
It is Now. Zero Day in Zero Year. How we got to be here via the computer timeline?
1801: Joseph Marie invents a loom using wood punch cards to weave certain fabric designs, the forerunner of computer punch cards.
1822: Charles Babbage conceptualizes a calculator powered by steam and is funded by the British Government, but his project fails .
1890: Herman Hollerrith designs a punch system, not a machine, to help calculate the 1880 census and accomplishes the task in only three years (done by hand it took seven); the company he starts will eventually be known as IBM.
1936: Alan Turing conceptualizes a ‘universal machine’ that would be capable of computing anything that is computable, which is the essence of a computer. Sort of.
“’And now’?” The Gunman seemed to realize something. “Excuse me. I have failed to introduce myself. I am Victor.”
“’Victor’?” Ivar nodded. “Sure. Victor. I’m Ivar.”
Some things change; some don’t.
“You are not my contact,” Victor said, “but I strongly suspect you are involved in this matter.”
“What matter is that?” Ivar asked.
“We had an incident a while back. In the Negev.”
This was worse than the mob, Ivar realized. The fraking Israelis .
“Someone appeared,” Victor said. “Like you did. Caused great damage. I read the report and watched the surveillance tapes.” He pointed the pistol with the stubby suppressor directly at Ivar’s left eye. “Who are you and how did you get here?”
“Up! Children of Zulu, your day has come. Up! And destroy them all.” Shaka Zulu
Zululand, Africa, 31 October 1828 A.D.
“If you have no more prophecies,” Shaka said, “you have no more time.”
“But, my King!” the old woman protested. “My words were true!”
“That means you are a true witch,” Shaka reasoned. “And should die.”
Shaka slammed the iklwa into the old woman’s chest, pinning her to the ground.
“Come here, spy,” Shaka said, gesturing for Eagle to approach his throne composed of human bones. “There is something I want to show you. Perhaps in your treasonous life, you have seen something like it. ”
Eagle knew he stood no chance against Shaka, iklwa to iklwa , regardless of the Naga blade on his own. He walked forward, skirting around the dead woman.
Shaka lifted something heavy and tossed it toward Eagle. It thudded and rolled once.
It is 1828 A.D. Russia declares war on Turkey in support of Greek independence; Shaka Zulu, the most powerful Zulu ruler, dies (maybe); South Carolina declares the right of states to nullify Federal law which will have consequences in a couple of decades; a storm off of Gibraltar sinks over 100 ships; Noah Webster publishes the first American dictionary; Simon Bolivar becomes dictator of Venezuela; Andrew Jackson is elected the seventh President of the United States with 642,553 votes after having not been named President in the 1824 election despite receiving the most electoral votes.
“What is that?” Shaka demanded.
Eagle knew why he was here.
Some things change; some don’t.
“That, great King, is the head of a mighty beast we call a Grendel. And if there is one, there is at least one more like it. Larger, more dangerous. Capable of giving birth to many, many more.”
Shaka laughed, a jagged edge to it. “At least one more? As the witch prophesized, in the Valley of Death to the west. There are dozens of these beasts, guarding a watering hole. It was a mighty fight to get this one head. They were sent here to torment me in my grief.”
“Until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in Heaven.”
Arthur Miller, The Crucible
Salem Massachusetts, 31 October 1692 A.D.
“I really thought—“ Pandora began, but she paused, cocking her head. “Do you have the Sight?” Her voice was lower, almost a whisper.
“Sort of,” Lara said.
“Do you sense him?”
Lara did sense something or someone. In the forest. Moving. Coming this way. She’d felt this presence before; even met it.
“Joey,” she whispered .
“Who is Joey?” Pandora said, turning in the direction of the presence, lifting her Naga to the ready. “You met one before?”
“He is darkness,” Lara said. “Evil.”
It is 1692 A.D. The world’s population is roughly 710 million with 436 million of those in Asia; Diego de Vargas, and Spanish colonists, retake Santa Fe, New Mexico from the Pueblo people after 12 years of exile and the event is still celebrated
in the city; in February, the first people are accused of witchcraft in Salem: Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba; an earthquake devastates Jamaica and the resulting tsunami kills two to three thousand and destroys the capital, Port Royal; a Chinese Emperor issues the Edict of Toleration, recognizing all Roman Catholic priests (not just Jesuits) and legalizing their right to convert Chinese; on June 10 th the first to be hanged in Salem is Bridget Bishop.
“You do have some Sight,” Pandora acknowledged. “It is Legion.” She lowered the point of her Naga staff slightly. “It is going away. But it knows we’re here.”
Some things change; some don’t.
“Why didn’t he attack?” Lara asked. She had sensed more than just the Legion. There were more things out there. Not human.
“It is not here for us,” Pandora said.
“Who is he here for? And why are you calling him ‘it’?”
“I truly expected it to be Scout that was chosen for this mission,” Pandora said.
“Why is that?” Lara asked.
“Because if you fail in this mission, Scout will cease to exist.”
“I am alive today. I may not be here tomorrow.”
Indira Gandhi (on 30 October, the night before her assassination)
New Delhi, 31 October 1984 A.D.
“I am Indira. And you are?”
“Neeley, Prime Minister.”
“There is no need to be formal, is there?” Gandhi asked. “Not now. Not this evening, actually very early morning as the hour has already passed midnight into a new day.”
“Yes ma’am,” Neeley said, a cup of tea cooling on the table in front of her, while the Prime Minister of India took a sip from her own. A gun rested on Neeley’s lap, hidden by the tablecloth .
“Indira, please. And is Neeley your first name or surname?”
“It’s just my name.”
“Curious. Surely you were born with a full name?”
“I was.”
Gandhi held up a hand. “I sense the issue is one that is sensitive to you. Forgive my intrusion. Neeley. Most interesting. You sound American, but there is a trace of an accent in your English. Having grown up here but being schooled in Europe, I have heard many voices. A bit of French perhaps?”
“I lived there for a while,” Neeley admitted.
“Ah, France,” Gandhi said. “Joan d’Arc. A true hero. A woman ahead of her time.”
It is 1984 A.D. Cirque Du Soleil is founded; a 19 year old goes into a deep coma after an auto accident—he’ll come out of it in 2003; Vanessa Williams becomes the first African-American to become Miss America, but it doesn’t last; the IRA attempts to assassinate Prime Minister Thatcher and the British Cabinet with a bomb; Galileo is formally forgiven by the Vatican for his correct theory on the Earth’s orbit, a bit late for him; Ronald Reagan is elected President; Apple introduces the Mac with an iconic commercial; the Winter Olympics are held in Sarajevo; crack cocaine is introduced in Los Angeles; Chrysler introduces the first mini-van (yay?); Iran accuses Iraq of using chemical weapons.
Gandhi looked down. “And you brought a gun.”
Neeley put the pistol on the table. “For protection.”
Some things change. Some don’t.
“Really? And you know how to use it?”
“I do.”
Gandhi took a sip of tea, reminding Neeley of her own.
She picked up the cup and sampled. “This is very nice.”
“My own mixture,” Gandhi said. “Tea is such a strange symbol in my country. The British exploited us for it but it is still a rich export that helps drive our economy. It seems everything in life cuts both ways. Now we no longer have the British but we still have our tea.”
Neeley was never one for small talk so she didn’t say anything.
Gandhi indicated the pistol. “Will you shoot me with that?”
“Have you heard of a ship called the good Reuben James
Manned by hard fighting men both of honor and fame? ”
Woody Guthrie
The North Atlantic, 31 October 1941 A.D.
“Who are you?” the man hissed, leaning close, putting pressure on the blade at Roland’s neck.
“Roland.”
“Are you friend or foe?”
Roland slowly moved his left hand toward the handle of his dagger. “Friend or foe of who?” Roland asked as the destroyer USS Reuben James rolled steeply, a North Atlantic wave tossing the four-stack destroyer.
“I was told one out of time would come,” the man said. “I felt the disturbance of your arrival. Why are you here?”
Roland answered as carefully, and vaguely, as he could, which wasn’t hard for him. “To make sure everything happens as it should.”
It is 1941 A.D. Elmer’s Pet Rabbit, aka Bugs Bunny, premiers; FDR is sworn in for his third term as President; all persons born in Puerto Rico henceforth will be U.S. Citizens; Grand Coulee Dam begins to generate electricity; Citizen Kane premiers; Z3, the world’s first working programmable automatic computer is introduced in Berlin; Joe DiMaggio begins his 56 game hitting streak; the first major airborne assault in history is launched by the Germans on Crete; Goring directs Heydrich to draw up plans for the Final Solution with Himmler to be in charge; the first Jeep rolls off the production line; the T4 program is initiated by the Nazis, euthanizing people with disabilities; Jews in the occupied territories must wear a Star of David; construction of the Pentagon building begins; German troops can see the steeples of Moscow, much as Napoleon had a century before, but it’s snowing and cold, much like Napoleon experienced; Hong Kong falls to the Japanese; a breakfast called Cheerios is released.
The man laughed without mirth. “What should happen? You know? What do you know?”
“This ship sinks.”
Some things change; some don’t.
“’This ship sinks’?” The man was incredulous. “Who cares about this ship? It’s the other ship, the submarine that we have to worry about. That’s the one we have to destroy. ”
“Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying.”
Martin Luther
Wittenberg, Germany, 31 October 1517 A.D.
Legion put one blade to his lips and licked it. “Your blood is indeed sweet. Are you a virgin?”
“Are you serious?” Scout said. “I think—“ and she darted to her right, jumping onto a pew, and continuing high into the air.
No one ever looks up , Nada had always preached.
It is 1517 A.D. The Ottoman Empire captures Cairo, deposing the Mamluk Sultanate; the first official diplomatic mission of a European country to China is made in Hong Kong; the 1 st Duke of Suffolk is born; Pope Leo X signs the 5 th Council of Lateran covering such things as the Church allowing pawn shops to give loans to the poor.
Of course, the move was worthless given Legion was watching her. But her focus on time was everything and the world was slowing down once more. She could feel the wood under her sandal, her muscles contracting, expanding, pushing her up. She twisted as she went up, aware of the air brushing against her skin, the musty odor of the church, and most of all, Legion turning, bringing one blade up to parry, the other ready to thrust upward and gut her.
Some things change; some don’t.
But he was too slow as the tip of Scout’s Naga dagger drew a thin red line along the side of his scalp starting at the temple, slicing through his ear, and ending at the back of the neck.
Scout landed on her feet, unscathed. “That was pretty cool. Didn’t know I could do that.”
But Before Hallows Eve, and After They Came Back From Valentines Day
The Possibility Palace
Where? Can’t tell you. When? Can’t tell you.
Lara stood on the edge of the Pit, staring aimlessly into its depths. She closed her eyes, letting go off her surroundings and opened her mind to the world and more than the world:
They grieve their teammate.
Would they grieve me the same?
/>
Selfish much?
Scout would. She has a good heart. Moms, too. Roland is an odd duck, but he’d eat nails for Moms. And for Scout. Frak. He’d give his all for any member of the team. Probably even me. He’s got a weird thing about females. Mother issues, probably.
Eagle would too. Even Ivar, weird as he is.
Doc gave all.
But I didn’t. Give all. I couldn’t go through that door. Face the truth of my past, of whatever, and whoever, I might be .
So Doc died.
They grieve, but I stand here alone, in my pity party.
I don’t like this. All these voices in the Pit. Billions of people. A pulsing, throbbing mass of—I don’t know what to call what it is I hear/feel.
Existence?
So many regrets echo out of the past. Out of death.
Do they have a place in the universe. Did they matter? The billions and billions who’ve gone before?
But the team.
They’re alive and they’re grateful. In their grief, what they don’t speak out loud is gratitude that they are still alive. That the one they grieve is someone else.
That is the human condition.
Who speaks for the dead?
This fraking Pit. Billions of them trying to be heard and drowning each other out.
But Scout’s song came through clear from the team room behind me:
‘Hold me in your thoughts.
Take me to your dreams.’
She grieves a lot for a kid.
Kid?
She’s older than I am.
I think.
She’d go with me through that door in my dream.
But I could never take her there.
‘Here there be monsters!’
Frak me! Who was that? Where did that come from?
Who spoke that?
If there be monsters, bring them on!
“You all right?” Scout was right behind Lara.
“I heard something,” Lara said, opening her eyes, returning to this world, bound by three dimensions, while time moved in a single linear direction.
Scout looked concerned, a strangely comforting thing for Lara. “What did you hear?”
“A voice. Someone calling out.”
