Island of the Star Lords

by James L. Ferrell

  The implied insult made Kasdan smile. In reality, he had no fear of death; only of defeat. If there had been any possibility of achieving success by a direct assault on the aliens, he would have done so. However, only a fool would throw away his life without any chance of winning the fight. He shook his head in wonderment. Surely these people must know that they were not fighting against a human army equipped with equal weaponry. He stood up, towering over the other men.

  "Fear, Eochaid? If you have any doubt, bring me your best warrior and I will kill him with my bare hands. In any case, I have seen the Tuatha city with my own eyes and warn you with certainty that you cannot defeat them with your puny weapons. Your warriors are brave, but they will be slaughtered like cattle if you attack without a workable plan. If you are to be successful, you must outwit them."

  Kasdan was telling the truth but not because it might save their lives; he had other motives. He had already formulated a rough plan for reaching his goal. It required bringing the Fir Bolg into open battle with the aliens once more to bring it to fruition. He was aware that Irish legend documented a Tuatha victory in the final battle of Moytura, so he was able to predict the inevitable. Moreover, time-continuum laws dictated that history could not be changed to any appreciable degree, no matter how much effort and planning were expended in attempting to do so. Therefore, whatever plan he presented to Eochaid, no matter how well developed, would prove useless on the battlefield. The barbarians were simply a means to an end, regardless of how many of them might be killed while carrying out his instructions. He just needed them to line up for battle in a formation that would be favorable to his requirements.

  Eochaid rose and cocked his head to one side. "How is this to be done?" he asked.

  Kasdan needed more time to form his plan into a strategy that would satisfy the king and still accomplish his own objectives. He answered Eochaid in a confident tone. "I will give you the time and place for the attack tomorrow morning. But first I must design the attack formation. I will require a hut of my own for the night. Later, we will finalize the details of what must be done."

  Eochaid nodded and looked at Sreng. "Find him a suitable place, and assign one of the single women to take care of whatever he requires."

  When Kasdan was alone, he stretched out on the bed of soft skins that had been provided for his comfort. Staring at the ceiling, he thought of Leahy and Taylor. He knew that the third member of their team was Jake Donovan but did not know him personally, only by reputation. He was aware that Donovan was reputed to be of Irish descent and was regarded as something of a specialist in Irish history. If that were so, he would be knowledgeable about the Fir Bolg's impending battle with the Tuatha. By now he also knew what the Tuatha really were and that the barbarians had no chance for victory.

  He had been thinking about the problem since early afternoon but had not yet formulated a workable plan on how to use the same information himself. He had no doubt that as a historian, Donovan would be anxious to witness the battle first-hand. The key was to somehow use that fact in achieving his own intentions. Simply put, if Donovan were present during the hostilities, Leahy would also be there. It was just a matter of locating him among the alien ranks before hostilities began. Logic dictated that he and Donovan would be in close proximity to the alien leader when the two forces aligned themselves for battle.

  If ancient war tactics were followed, Eochaid and Nuada would be positioned in the center-front rank of their respective armies. That was where the battle standards of each force would be flying. There, or somewhere nearby, was where he hoped to find Leahy. After that, it would be just a matter of getting within gunshot range of his target. Therefore, he intended to be near Eochaid when the battle commenced, mixed in among the Fir Bolg troops when they charged forward to meet the Tuatha.

  He shook his head, still puzzled about why the aliens had not used what Eochaid referred to as the swords of light. But one thing was certain: if there was any way to prevent it, Leahy and the others could not ethically permit them to destroy the Fir Bolg by using those weapons. In any event, it was a question that had no discernable answer at present. With that thought, he filed the dilemma away until tomorrow.

  Though it was only late afternoon, he closed his eyes and fell into the sleep of a conscienceless mind.

  Major Alan Kriss and his team of experts were camped beside a small stream of clear water a few miles southeast of what would, in the future, become the town of Cong. Kriss insisted that his men be clean shaven and conform to military protocol at all times. All three of them wore dark brown golf shirts and green fatigue pants. He did not subscribe to the beards and shabby civilian clothing occasionally worn by Special Forces troops working with third world countries as advisors or spotters. Though he had done his share of it, advising and training foreign troops was not his current function.

  He now received his orders from the Director of Operations at Apache Point. His unit was rarely called upon to exercise its special skills but when it was, the assignment was carried out efficiently and quietly. No records, either paper or electronic, concerning its activities were ever kept. It had one purpose: to find and destroy specific persons or targets at designated places along the time continuum. However, rarely was an assignment connected to a citizen of the ancient world. In ninety-nine percent of the cases it concerned violation of Apache Point regulations to the point where correction of the misconduct could only be accomplished by eliminating the offender. Such decisions were never made until every alternative had been tried and failed.

  Kriss was forty-two years old but looked thirty. His muscular build was complemented by a shock of curly blond hair, which he kept short. Of Scandinavian descent, his eyes were naturally blue. During his military tenure he had served in every conflict in which American troops had been deployed, including tours in Latin America and the Middle East. He knew his business and believed in the things he was called upon to do.

  He and his men had transported into ancient Ireland from the same location that Leahy and his team had used. A general search of the area within a one-mile perimeter had disclosed what appeared to be a recently used campsite inside a nearby forest and another on the summit of a low mountain in the northeast. The ground impressions from the mountaintop location did not lead anywhere. His men were able to track the three individuals, whom he believed to be Leahy and his team, up the south side of the slope. A good deal of activity was apparent on the summit; however, there was no evidence that anyone had ever departed the location. It was as though they had vanished into thin air.

  The opposite was true of the forest campsite. While care had been taken to conceal any evidence of human activity, sufficient ground impressions existed to show that four men had occupied the site and had at one point traveled to the base of the mountain and climbed almost to the top. For some reason the same trail had reversed itself, returned to the bottom and led to a nearby gully. It then went back into the forest and continued on to the opposite side, approximately one mile distant.

  Kriss had no doubt that the target they were sent to destroy was one of those four men. Foot impressions indicated that three of them wore what appeared to be soft moccasin-like shoes, while the other had left distinct evidence of size twelve modern day hunter's boots. As team leader, he had made the decision to place the investigation into the disappearance of the Leahy team in abeyance for the time being and follow this trail. After a long walk, the easily discernable markings had led them overland to the place where they were now camped.

  Beside him, Gunnery Sergeant Bobby Glass sprawled on his back, staring into the indigo sky. His fifty-caliber Barrett sniper rifle lay a few feet away, snugly encased in its nylon sheath. Glass was twenty-nine years old, dark brown hair, hazel-eyed and considered to be the most efficient long-range sniper in the Marine Corps.

  Douglas Childs, the third man, was currently positioned in a patch of trees a quarter mile away from a large town of thatched huts surrounded by a rock wall. He had
been at this observation post for three hours now, watching as much activity as was possible from his location. So far, he had ascertained that the trail they had followed led directly through a wooden gate into the town. At thirty-two, Childs was the middleman of the team. An Olympic athlete, he had competed in two Boston Marathons and had placed high in both. He was just under six feet tall, slender, blue-eyed, freckled, and smart. Of the three, he was considered to be their best covert operative. Kriss had once declared that Childs could sneak into hell and out again without the devil ever knowing he was there.

  Childs had changed out of his civilian clothing before setting up observation of the town. He now wore the extreme camouflage attire that made him look like part of the landscape. In this case, long strands of shaggy brown and green fiber were draped over an underlying uniform of Marine Corps jungle fatigues. His face and neck were covered by green and brown camouflage paint. As far as anyone could tell, he was just a lump in the vegetation that covered the ground inside the tree line. He was armed with a thirty-caliber M-14 rifle fitted with telescopic sight and silencer. His instructions from Major Kriss were to destroy the target if an opportunity presented itself. However, up to now there had been no visual contact with John Kasdan, the man they had been sent to kill.

  A small beep, inaudible to anyone but Childs, came over his radio. He pinched the mic attached to the earplug cord and said, "Childs."

  "Any visual?" asked Kriss' voice.

  "Negative."

  "Roger that. Stay in position. We will meet up and take positions on the opposite side of the town about dark-thirty. Recommendations?"

  "It's a big town, Major. There is a tall ridge to the northeast. Suggest you scout that. Might be you can see into the town from there."

  "Roger that. Will advise further. Kriss out."

  Chapter 14

  Vryan

  Matt and his team sat with Dbarr in what seemed to be the alien version of a large cafeteria. The round tables, which appeared to be made of polished orange plastic, were about six feet in diameter. Instead of chairs, they were equipped with narrow, curved benches of the same material, ten inches wide by eighteen inches long, spaced twenty-four inches apart. As with the disks above the infirmary beds, the tables and seats had no visible means of support; they just floated in the air. The walls were a deep blue, glowing with soft light. Images of strange animals, people and places materialized at various locations on their surfaces, remained in focus for a few seconds then vanished, to be replaced by others of a similar nature. It was like watching a slide show of another world. Overhead, the dome arched a hundred feet in diameter, its surface smooth and milky colored. The floor was made of the same purple material as the outside areas, except with a gel-like resilience similar to the cushioned insoles of athletic shoes.

  A number of diners, laughing and conversing in their strange language, occupied other tables. Attendants were moving about; bringing food and removing soiled dishes. Matt noted that Taylor was watching the activity, listening to the conversations, absorbing words, connecting them to gestures and facial expressions. She was one of the most intelligent women he had ever known, and he was confident that she had already learned the meaning of many of their nouns and verbs.

  One of the servers approached their table and spoke to Dbarr. He looked at the three of them and asked, "Since you are unfamiliar with our food, may I order for you?"

  "You don't have menus here?" Jake joked. Taylor gave him a wry glance and arched her eyebrows.

  "Menus?" Dbarr repeated.

  "Sure. Written lists of the available foods. You look at them then choose the food you want."

  Dbarr thought it over then laughed and nodded. "That is a new concept for us. I will mention it to our food technicians."

  Matt spoke up. "Don't mind him, Dbarr; he's a big jokester. Please, do order for us."

  Dbarr looked up at the server, an attractive female, who turned her luminous blue eyes on Jake and smiled. She glanced back at Dbarr, who spoke several sentences to her in their language. She nodded and walked away. Jake watched her disappear through a nearby door.

  Taylor cleared her throat. "I see you're learning sign language, too, Mr. Donovan," she said. She was surprised to see his face redden as he looked down at the tabletop.

  Matt took over. "I think it's time for us to have a detailed conversation, Dbarr. First let me say that we are still in a mild state of shock that we are sitting here talking with someone not from our world. It's an event that our fiction writers have explored since I don't know when. But more to the point, human history and legend tell us that this island was once invaded by a race known as the Tuatha de Danann. They were a people entirely different from any that the indigenous humans had ever seen. In fact, Irish bards tell us that they were god-like, with mysterious powers and capabilities that defied comprehension. I'm going to take a risk and assume that you are those people."

  Dbarr nodded. "Yes, that is what the Fir Bolg call us."

  "Who exactly are you, and what are you doing here? It's obvious that you're different in appearance from anyone known to exist in our world or time continuum."

  "You are correct, Matt. Our world is called Vryan. But before I explain our presence here, let me assure you that we mean no harm to you or any of the humans occupying this island. In fact, when our advance scouts first came here in the distant past, this land was unoccupied. The current Fir Bolg population has appeared since then. But to temporarily change the subject, I noticed that you referred to the time continuum." Dbarr's face showed keen interest.

  Matt gave Taylor and Jake a quick glance. "Since we're being honest, I don't suppose it does any harm to tell you who we are," he said to Dbarr. He looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear their conversation. "The time continuum is a mathematical model about the way in which time and space interact with each other, particularly in reference to movement back and forth in its flow. In terms of how we measure it, a year is equal to the time it takes our planet to complete one orbit around our sun. In our reckoning, this is the year 3,302 BC, meaning that from this day, it will take exactly 3,302 years to reach a pre-established reference point in the future that has been set as the year 'zero'. Zero is the year in which a great event occurred and marks the dividing line between the past and the present. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. I understand the concept."

  "My friends and I are from the year 2,020 AD. That is two thousand and twenty years beyond the zero point. In short, we are time travellers from five thousand, three hundred and twenty-two years from now."

  It was Dbarr's turn to be astonished. His lips parted but he did not speak; he only sat there staring at Matt.

  "Have we shocked you, Dbarr?" Taylor asked.

  Dbarr's eyebrows arched as he answered. "Yes, Taylor. I could not be more surprised. It is a concept that our scientists have explored for thousands of years, but have failed to bring to fruition. Your future world must be home to an amazing civilization. But tell me, how is it possible?"

  "I will be happy to explain it to you to the extent of my knowledge, which is very limited. But first we would like to continue with your explanation." Matt replied.

  "Yes, of course," Dbarr answered. "As I said, we are Vryanians and come from a world quite different from this one."

  "Do you have star charts?" Jake asked. "We would like to see the exact location of your home world."

  Dbarr stared at him with knitted brows for a few seconds then said, "Yes, we have star charts, but they would be irrelevant in this situation."

  "Irrelevant?" Taylor showed surprise. "What could be more relevant than to ask about the location of your home world?"

  Dbarr smiled. "You do not understand, Taylor. Our star charts would be of no use here because they are of a different universe. You see we are from another dimension, not another planet."

  The three of them sat stone still for a long moment before Matt spoke. When he did, it was with an even greater feeling of am
azement than before. It was one thing to encounter beings from another planet, which most people believed possible, but those from another dimension defied reason. It was true that many theories existed concerning parallel worlds, but none that could be proven through scientific application. Until now, they were just ideas. No wonder DeLong had said it was unbelievable.

  "How is this possible, Dbarr? We were not aware that parallel worlds even exist, much less anyone having the ability to travel between them."

  "To us, it is normal," Dbarr responded. "We discovered the process several thousand years ago, but until the last millennium there was no need to use it. Our first explorer came to your world long ago. He reported that this beautiful island was unpopulated and would be acceptable for habitation by Vryanian colonists if the need arose.

  "When our first immigrants arrived two years ago, they encountered no trouble with the local population, who call themselves Fir Bolg. At that time, they appeared to be afraid of us and avoided contact with us. In fact, they seemed to treat us with a kind of hesitant reverence. Their king, Eochaid, even sent emissaries to speak with us and learn our intentions. When we explained that we only wished to occupy a small portion of the land, they seemed satisfied. It was only after our population began to grow, that they became hostile."

  Jake shifted on his seat, which moved with his body to accommodate the new position. "You never expected that they would take exception to invaders?" he asked.

  Dbarr's hands were resting on the tabletop. He turned them palm up and replied in an earnest voice. "We never intended for our presence to be interpreted as an invasion, Jake. We thought the island was uninhabited, as indicated by the early scouting report. As I mentioned before, the Fir Bolg must have come here after the report was made. We hoped that we could share the land with them and would have gladly traded certain portions of our technology for the right to colonize only a part of the island. However, negotiating with them along those lines has been a pointless endeavor.