Island of the Star Lords

by James L. Ferrell

  Eochaid interrupted before he could finish, "Wait." He held up his hand, palm forward. "If you have answered truly, you will hold your fury for another time. Believe me when I tell you that it may mean the difference between losing and winning our war with the Tuatha."

  Sreng's mouth fell open. Eochaid glanced back in Kasdan's direction then back to Sreng. He reached out and pulled the two brothers together, his back to Kasdan. Bending toward them, he continued to speak for over a minute, in what could only be considered a conspiratorial whisper.

  Whatever passed between them at that moment appeared to have had the desired effect. Sreng and Renga nodded, as though in agreement. Both of them looked in Kasdan's direction and then followed their king back to where the others waited.

  Eochaid looked at Kasdan and smiled genially. "Is tomorrow soon enough for you to leave? These two men and another warrior I have in mind will accompany you to where you expect the wizard to land. They will follow whatever orders you give. But until then, I would like for you to stay with us and enjoy our hospitality."

  Kasdan looked into Sreng's eyes then shrugged as he turned away, a look of amusement on his face. Turning to Eochaid, he said, "It is acceptable."

  Eochaid was nonplussed at the strange expression the stranger wore. Perhaps he was one of those battle-hardened men who found it difficult to express his condolences to Sreng and Renga for the loss of their brother. But in any case, the deed could not be undone.

  Had he known the true nature of the man with whom he was dealing, it would have made his blood run cold.

  Chapter 10

  Apache Point

  Jennifer Mobley reviewed the Chronocom logs covering the last two weeks for the third time. Instead of clarifying anything, she was more puzzled now than when she had begun. Most of the data were normal, but there were some glaring exceptions.

  Reading across, starting with the first column, were the user's pager ID, user name, date, time, destination, target time period, purpose, and estimated return date. The last column, separate from the others, showed the authorization code. Each user was required to transmit this data electronically to the Chronocom control center at least twenty-four hours prior to the expected departure. This allowed the technicians time to allocate power and coordinate activity for all departures. But the cases she was currently reviewing were missing the authorization codes.

  Though she challenged the printout data as possibly corrupted, she did not doubt its authenticity. It was plain that the machine had been activated four times without authority. There was very little data listed, only the pager ID, an item automatically recorded by the computer, and destination information, also computer controlled. In addition to the lack of an authorization code, no user name or purpose was listed. But the most striking disparity was the pager ID. She had checked and rechecked the records. There was no mistake. The pager belonged to a dead man: Dr. Arthur Voyles.

  The activation data indicated that the first unauthorized use was from coordinates in Cuba, followed within eighteen hours by activations in Key West and Miami. Two more had been generated in Ireland. Jennifer had been a systems analyst at Apache Point for six years and until now had never seen a single improper Chronocom activation. She was forty-two years old, technically astute and good at her job. She recognized a serious security breach when she saw one. She folded the printout, tucked it under her arm and headed for the Director's office.

  Dr. Richard Durant was there when she arrived. Since his door was open, she breezed past his secretary without speaking and walked directly up to his desk. He had always kept as much of a personal relationship with his staff as possible, so Jennifer felt at ease arriving without being announced.

  He looked up from reading a report and smiled genially. "Well, Jennifer," he said, "from the look on your face, I deduce that something must be terribly amiss. What's that you have there?" he pointed to the printout.

  "Maybe you can make some sense out of this, sir, but I'm a little confused," she exclaimed. She laid the printout in front of him. "Either the Chronocom computers need adjustment, or someone's using power without authorization."

  Durant picked up the printout. Jennifer walked around behind him, reached over his shoulder and opened the thick report to the place where she had discovered the discrepancies. "Look at that," she said triumphantly, pointing her finger at the suspect entries.

  The old physicist took a well-used pipe from a pocket of his lab coat and stuck it between his teeth. Everyone joked about the pipe, knowing that he rarely smoked it but kept it handy as a frustration fighter. A frown came over his face. He took the pipe out and laid it on the desk. "When was this report run?" he asked.

  "This morning, less than two hours ago." She put her hands on her hips.

  Durant stared at the entries as though they were printed in a foreign language. "Whose pager is this?" he asked in a low voice.

  "Get a grip on yourself. It belongs to Arthur Voyles."

  The scientist stared at her with an incredulous expression. "How can that be?" They had received notice of Voyle's death over a week ago. "I know for a fact that his pager was recovered by the police after his accident and returned to us two days later. I personally had its ID removed from the computer. All these entries were logged after his death. Have you run diagnostics on the computers?"

  "That's next on my list, but you know I won't find anything. Those machines are in almost constant use, and these are the only suspect entries." She leaned forward and put her palms on the desk. "Besides, I think it's an accurate report. It's not a computer error."

  He leaned back in his chair, still holding the printout. "What are you suggesting?"

  "You know as well as I do that there's only one explanation. These entries were generated by a duplicate pager."

  He stared at her for a long moment then said, "Impossible! It would take a master engineer to accomplish such a thing." Realizing what he had just said, he fell silent, staring straight ahead.

  Jennifer walked around to the front of the desk and sat down in one of the easy chairs. "Exactly," she agreed. "And that master engineer was probably Arthur Voyles."

  Durant studied the printout again, connecting them line-by-line: Cuba, Key West, Miami, Ireland. At last he looked at Jennifer, his eyes wide.

  "Oh my God, it can't be," he whispered. "Amy, find Alan Kriss!" he called out to his secretary. "Tell him to drop whatever he's doing and come here as quickly as possible." He stood up. "Thank you, Jennifer, for bringing this to my attention. I'll let you know what I find out. In the meantime, keep a close watch on Chronocom usage. Inform me immediately of anything suspicious, especially activity in Ireland."

  The analyst nodded and walked out.

  Major Alan Kriss, United States Marine Corps, wasted no time in getting to Durant's office. Tall, blond, and lean, he presented an imposing figure in his military fatigues. Kriss was in charge of a special unit of elite Marines whose services were occasionally employed to 'correct' situations that had gotten out of hand. The definition of correct was unpublished, but everyone understood its meaning. Kriss had served two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan carrying out special operations. He knew his business and was considered to be an expert operator by the military. He walked into the office and sat down in front of the scientist's desk.

  "What's up, boss?" he asked in a casual manner. "Amy sounded a little panicky."

  Durant nodded and offered the Marine a cup of coffee, which he declined. Kriss and his team members all had top-secret clearances, so Durant had no reservations about revealing information concerning John Kasdan and his escape from the Gitmo prison. He filled him in on the details of what Jennifer Mobley had discovered and finished by telling him about Leahy's mission, and his relationship with Kasdan.

  "So, you see, Alan, I fear that there may a connection between John's escape and the Chronocom activity in Ireland. John hates Matt Leahy beyond reason and has sworn to kill him. If he has somehow managed to make his way to Irel
and, and if what I suspect is true, he must be stopped at any cost."

  Kriss shifted his weight. "Matt and I know each other pretty well," he said. "He strikes me as a man who couldn't be easily killed by Kasdan or anyone else."

  Durant agreed. "Yes, but you don't understand what John is capable of. He's one of the most intelligent men I know, but he is also a homicidal maniac. You can be sure he has planned his revenge to the smallest detail and won't be deterred by anyone or anything. He has absolutely no qualms about doing whatever is necessary to bring his plan to fruition. He's already committed several murders, and if he's not stopped only God knows what may come next."

  "Okay. Give me all the details as well as you know them and we'll get going," Kriss said.

  After providing Kriss with the requested information, and he had departed, Durant sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking. At last he turned in his chair and looked at the Milky Way display on the wall behind him. He felt a cold spot in the pit of his stomach.

  The stars stared back at him in their cool, eternal beauty.

  Chapter 11

  Tuatha de Danann

  Kasdan was anxious to return to his camp and set the next phase of his plan into motion. According to Voyles, Leahy and his team would arrive in the field outside the forest where he was encamped on July 21. He had spent the last four days in the Fir Bolg Fort, eating, resting and fine tuning his plan of attack. It was now July 20. Just after daybreak, he and the three Fir Bolg warriors who had been assigned by Eochaid to accompany him, departed the town. He pushed them hard, and they arrived at his campsite in the forest before noon. Knowing the date but not the exact hour that Leahy and his team would appear, he set up a surveillance of the field beyond the trees. He took the three men over to a point just inside the tree line; close enough to see the field clearly but far enough inside the trees to remain out of sight.

  "Starting now, we must keep a close watch on that open land," he instructed them, pointing to the field. "That is where the wizard will appear." He gave each of them in turn a penetrating gaze. "It is important that he does not see you. If you are discovered before we are ready, it will destroy my plan. Do you understand this?" He towered over them, creating an intimidating presence.

  Renga, and a man named Elgan, the third warrior, both nodded. Sreng, who stood regarding Kasdan with a malevolent look, remained silent. Kasdan glared at him and placed his hand on the revolver. "I asked if you understood, Sreng."

  Sreng ignored the implied threat and said between his teeth, "Listen to me and understand what I say. There is nothing I would enjoy more that putting my sword through your throat, strange man, but I am under oath to my king and must obey your orders. But know this: I have killed more warriors than I can count and have narrowly missed being killed just as many times. So do not deceive yourself by thinking that I stand in fear of you or any other man. I will do as you bid, and my men will obey you, but you will treat us with respect." His hand hung just a few inches from the hilt of his dagger.

  Kasdan looked into Sreng's eyes and let his face go blank. Sreng's demand meant nothing to him, and he considered killing him. However, to do so would reduce the chances of bringing his plan to a successful conclusion. He let his eyes drift to the other men, who were standing motionless a few feet away. He looked back at Sreng and said in a calm voice, "You will take the first watch, Sreng, while your men and I prepare food."

  Sreng nodded without speaking and walked away. Kasdan watched him take up a position behind some brush a few feet from the edge of the forest. He decided that after Leahy was dispatched, he would enjoy killing Sreng. In fact, he might even kill him with his bare hands if the opportunity presented itself. But for the present, he would not allow any kind of dispute to create a problem. He motioned for the other men to follow and walked to where his supplies were concealed.

  After eating, the two Fir Bolg warriors stretched out on the leaves and went to sleep. Kasdan turned and looked at Sreng, who was dutifully watching the field. Though he felt no remorse at the death of Sreng's brother, intellectually he understood why the barbarian wanted to kill him. He liked pragmatism in a man. Sreng impressed him as such a person and wondered if the warrior had already formulated a plan for taking revenge against him. In any case, it was of no consequence. He propped himself against a tree and dozed off.

  Renga relieved Sreng at dusk. The Fir Bolg warriors took two-hour turns watching the field, but it remained empty. The small hours passed slowly, followed by a gray dawn that stretched into the early afternoon. Rain threatened, and they were becoming discouraged.

  The driver of the rental van dropped Matt, Taylor and Jake off in an isolated spot near Highway N 84, fifteen miles north of Galway City. After their equipment was unloaded, he turned around and drove off, leaving them alone.

  Taylor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was her first trip to Ireland. She let her gaze drift around the low hills and rolling landscape, drinking in the myriad shades of green. Behind her, the sun scattered diamonds across the surface of Lough Corrib as its rays glinted off the water. She turned to her companions and said, "You know, all my life I've heard stories about how many shades of green you could see in Ireland. Now I know it's all true. It's exactly as it looks in the movies and magazines."

  The air was cool on this July afternoon, and Matt took a long moment to do his own share of gazing. "I felt the same way the first time I saw it, too. I remember thinking how easily someone could grow to love it." He put his arm across Taylor's shoulders. They stood for few moments, just looking and listening.

  Jake, who had spent his early years bicycling and hiking the country, laughed and said, "Okay, you two. It's just another bunch of hills and valleys. We'd better quit sightseeing and get this equipment off the road before someone comes along and asks if we need help." He picked up his personal pack and put it on. "No point in stirring up local interest about what three Americans are doing out here in the middle of nowhere. Especially if word of our presence gets around and we happen to suddenly disappear."

  Matt and Taylor saw the logic in that and put on their packs. Three small, canvas-wrapped crates containing their supplies and equipment sat near them off the edge of the road. They each picked up a crate and started off in an easterly direction. When they were safely concealed behind a low hill, they stopped and opened the package that contained their utility belts and L-suits. While the men changed into their suits, Taylor took a pair of mini-binoculars from her pack and began scanning the terrain.

  "See anything of interest?" Matt inquired after he was dressed.

  "No. There are no visible signs of habitation as far as I can see. No houses, animals, or people."

  "That's good," he observed. "Let's mark this location on the map for the return trip, just in case we need it."

  Her eyebrows went up. "If we need it? You're not starting out with a pessimistic attitude, are you?"

  He laughed and said, "Just a figure of speech. I think we three can handle whatever situation presents itself. I meant that this will be an easy place to be picked up when we're finished. You never know where we'll wind up."

  "Okay," she quipped, "but not to worry. I'm here to take care of you two if anything goes wrong."

  "I believe it," he answered with a chuckle. "Now, we'll turn our backs while you get into your L-suit."

  When the three of them were dressed, and their utility belts were in place, Matt said, "Taylor, if you'll scan the area again with your binoculars to make sure no one's around, I'll set up the transport coordinates." He took out his pager and slid the top cover aside. The LED's lit up in red. When he finished, the transport coordinates read 210703302; July 21, 3,302 BC.

  "Nothing in sight," Taylor reported.

  "You ready, Jake? Matt asked.

  "Let her rip, boss," the big Ranger said.

  Taylor and Jake picked up the equipment boxes and the three of them moved close together. Matt pressed his thumb against the small Lexan screen on his pager a
nd pressed it. The instrument started a faint beeping sound, each pulse exactly one second long and two seconds apart.

  In the darkness of space, a satellite positioned itself to fire the Chronocom beam that would open the window to ancient Ireland. They all looked into the sky. "Three seconds," Matt warned.

  A blinding flash of green radiance that swept them five thousand years into the past followed his remark.

  There was no transition shock as the team arrived in the year 3,302 BC. The surroundings were almost of the same configuration as they had been in 2020; the only exception being the grass was taller, and there were no signs of civilization. In the east, the sky was slate gray instead of the deep blue they had left behind. Rain appeared likely from darker clouds on the horizon.

  "Everybody okay?" Matt asked. They nodded. "Well, there's no sense in wasting time," he continued. "Let's get the signal finder set up." He was referring to a special device that could detect any man-made radio or microwave signals being transmitted for several hundred miles in any direction. The device was capable of triangulating the signals and calculating the source location.

  As they worked opening the crates and laying out their supplies, Jake said, "I recommend waiting until after dark to send up the long antenna. No point in taking the chance of attracting unwanted attention." The signal finder employed the use of a thin antenna wire five hundred feet long, which was lifted into the air by a dark gray helium balloon. When inflated, the balloon was five feet in diameter and easily visible for several miles.

  "Agreed," Taylor responded, "but we might be able to pick up something with just the built-in antenna if the signal is strong enough."

  Matt removed the finder from its protective container, placed it on the ground and squatted. It was a black box about a foot square, with an eight-inch-square readout screen in the center. Beneath the screen were several knobs used to adjust incoming signal strength. Four small lithium-ion batteries, backed by a solar collector, powered the unit.