Time is an Illusion: The Ptolemy Expedition (Carina Book 1)

by Ruairí Cinéad Ducantlin

  “We have rejected your overtures to join our mission for exactly this reason. You are not trustworthy. You deliberately sent those men to their death. They were men who trusted you. Men who believed in your faith. You considered them assets to further your power grab.

  You are coming with me.”

  Chairman Ketner woke up on a stone slab, in a room he had not seen. He could lift his head and look side to side but could not move his arms or legs. To his left were two Mayans in ceremonial dress. They were chanting and swaying. On his right was Corb Johnson and a woman he did not know. The room was lit by LED lights and the walls were carved with hieroglyphs.

  “What is this, some game? Are you streaming this to impress internet trolls? Enough, let me up, I am going to leave.”

  “No, Mister Ketner, you are never going to leave this room. Those men are going to complete a rite of sacrifice. A rite they have not performed in decades. A rite they perform on those deemed less than a human. In the eyes of the Mayans, the teachings of the Others, and all reasonable peoples, you are less than human.

  This is Doctor Brady, she is here to witness the rite. As you know, I am your judge and jury.

  You deliberately killed those men to feed your greed. Actions like yours are not something we will allow to continue. The Guianese authorities have classified you a suicide. You were seen jumping off a cliff, into the ocean, your body was unrecoverable.

  Do you have anything you want to say?”

  “Fuck you!”

  Ire and Yari continued to chant while they moved the head of the sacrificial altar, standing on either side of Ketner. Yari held Ketner’s head. Ire held up an obsidian blade and with a single motion swung down, and arced over, to sever arteries on either side of Ketner’s neck.

  Ketner could do nothing except lay still while his life ran down the front of the stone altar, into a hole in the floor.

  Chapter Eight

  This is the Easy Part

  “Always render more and better service than is expected of you, no matter what your task may be.” – Og Mandino

  “Mister Johnson, Colonel Khatter, we gathered here to congratulate you on achieving a major milestone. The logistics alone were the most complex process ever undertaken. The pace of the build schedule was deemed unreasonable by everyone involved. However, here we are. It is apropos we bestow upon you both the highest honor our countries can provide.”

  The entire Peregrination Coterie had been assembled at an unmarked NSA facility in the Virginia countryside. Everyone dressed to the nines, even Nick had on a clean, pressed, white shirt with a Bolo Tie Corb thought was still in his dresser drawer.

  “From the United States of America, we present to you the Presidential Medal of Freedom.”

  Corb and Davinder stepped forward, bowed, and allowed the medals to be placed on their necks. Lucinda stepped forward and received the leather-bound cases for the ribbons and medals. Stepping back, the British representative stepped forward.

  “Colonel Katter, Mister Johnson what you have accomplished is unparalleled in history. Mister Johnson, I present to you the George Cross. Our highest award for gallantry by a civilian, it is presented to you in recognition for your willingness to put your life second to the betterment of humanity.”

  Corb stepped forward, bowed, received the honor. Lucinda again, stepped forward to collect the case.

  “Colonel Katter. Your service record is well known to the commanders, this award is long overdue. The Victoria Cross is a small token of Her Majesty’s gratitude for your continued exemplary service.”

  Sensing a long speech was coming, Davinder stepped forward and bowed to receive the medal. Picking up on the polite push, the British representative smiled, placed the medal on Davinder’s neck, and handed the case to Lucinda.

  Five more medal presentations ensued creating more of Nick’s acerbic commentary “It was a right holus-bolus mess of pomp and circumstance.”

  The Chinese presented their medal: Order of the Heroic Exemplar. The Russians presented their medal: Hero of the Russian Federation. The Indians presented their medal: Bharat Ratna. The Japanese presented their medal: Order of the Rising Sun, 1st Class, Grand Cordon. Finally, the Canadians presented their medal: Cross of Valour (French: Croix de la vaillance).

  Not to be outdone by being last to present, the Canadians granted both Corb and Davinder citizenship, handing each a Canadian diplomatic passport.

  Several hours later, the Coterie was back in the West Virginia Compound. Enjoying a private celebration. The dining area had been prepped with adult beverages and canapes. The lounge area included a dozen cushioned chairs taken from unused rooms.

  The revelry was in full swing when Ragnar asked a question triggering reverberation among the alcohol infused mental fog. A little too loud. A little too sharp. Certainly, alcohol induced. The remark was spoken by someone who rarely speaks in a public forum. Ragnar’s singular question succeeded in silencing the room.

  “Who goes?”

  “Damn it! I had my full Irish on and you killed the good craic.”

  Nick did not appreciate a good question ruining the party mood. Stoic Davinder saved the day.

  “Mister Jensen, there is a time for your question and now is not the time. We’ll meet tomorrow, the entire team, to discuss the next steps. Now, however, we need to ensure Nick is suitably hungover tomorrow morning.”

  “Right oh! Working on it boss!”

  Holding up his drink a little too high allowed Lucinda an opportunity to give Nick a shot in the ribs. Underestimating Nick’s sobriety, Lucinda hit him hard enough he tumbled over. How he did not spill a drop of his beer shocked everyone. Jumping to his feet and with a flourish, downed the remainder of his beer. Nick’s deep bow was met with raucous cheers and the party resumed.

  “Good morning West Virginia!”

  Channeling Robin Williams, Davinder stormed into the dining hall full of cruelly hungover Coterie members.

  NT looked over his coffee and griped.

  “Now is not the time for movie quotes. Even if it is Robin Williams in Good morning Viet Nam. Please, let the coffee either cure our pain or put us out of our misery.”

  Numerous grunts of approval. Standing, a little wobbly, Corb saved the day.

  “We’ll discuss status and next steps after lunch. Meet here at fourteen hundred hours.”

  Corb then leaned over and vomited into the recycling bin labeled ‘paper only’.

  At the appointed hour, everyone in the compound was in attendance. Everyone wanted the answer to Ragnar’s question: Who goes?

  The spacecraft was nearing completion, after more than two years and eight months of an around-the-clock build schedule. Until recently, interstellar space travel was an esoteric and arbitrary concept. Now, interstellar space travel was imminent.

  Looking around, it was obvious to Corb, everyone was feeling better. Without preamble, Corb addressed the assembly.

  “As many of you know, the inner and outer hulls are sealed, and tested. The inner hull holds atmosphere at a constant temperature. What you may not know are some of the specifics.

  The vehicle is two-hundred and ninety meters long, with a blunt nose, and, at its widest, it is forty-five meters in diameter. It resembles a large, elongated, American football. A titanium, aluminum, and composite football. There are limited viewing ports. However, there are numerous externally facing cameras.

  For the Americans, it is over nine-hundred and fifty-one feet long and over one-hundred and forty-seven feet in diameter. The inner hull, the central fuselage, is two-hundred and six meters long and thirty-six meters in diameter.

  The inner hull is a cylinder. The outer hull remains constant to what we consider the horizon. Meaning, what is considered level is the plane created by the nacelle attachment ports.

  The inner cylinder rotates slowly. Rotating the inner hull creates angular momentum. The angular momentum creates a pseudo-gravity. In flight, when rotating at about four and one-half rota
tions per minute, the gravity will feel about normal at zero elevation on the equator of the earth.

  The nacelle attachment ports are two T-Shaped wings for mounting four thrust nacelles. The thrust nacelles have been constructed in secret by the Japanese. The Americans built a special purpose shuttle to deliver the thrust nacelles, the additional crew members, and the mechanism to create anti-matter. The anti-matter creation device was built here, upstairs in the laboratory.

  Another four months are required to complete the build. A quick list of remaining activities: Mounting the thrust nacelles, testing internal power, testing thrust nacelles, testing the avionics, and everything else you can imagine testing on the largest movable space device built by humans. It will take over a month, and sixteen unmanned cargo launches to fully stock the vehicle.

  Now for the real question. Nick, please.”

  The four monitors surround the dining area, and the large wall-mounted monitor in the sitting area, came alive with a list.

  Silence ensued while everyone read the boards and contemplated the meaning. Eventually, Davinder spoke with a firm tone of authority.

  “As you can see, there are some new names on the crew manifest. Before I answer any questions, there are few salient points I request you consider.

  First, we took the liberty of christening the starship ‘The Jeannette’. I am sure those who knew her appreciate the sentiment.

  Second, the Chinese and Russians are livid they were not given representation in the crew. All I can say about that is, quoting Corb, ‘tough shit’.” Everyone laughed, realizing they had never heard Davinder swear. Lucinda commented first.

  “It is good time to depart, you are picking up too many bad habits from the Americans.”

  “Yeah, what about that? What is CANSOFCOM? A fancy cooking school specializing in Poteen?”

  “No Nick, it is the acronym for the Canadian Special Operations Forces Command.”

  “Oh. I see. NT, buddy, I worry for you.”

  Everyone chuckled before Davinder continued.

  “Third, Jan and I will not be part of the crew. We will remain here to ensure the Coterie is unmolested. Also, we will begin preparations for the next mission.

  A few tactical notes. The new members of the crew will arrive tomorrow, at fifteen-hundred hours. Michelle and NT, it will be your responsibility to onboard with the new team members.

  You may have inferred, Ragnar was not away at advanced weapons training. Ragnar was the student of NASA, and Commander Moody, learning to fly. Commander Moody, Major Raitt, and Lieutenant Jensen are the command authority while on the space vehicle.

  Any questions? No? Okay, thank you all. Please resume your duties and complete the pre-launch activities.”

  Not known for being loquacious, and not oracular by nature, many of the assembly had ever heard Davinder speak for more than a few minutes.

  Davinder did not allow questions. The decisions had been made regarding the crew. Questions now would only invite decent. All competent leaders understand “good troops” know when to speak and when the best action is silence. Davinder reinforced: This was not a time to discuss crew selection.

  Chapter Nine

  Exciting? Sure, sure.

  “The only difference between fear and excitement is your attitude about it.” – Unknown

  “I don’t know if I will ever get used to that.”

  With a facial grimace, Commander Moody, aka ‘MooMoo’, began looking over the command deck of the spaceship: Jeannette. Janish had teleported the Commander from the compound to the Jeannette.

  “How do you know we will arrive here, in this little area, traveling at twenty-six thousand miles an hour? I know the speed is relative, but it is like hitting a needle in a haystack from a mile away.”

  “Commander, there are too many mixed metaphors buried in your sentence.”

  Corb was sitting at an observation station and spun in his chair to face Janish and the Commander.

  “It works like this, Janish homed in on me to ensure she made the transition to the command deck.”

  “Okay, but how did you materialize here and not three hundred feet out in space?”

  “The build platform and the attached spacecraft are, essentially, motionless relative to the rotation of the earth. Also, I have more control over the teleportation ability. I can, given a specific distance, adjust the end-point while in transit.”

  Commander Moody simply stared at Corb, contemplating the implications of Corb’s stated ability to alter teleportation destination while in transit.

  “We will have plenty of time to discuss many topics on the journey. First officer, what’s our status?”

  “Commander, the final foodstuffs are being transported from the cargo vehicle to the Jeannette. ETA to complete loading, two hours.”

  “Lieutenant Jenson, report.

  “Navigation confirmed, engines nominal, clear to depart on your command.”

  “Miss. Roa, please report ship’s status to mission control and request launch confirmation.”

  “Will do.”

  “Miss. Roa, open intra-ship communications.”

  “Comms open.”

  “Sargent Davies, Captain Turner any reason we can’t fly away on schedule?”

  “Turner here, confirm launch on schedule.”

  “Nick here MooMoo, all good. Ya know, there is an art … to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.”

  Corb jumped in before the Commander could reprimand Nick.

  “Nick, nice reference, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The movie or the book?”

  Nick’s response was in a poor southern hick accent.

  “The movie of course, you know I cain’t read.”

  “Mister Johnson, Mister Davies is a Colour Sergeant in the Royal Navy, he will follow protocol. My rank is Commander but while in command of this vessel, my title is Captain.”

  “Eh, there’s your problem right there. I’m not in her Majesty’s service any longer. Also, you can call me Nick.”

  The Captain had not ordered the intra-ship communications closed before speaking to Corb.

  “Close inter-ship communications.”

  “Comms closed.”

  “Mister Johnson, this team has been working together, under my command, for over four months. If you are unable to assure me your ‘Coterie’ will follow orders, and protocols, I will abort the mission and find a new crew.”

  Everyone stopped looking at their respective consoles, turned in their seat to face the Commander, and waited for Corb’s response.

  “Thank you, Captain, I was worried this conversation was not going to happen until we were too far from Earth to ensure your safe return. First, you should know, military bearing, by itself does not engender loyalty. Oftentimes, it merely annoys people.

  I agreed to your command of this spacecraft because you are the most experienced rocket and shuttle pilot on Earth. But this is not a rocket or a shuttle, this is an interstellar spacecraft. The only way this spacecraft reaches our destination, and returns with this crew, is with the assistance of the Coterie.

  Consider the Coterie as being a ‘dotted-line’ to you in the command authority.

  While you are contemplating the ‘dotted-line’ organizational structure, also contemplate this fine tidbit.

  We do not need you, or the other ‘Mission Support’ crewmen.”

  Corb stopped, waited for the Captain to respond. After a few minutes, it was clear to Corb the Captain thought he was playing poker. MooMoo thought Corb was bluffing.

  Corb stood, took two steps forward, and was face to face with the Captain. Without touching he Captain, Corb teleported them both to Mission Control at the Johnson Space Center.

  Mission control was full of people who were not accustomed to people appearing out of thin air. The Commander and Corb appeared between the large video monitors and the first row of monitoring stations, Corb leered at the Commander. With a sly sm
ile, Corb spoke.

  “Commander you can watch the launch from here.”

  Arriving back on the Jeannette, Corb looked at everyone before speaking.

  “Janish, I presume you left the intra-ship comms open?”

  “Yes, Corb.”

  “Nick, you have to show respect. Got it?”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  “Please extend comms to the Compound.”

  “Done.”

  “Davinder?”

  “Yes, Mister Johnson.”

  “If it hasn’t yet, your phone will start ringing. Let the General know, Commander MooMoo will be returning to the Jeannette. Also, cancel all of the valedictory addresses. We are going to leave orbit when we are ready.”

  “No Commander, that is not what I said. Also, we are going to stop with the formal titles. We’ll be in this tube for weeks, maybe months, first names will be the norm.”

  Corb was slightly frustrated, spending more than twenty minutes trying to explain the anti-matter based, external pulsed plasma propulsion, was insufficient to reach their destination. Everyone was gathered in the galley. A galley designed to seat ten of the fourteen-person crew.

  The Jeannette spacecraft was twelve days out from leaving Earth, was traveling a tad under one-fifth the speed of light. Despite traveling faster than anything of human origin, the Jeannette had not yet traveled as far as the orbit of Saturn.

  Captain Moody was demanding to know why they were not traveling faster. He wanted to know why they were not traveling faster than the speed of light.

  “Christopher, let’s try this again.

  “Call me MooMoo. Everyone, even my wife calls me MooMoo.”

  “Wait, everyone on this mission was not supposed be married or have close family.”