“You’re wasting your time, Hank. Or whatever your real name is. There’s nothing here for you.”
“We’ll see. You know a Professor Parker, in Newark, don’t you?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but, No.”
“Then you’re no further use to me.” Hank calmly replied and went to put his finger on the trigger.”
At that instant, Blackstock’s wife, Gemma, burst through the front door, revolver in hand.
“Drop it,” she yelled at Hank.
“My, my, that was a quick five minutes,” Hank sarcastically said, as he slowly lowered his revolver to the floor.
“So, you’re his wife, Gemma?”
“And who the hell are you?”
“Just a Gun salesman.”
“Rubbish,” she snapped, as her gaze was drawn to the odd-looking weapon on the table.
“OK, you’ve got me there. A friend gave me your name. He thought that you would be able to find a Company that would help fund the weapon’s development?” Hank stated, and smiled to himself, as he saw uncertainty creep across her face.
“I’m harmless. I could never have shot your husband,” Hank added using the trust angle.
“Maybe,” she cautiously replied, while lowering her revolver.
“It doesn’t work, Gemma,” Blackstock told her.
Hank didn't say anything. He just smiled, then slowly picked the weapon up.
“That’s why I need your help,” Hank stated, seemingly toying with it and ending up with the muzzle pointing at Gemma.
“You’re right. I know it's useless,” he added as he pressed the firing stud.
Then Gemma screamed, as a purple beam burnt her gun arm off at the elbow, and she slumped to the floor unconscious.
While Blackstock stood, rooted to the ground in shock.
“I said it wouldn’t work for you,” Hank coldly repeated, as he turned, then pointed it at Blackstock’s chest.
“It’s user sensitive,” he calmly told Blackstock, as he pressed the weapon’s firing stud.
Blackstock’s body jerked violently backward, and a look of sheer horror crossed his face as a purple beam burnt a two-inch hole right through his chest. Then his lifeless body slumped to the floor as the room filled with the stench of his burnt flesh.
Hank quickly pushed an object, that had by now become his trademark, through the cauterized wound.
Then put his weapons away. Looked through the window to make sure it was clear outside and left the house.
Chapter 3.
The Unseen.
Micky Sanderson was in England and on leave from SEID, a little-known department that was attached to the Chicago Police force, in the USA.
Every time he finished an assignment, he found it necessary to get away from the stresses and strains that his mind had been subjected to during the job. And, over the last three years, he had taken his vacation in a different country each time.
He was searching for a sign. A recognition of some place, or thing, which would at last give him a real clue to his past.
This time, he had been drawn to visiting the UK though he didn’t know why.
He’d arrived three days ago and had been staying in a hotel in London. He was tired. His last assignment had been a tough one, which had taken a long time to solve.
Now, however, he was in the seaside town of Bournemouth, in Dorset. He had travelled down in the afternoon, but arrived much later than he expected, and was feeling tired again.
So after dinner, he went back to his room taking a drink with him, having decided to have an early night.
He had slept a bit but kept waking….
I tried to scream as this body hit the ground. No pain. The green mist seems to be receding. Ah, I moved, I must get this body to the road.
The road, that’s it, the road.
I stand upright and stagger towards the road. This body’s starting to work. Difficult, but I’m getting there.
Wait. Lights coming.
Damn, this body doesn’t respond fast enough.
I’ve seen this thing coming before. A car, yes, I remember, it’s a car.
It doesn’t see me. I try to lift my arms. Stop, I attempt to yell at it.
But the thing’s hit my side. Strange, still no pain.
This body must be damaged. Wait, a being’s approaching me from that thing, no, that’s a Car, I remember.
I know it. The thing, the man.
Yes, now I remember.
Stop talking you fool, I shout at this body.
Do as you’re told I yell.
But it’s telling the man everything.
Body stop talking. No control. Dangerous, dangerous.
It’s me. I’m telling him everything.
But, now I remember. Cedrick. He’s called Cedrick. He’s the one. Yes, he must tell no-one of this.
He’s talking to me. He’s helping me, he’s lifting this body, taking it to the car.
Darkness coming. The other. Must protect, must protect.
Darkness. Am I dead?
Micky suddenly woke up. He was sweating profusely. “Not again,” he almost yelled, more at himself than anyone else.
He had already had this nightmare. And while having nightmares now seemed a regular occurrence to him. He realized that he’d had this version more frequently in the last two months.
He sat up in bed to check the time.
The clock on the tea making machine read 9:45.
He clicked the ‘Now’ button and waited for the machine to make his tea. The details on how he liked it had been entered on it before he went to bed. But he’d set the machine to manual so it wouldn’t wake him too early.
While he waited, he reflected on his loss of memory.
Damned inconvenient, he thought.
While it was true that he hadn’t been able to remember anything further back than five years ago. Now, fragments of memory had started coming back to him.
He had noticed this first back home in the States and had noted that it occurred more frequently there.
He couldn’t make any real sense of these fragments of memory.
However, most of the things that had happened since his memory loss, which Cedrick tended to call ‘the black barrier,’ had been positive.
His boss, Cedrick, and his wife Linda had been like parents to him.
Then suddenly, after he had married Alicia, his joy and sadness had all seemed to roll into one, in a short space of time.
Alesha was his life. He could still picture her as she was the first time he saw her when Cedrick introduced her to him.
She had been a slim thing. With flowing blonde hair, hazel coloured eyes, and a neat looking nose that turned up, ever so slightly, suiting her almost ‘elfin’ looks. He fell for her hard, and fast. It was almost as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hurry, he wouldn’t have enough time.
She had a terrific sense of humour, he remembered, and could always diffuse his bad moods when he was struggling with the demons that sometimes overtook him. Especially when he started worrying about the problems that haunted him, over where he had come from, and who he really was.
He had met Alesha shortly after Cedrick had taken him in, and they were married within a few months.
Then tears came to his eyes, as he pictured her again, as she lay there on the floor, shot dead during a robbery.
His world, gone. Over. Just a year and a half later.
In the three years since her death, he had slowly come to terms with the situation while tending to involve himself in work.
He had always tried to look on the bright side and remembered how they had laughed together as she attempted to teach him about life. Both were pleased that he seemed to instinctively know how to do things. She used to joke about that.
The machine beeped bringing him back to the present. His cup of tea was ready. He took the cup and lay on the bed with his back against the headboard and slowly sipped the tea, still thinking.
Alt
hough Cedrick had provided him with a name and so called legitimate credentials. Micky knew that it was an exaggeration to say that they were actually legal.
Then he thought about how he had insisted on Micky being his first name. But why? He had no idea.
Okay, he had to agree that Cedrick’s taking him on to work with SEID had probably been the making of him. He had a gift. So why not use it?
And in the last three years he had taken every opportunity, between assignments, to travel to different countries in the hope that something, somewhere, would finally jog his memory.
But now, to be honest, he was sick of visiting all these countries. Never seeming to find any clues to his past.
He stopped thinking, realising it was starting to depress him. But, the tea had refreshed him. So he got up, took a shower then went down to get a late breakfast. Having already decided that when he came back to his room, he’d check a few things on the laptop. Then he’d have a quick workout in the Hotel’s gym, plus a swim and shower.
That’ll take me up to lunchtime, he thought. Then, a simple bite to eat. A quick snooze, followed by a leisurely stroll along the front.
Later, as Micky walked along the esplanade, he decided that he liked Bournemouth. It was much calmer than London. He was also enjoying the salty sea breeze that filled his nostrils and the bustle of holidaymakers who were enjoying a rare sight of the sun on this chilly late September afternoon.
Micky was thirty-three years old, six foot two, and well built. His hair was dark brown, well groomed, and his icy blue-green eyes were almost fluorescent in colour.
He was smartly dressed, unlike the casually dressed people around him, him, which added to his look of authority.
He was wearing a Flexi shirt. These shirts were all the rage now. His was multi-coloured and rain-proof, with a soft inner lining that stopped the shirt clinging to his body. His grey trousers were made of the same material, giving him an overall wet-sheen look.
His phone vibrated, and he swore under his breath as he almost dropped it while taking it out of his pocket. His phone was subtly different to most of the mobiles in use; in that, it was ultra slim, virtually unbreakable, and the screen completely covered one side. With the date, zone time, plus 4 large icons, always on display.
He tapped the flashing icon and entered his password on the keyboard that had auto-displayed. Then read the brief message he’d been sent.
SEID. Micky. Tomorrow. 10 a.m. Grosvenor Hotel. London. Charlie. End.
Looking at his phone, he saw that it was 15:05 already. Better get back to the hotel, he thought as he tapped the icon, closed the phone and put it back in his pocket.
He took a last look at the waves rolling into the shore, then walked briskly back to his hotel on Bath Road.
On his way in he ordered a cab, then hurriedly packed his belongings. Booked out and waited outside. Ten minutes later, his taxi, a late model silver-grey Mercedes, pulled up beside him and the driver got out.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you the gentleman going to London?”
“Yes,” Micky replied, handing his small travel case to the driver, who had already opened the car door for him.
“Thanks,” he said, getting in and buckling up.
“Where to?” the driver asked as he started the car.
“London. Grosvenor Hotel. 101 Buckingham Palace Road,”
“That’s an excellent hotel, sir,” the driver said, looking carefully at Micky as if he thought he wouldn’t be able to afford it.
“Yes, I know,” Micky sharply replied.
“Right sir, that’ll be a hundred and sixty-nine pounds,” the driver said as he punched the destination in on his meter.
“Yes, ok let’s go,” Micky irritably replied, almost wishing that he had taken the train. But rejected that idea knowing he hated trains.
“Traffic allowing, it should take about two and a half hours, sir.” the driver told him as he drove down Bath Road, heading for the nearest junction on the Wessex Way.
Micky looked around as they went, checking they were going in the right direction; it was second nature for him to be suspicious.
Finally satisfied that everything was ok said. “I’m going to have a nap, wake me when we’re close.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
It was almost 19.00 hours when they finally stopped at the hotel’s entrance, and the taxi driver woke him, having taken pity on Micky by letting him sleep until they arrived.
“We’re here sir,” he said. Waking Micky, who yawned, stretched, then got out of the taxi, tidied himself and waited impatiently for the driver to get his case from the boot.
“There you are sir,” he said handing the case over.
“Here you are, one hundred and eighty pounds should do it. Keep the change,” Micky said, as he turned and went inside the hotel.
Micky looked around and seeing the grandeur of the Hotel’s reception area, thought. ‘H’m, someone wants to impress me.'
He booked a standard room for one night’s bed and breakfast. Then saw that this was going to cost two hundred and fifty pounds, which at first seemed a bit steep. Then shrugged, thinking that this Charlie had said the Grosvenor, and he’s paying me for this trip so he must have expected me to stay overnight.
The room was a pleasant surprise. The bed was huge and very comfortable he decided as he sat on it looking around. As well as the usual wardrobe and bedside cabinets, there was also a generous sitting area off to one side. He smiled with relief as he saw a TV and all the usual electronic gadgets.
The en-suite was also a comfortable size, with an excellent array of toiletries he found as he showered and changed clothes before going down to eat.
The food in the hotel’s Brasserie was good. So, all in all, he decided that Charlie had made the right choice. Later, with his hunger satisfied, Micky went back to his room for a quiet evening and a good night’s sleep.
He lay on the bed watching the TV sports programme but found it uninteresting. So, taking some scotch from the chill cabinet, he mixed himself a drink then sat in one of the really comfortable chairs, and let his mind wander.
Ten minutes later, having nodded off, Micky suddenly jerked upright. He knew! He had sensed it.
Someone had scanned him.
Chapter 4.
Argonaut.
“No!” Hector heard Frank shout over the link between the Argonaut, and the Andromeda.
Then he saw the Crillon Battleship’s Antimatter discharge hit the Andromeda, and it and her crew joined the billions of particles in space.
Hector gasped. Only moments ago, he had been talking to Frank. But, now there was nothing left of the Andromeda and its crew. Nothing left at all.
He thought he’d seen a green haze around the Andromeda. Just for a split second, before the Andromeda vaporized. Well, more like disintegrated, he thought to himself.
He tapped the Icon to connect with Argonaut’s new temporal analysis section, and Sims face appeared on his screen.
“What happened to the Andromeda, Sims?”
“A Temporal Spike, Hector.” Sims almost shouted over the link.
“There’s nothing left of her,” he added.
“Jumped? Is that what you mean?” Hector asked. Knowing full well that couldn’t have been the case.
“No, Hector. That Crillon Battleship’s Antimatter weapon blew her into billions of particles. No, she’s dead and gone.”
“Impossible,” Hector replied. Thinking Sim’s statement was flawed.
“No,” he repeated. “If it was a total Timeline change, then why weren’t we affected? We’re still here. And we’re still intact.”
“Sorry sir but the Solveron’s temporal analyzer can only, as its name says, analyze. Not predict events.”
“True,” Hector glumly replied, and closed his contact with Sims.
He sat down, staring blankly at his main screen. Then realised that losing Frank and Susanna, and of course, the Andromeda, had shocked him so much
that he had the shakes.
He sat there trying to calm himself, not wanting his crew to see his reaction.
He knew that, when the Andromeda had seen the Crillon ship the first time round, it had only been for a few seconds. And, although there had definitely been a temporal change. It had only been minuscule. Only 0.00002. Not enough to have a permanent effect.
This time, however, The temporal change had been substantial enough to be lethal.
He used his transceiver implant to contact Professor Sims and waited for Sim’s link to be displayed on his own screen.
“Yes, Hector?”
“Professor, how much divergence was there this time?”
“Let me check…, Looks as if the read-out’s changed. Or rather, we misinterpreted one of the vectors.”
“What?”
“Well, when you think about it. If we could see the Crillon Battleship…” he started to say then stopped for a moment.
“Then, It's logical to assume that it wasn’t just Andromeda’s Timeline that moved,” he added, then gasped.
“The Argonaut’s must have moved as well, Hector.”
Hector was horrified, having realised what Sims was implying.
“Then, what Time are we in now, Sims? Come to that, why is it that the Crillon Battleship isn’t in the Time that we’re in now?”
“It has to be something in our past that’s changed, Hector… If it’s tempory…well.
But, if it’s not. Then we’re in dead trouble, Hector.”
Chapter 5.
Charlie.
The next morning Micky was up early. He’d showered, dressed, eaten a quick breakfast before packing and was ready to go by ten o’clock.
Death of Time (SpaceFed StarShips Series Book 4) 2nd Edition.: A thrilling, psychological, Mystery and Suspense, sci-fi detective thriller. (SpaceFed StarShips Trilogy) Page 2
