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STORMBOUND

 

Chapter 1

"Some say by fire..."

 

Protector Matthew Kelly stood alone on the slope of a barren, grassy hill, gazing out into the peaceful, cold desolation that surrounded him. Lost in a recurring daydream, motionless, numbness filled his heavy heart. Lonely pockets of snow blanketed the countryside for miles. Weather-beaten trees were lined atop endless hills like waves peaking on a choppy sea. Gloomy winter clouds packed the sky, looming off into all directions. Though only early afternoon it appeared much later.
Kelly knew this day had to come. He just hadn't expected it so soon.
Pulling his eyes away from the horizon, Kelly looked down again. And there it was, a monument to his failure and guilt. At his feet lay a fresh grave that bore neither headstone nor marker. The disturbed earth offering the only clue something was hidden beneath the surface. He glanced at his wrist com-cell. A small display read January 21, 2169; the time was 3:48 p.m. It had been twenty-two hours since the burial, a lifetime ago.
Jumbled memories swirled through his thoughts. Disjointed at first, then focused, his past revisited. Not long ago the prospect of advancement for Kelly within Section 9 was all but impossible, his career permanently stalled. He held the rank of commander for over a decade, seven years longer than normal for a healthy career. An unmistakable sign of the diminishing prospects the future held. Kelly resigned himself to his fate and what he regarded as a failed career.
On a Sunday morning, two years earlier, that suddenly changed. He was paid an unexpected visit from the Director of Homeland Security. Awkwardly inviting the Director into his home, Kelly could only think to offer him a cup of coffee as he tried to get his bearings.
They were soon conversing about a multitude of different topics. It would be a half hour before the Director came to the point of the visit. What was finally said stunned Kelly. He had been selected for a new assignment. It was a classified program within Section 9. Promises of a revived career were given, along with an abundance of praise. Though the details were scarce, it didn't matter. Kelly enthusiastically embraced the opportunity blindly. A two-step promotion to full Protector came a month later.
Only fifty people had been assigned to this special program. As Kelly became familiar with his new assignment, he soon understood why. To his amazement the classified project involved the successful application of time travel. Along with a handful of others Kelly learned he would be among the world's first time travelers.
Within three months he had been sent on several trips through time, learning to pilot the first single occupancy Continuum Jumpers; a cramped pod about eight feet tall. With the exception of several protruding parts the Continuum Jumpers closely resembled a coffin standing on its end, a fact that did not escape the attention of those who had to crawl inside one. Their fear was not unfounded, as with any dangerous project, colleagues had been lost.
Seven months earlier he had been selected to command the Dauntless, a defiant class time vessel capable of carrying more than one occupant, comfortably supporting a crew of seven. Though a secret from the masses, Kelly felt honored to be recruited for such a duty. Etched on his brain were the endless briefings he had endured over a six-month period. Project managers, who exhibited no lack of confidence, outlined his mission to the smallest detail. He had been comforted by their constant reassurance and resolve; after all, they were temporal pioneers, the best minds in their field or so he had been told. Nothing to it, they professed repeatedly. The mission was simple and straightforward. Work out the system bugs with all deliberate haste and haul your butt home as fast as you can.
Nobody mentioned the space-time continuum might have other ideas.
Thus far nothing had gone as planned. The mission had already claimed a life. His secret orders for such an occurrence were explicit and not open to interpretation. Under no circumstances were recovered bodies of deceased crew members to be brought back through the continuum.
No exceptions.
The dead were to be immediately buried, abandoned in unmarked graves offering no hint of the secret they concealed. The burial of Operative 3rd Class Daniel Lucas caused dissent among his small crew. Kelly offered no reason behind his decision, refusing to even listen to contrary arguments. His crew which hadn't served together long thought him cold and unfeeling among other things.
After the burial, with no further explanation's coming, his crew's resentment intensified. Conversations were strained and distant. Kelly had no choice but to weather the discord in silence. It was just as well. How could he begin to explain the necessity of a directive he himself didn't understand? For now his secret directives would have to remain just that, secret. Only Vice Protector Justin Cavinder, his second in command with whom he served before, remained friendly toward him.
For the first time in years Kelly felt manipulated and used and he didn't like it much. What would Homeland Security reveal to the family of the deceased? And who would tell them? Even if he managed to get the Dauntless and its crew home in one piece, he would be denied contact with the family; a security breach of that proportion could not be permitted. The task of delivering the sad news and condolences would fall to someone else. It didn't really matter though for he already knew what would be said. It was always the same with only slight variation; a carefully constructed, palatable lie would be offered, but few answers. Section 9 might even decide it wasn't the time for any revelation whatsoever.
Twenty years with Homeland Security taught Kelly that every word and phrase had a double meaning. A term like national security just a familiar blanket to cover mountains of secrets, budget shortfalls, and glaring mistakes. Public attempts to attain information concerning the status of Homeland and Section 9 personnel were met with the same standard reply, "No comment." In the rare circumstances when more than two words were freely given, then it was really time to worry; it meant the question touched upon a subject they would rather not address. They would readily offer their own spin as far from the truth as possible. On a few bizarre occasions the individual of inquiry was no longer living, yet a Homeland spokesperson would suddenly be available, stating firmly that the individual in question was on special assignment. That's what they called it. Special assignment. The spokesman's further claim that the individual couldn't be reached was, at least, accurate.
An icy blast of wind struck Kelly in the back, sending a chill down his body. The com-cell communication device wrapped around his right wrist and partially obscured by the sleeve of his heavy jacket, flashed red as two distinct beeps sounded. His left hand quickly groped under his warm sleeve. He found the unseen button and depressed it.
"Yeah?" rasped Kelly, his voice cold.
"How much longer?" asked a familiar voice from Kelly's com-cell.
"Soon."
"It has been over an hour."
"When I need a personal time keeper I'll let you know. How are the repairs coming?"
"Slower than hoped," responded the voice of Vice Protector Cavinder, rechecking a few display readouts in the cockpit of the Dauntless. "We should be moderately operational by midday tomorrow. Maybe sooner."
"Any answer to our coded messages?"
"No. Nothing."
Kelly took a moment to consider. He looked off into the distance. "Stop transmitting. Shut down the transponder."
"Are you sure?" asked Cavinder.
"Yes."
"I don't understand. Why don't they respond?"
"They're unable to respond," replied Kelly slowly. "They're unwilling to respond."
From the warm confines of the Dauntless' cockpit, the Vice Protector quickly punched in the commands into the console. The transmission of the coded emergency message abruptly stopped. The ship's transponder beacon went silent.
"It's done," stated Cavinder.
"Good," replied Kelly hesitating. "And how is our fearless crew?"
"No one has made an effigy of you yet, if that's what you mean."
"That's something I guess," answered Kelly.
"I think it's safe to say," said Cavinder, carefully selecting his words, "falling pitifully short of our target date has done little to inspire them."
"Not much faith in our ship," answered Kelly, "or the mission."
"That shouldn't be a surprise. It has hardly been a glowing success thus far. We fell short of the target destination date by ten years. We achieved a pitiful two-month jump into the future. It's natural the crew is apprehensive."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with the burial, would it?"
"Our situation is enough cause for concern without a mysterious death to make it worse. The recent memory of our time-warp field collapsing does little to help matters. They're not excited about the prospect of venturing back into the continuum. Hell, we almost punched a hole into these hills and you know that's not an exaggeration."
"Relax, Justin. I have no intention of continuing our original mission. That was aborted the moment we plunged out of the continuum partially crippled. Besides, I'm certainly not going to go on without a full crew compliment."
Cavinder relaxed slightly. "That will put the crew at ease."
"I highly doubt it. And if it does it won't be for long."
"Why?"
"Because our options have drastically narrowed."
Cavinder protested. "But there are other options. We could continue covertly broadcasting. Maybe even risk broadcasting in the clear."
Kelly shook his head. "If they were going to respond, they would have done so by now. No, that's a dead end. My decision to break the temporal communications directive was hard enough. I'm not going to compound that possible mistake by broadcasting in the clear. It is too much of a security risk and it puts the project in jeopardy."
"Where does that leave us then?" What is our alternative?"
"Exactly as before," offered Kelly. "With one more jump to make."
"But we're already home," asserted Cavinder strongly, "more or less. We're talking about losing an insignificant two months. That's nothing. The latest local temporal scans of the continuum suggest the continued existence of the instability we ran into the first time and it is growing in intensity. We don't know what we're dealing with. Another jump just isn't worth the risk."
"We haven't a choice. What would you suggest? We fly the Dauntless to the nearest domed metropolis for the whole world to see? We have to continue doing what we're doing. Get the Dauntless patched back together as best we can and make the jump as soon as possible. There is no other option for us."
"It's a big gamble. I hope you're right."
"For our sake so do I," reflected Kelly as he changed the subject. "Are there any lingering symptoms of initial time displacement among our rookies?"
"None. All our rookies exhibited the normal duration and recovery period. No different from what we experienced our first time out. Not a single abnormality."
Kelly was unconvinced. "If you call what happened to Lucas normal."
"There is no a connection between the two."
"I wish I could be as sure."
"Nothing I've seen so far would lead me to think otherwise. Don't forget the unexplained green and blue blotches I found up and down his arms. The cause of death has got to be biological. Every type of medical test invented was administered before we departed. If we'd shown even a chance of catching a cold during the duration of the mission, we would have been told, possibly replaced. That fact alone eliminates in my mind any argument that whatever killed him was a prior affliction."
There was an uneasy silence.
"Do you suspect something?" asked Cavinder, growing suspicious.
Kelly didn't answer. The cold wind howled.
"That's just great," added Cavinder finally.
"Sorry," replied Kelly.
Cavinder gathered his thoughts. "Accept the inescapable fact that whatever killed Lucas infected him while outside the protective confines of the ship.
"But you thoroughly checked his E-suit?"
"Several times. No system or physical defects. It was in perfect working condition."
"Then how do you explain that? Lucas wasn't the only one who left the confines of the ship yesterday. Why no other afflictions?"
"We may have just got lucky," replied Cavinder, not knowing exactly how to answer. "It's the most likely explanation. Streams of mutated airborne viruses have emerged in recent years, adding significantly to those known viruses we are already stuck with. What if this is but the latest? One we haven't seen before. Something our environment suits weren't designed to detect, let alone combat. We shouldn't dismiss that explanation just because you don't happen to like it."
"What would you suggest?" replied Kelly, partially convinced.
"We need to take precautions until we absolutely know what we're dealing with."
"Are the outside repairs to the ship completed?"
"Yes. Almost. Nothing worth mentioning."
"Fine," concluded Kelly, taking a moment to consider, "We'll play it your way for now. It can't hurt to be a little cautious. Inform the crew no one is to leave the ship without my express permission. Good enough?"
"It's a start," agreed Cavinder. "I'm assuming that order also applies to yourself?"
"It does," stated Kelly. "I'll head back in a minute."
"Then, yes, I'm satisfied. I'll be even more satisfied once you're back in the ship."
"Is that all?" asked Kelly.
"No."
"What else have you got for me?"
"Something out of the ordinary from the ship's sensors. I don't know what to make of it. I thought you'd want to be informed."
"Coming from the continuum?"
"Not exactly. This is something else altogether."
"You didn't have enough to do during my absence without looking for additional headaches?"
"I didn't have to look. It found us just fine."
"So," asked Kelly, "What is it?"
"An enormous energy spike of some kind. I can't identify it or the cause. The early warning sensors were automatically triggered."
"But why were they triggered?"
"Because it didn't exist ten minutes ago."
"Is it stable?"
"For now, yes. It's hard to say in the future."
"Location?"
"It originates from inside the Canadian Sector, over seven hundred miles distance."
"Does it pose a threat?"
"I don't know," offered Cavinder slowly, carefully studying new data running across the cockpit displays. "Whatever it is, it's now expanding geometrically in energy output and doesn't appear to be stabilizing. Power levels are climbing off the scale."
"Does it pose a threat?" repeated Kelly again.
"I would have bet against it five minutes ago but I'm not so sure now. It might. If energy output continues to increase, it could pose a very real threat."
"Get me an exact location, Justin?"
"Hold on," said Cavinder already working on the computer inquiry. "It will take a few seconds. The system is still sluggish."
The faint sound of computer keys flowed through the open com-cell channel.
Kelly stomped his cold feet. It helped. His heated breath rose through the invisible bio screen generated by his E-suit, vanishing into the gloomy sky.
The Vice Protector's voice returned. "The disturbance appears centered in the federated state of Saskatchewan. Precisely ten miles southeast of what once was a small city by the name of Moose Jaw, abandoned shortly after the DBF breakout of 2089. It wasn't a domed metropolis."
"Better reference the archive. See what turns up."
"I'm entering it now," replied Cavinder, punching in the request for information into the computer interface. He started to wait patiently as yet another monitor demanded his immediate attention.
"I don't like the look of this," stated Cavinder.
"Don't like the look of what?" asked Kelly.
"Our little energy build up isn't so little anymore. It has tripled in size."
"Tripled in size?" repeated Kelly, surveying the gravesite one last time. "Are you sure? What the hell is it?"
"Should I get the boys into emergency mode?" asked Cavinder ignoring the last question, uneasiness creeping into his voice.
"I think that would be wise," replied Kelly as he backed away from the headstone. He turned from the gravesite and headed back up the hillside. "Do it quickly. I'm starting back."
The small wrist readout on Kelly's E-suit showed the temperature had dropped.
"It's done," declared Cavinder. "Flight readiness has top priority."
"Can I assume everyone else is on board?"
"All except you."
"I'm moving."
"Move faster," suggested Cavinder as if he were the one now giving the orders.
Kelly didn't argue. He quickened his pace up the slope.
Cavinder's voice returned. "I've got some information from the archives coming through now. Ever heard of a place called the Prometheus Complex?"
"No."
"It's an old research facility," advised Cavinder, reading the information from the archive on his display panel.
"I'll take your word for it."
"Apparently, it's at the center of the disturbance."
"Are you sure?"
"No question. There can be little doubt with the waves of energy it's putting out now."
"And?" asked Kelly.
"And what?"
"Go ahead. Tell me what I'd rather not know."
"It's one of ours."
"A Section 9 facility?"
"Yeah. I'm afraid it is. It is classified, including the name. The project has a level ten rating.
"A level ten security rating," repeated Kelly impressed. "I never actually believed they existed."
"It's listed as an inactive facility."
"Inactive my ass!" retorted Kelly, quickening his pace. "We need more information. Can you override the Archive lockouts?"
"No. It's Protector General's eyes only stuff."
"What are we dealing with?" replied Kelly baffled. "Any ideas?"
"I'd sell you some, if I had any."
An automated klaxon from the Dauntless radiated through the com-cell channel muffling the rest of Cavinder's reply, followed by a humming sound from the defense systems as they powered up. The energy disturbance had the onboard computer's undivided attention now.
"What's going on?" asked Kelly, walking even faster.
No response.
Aboard the Dauntless, the Vice Protector's eyes were rooted on the huge amounts of new data streaming across a multitude of cockpit displays. It was safe to say he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Several control panels pleaded for his attention.
"Cavinder?" called Kelly. "What's going on?"
No reply. Noise from the klaxon flowed through Kelly's com-cell.
"Cavinder?" repeated Kelly louder. He began to feel uneasy.
"Get back here!!" yelled Cavinder over the com-cell. The panic in his voice did more to convey the danger than what he said. "I'm initiating an emergency restart!"
"Damn!" shouted Kelly as he bolted to the top of the grassy ridge as fast as his legs would take him.
"Faster!" yelled Cavinder anxiously. "We have eight minutes until critical mass."
"Critical mass?" puffed Kelly as he ran.
No response came from the com-cell. Kelly could faintly hear Cavinder issuing orders. His heart raced. Quickly negotiating the top of the ridge, Kelly ungracefully propelled over the top, sliding down the grassy slope on the other side. His stomach was in his throat. The com-cell channel no longer active, silenced from the other end. Cavinder's voice had gone.
At the bottom of the valley, rested the Dauntless with its spewing running lights and exhaust ports; its hull lacked any aerodynamic qualities. It spanned 130 meters in length. Boxed corners, unshapely protrusions, with a mixture of gray metallic colors, did little to help the ship's appearance. During the ship's construction, it came as no great surprise the nickname "deformed brick" caught on so readily.
The dormant time-warp engines of the Dauntless suddenly roared with power. Three engine pods flashed an emerald green light that saturated the bottom of the small valley.
Almost out of breath, Kelly ran up the long boarding ramp that vibrated. Noise from the klaxon, which had flowed through his com-cell a short time ago, now radiated from the waiting air lock above. Heat escaped from the circular opening as if the ship were alive, breathing the cold crisp air.
Kelly sealed the airlock behind him and quickly passed through the entry port into the compartment beyond. Brushing by a perplexed young man by the name of Jenkins, he headed toward an instrument panel on the far wall. His fingers hastily jabbed at the sensitive controls.
The secondary entry doors slowly closed.
"What the hell is going on?" asked Jenkins anxiously over the noise.
Kelly ignored the question, waving it off with his right hand like an annoying fly. Leaning against the wall, he slouched over, putting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
The secondary entry doors clanged shut.
Kelly stood up and left the wall, moving toward Jenkins. He placed his right hand on the square of the young man's back.
"Get to propulsion," urged Kelly firmly over the noise of the klaxon as his right hand coaxed the young man forward. "Tell Sisto to do whatever it takes, no matter how risky. It's imperative that we jump in five minutes. In five minutes! Got it?"
"And if we can't?" asked Jenkins anxiously.
"We're dead," replied Kelly with a serious look.
The young man appeared dismayed. Panic in abundance on his face. Another question formed behind his eyes and his mouth began to move.
"No time!" yelled Kelly, pushing him forward. "Go! Now!"
The young man disappeared into the service corridor and raced toward the propulsion deck.
Kelly hastily shed his bulky winter jacket and abandoned it on the floor; within ten seconds, it was joined by a deactivated E-suit. Grumbling from the anti gravity generators reverberated off the walls as the metal deck shook. He wore only his Section 9 flight suit now. Hastily exiting the compartment, he rapidly traversed the narrow corridor in the opposite direction of the propulsion deck.

***
It took less than a minute for Kelly to reach the command deck. He promptly closed the emergency hatch behind him and entered the cramped cockpit; its sole occupant, Justin Cavinder, worked frantically at one of the two pilot stations. A cloud filled sky consumed the cockpit window. The Dauntless was no longer Earth bound.
With a quick motion, Cavinder partially interrupted what he was doing and handed Kelly an oxygen line that dangled from above. It was intertwined with two other lines, one of which was already attached to the front of the Vice Protector's flight suit. Without questioning the worried look on Cavinder's face, Kelly obediently took the line.
"Plug-in," instructed Cavinder, his attention back to flashing consoles and display screens. "Our Mr. Sisto just cut all power to life support."
Plugging the oxygen line into the front of his flight suit, Kelly took his place at the vacant pilot station and strapped into the seat.
Kelly rapidly scanned the ship's readouts. Display panels normally overtaxed with tasks were inactive while others flashed with colors he had never seen before, even in simulation flights. Several key indicators were altogether dark.
"Ship status?" prompted Kelly anxiously. A part of him didn't want to know.
"Anti-gravity engines are nominal. We're holding at 100 meters, stationary. Time-warp engines are at activation start-up that scanners have verified. A temporal rift is forming exactly 17.9 miles, north by northwest."
"Operational status?" asked Kelly as he tried to make sense out of a few additional displays that were active.
"Primary systems are functioning. Most are marginal at best. Sixty percent of the secondary systems have failed altogether. Structural damage could cause us some problems. The time-warp engines are highly suspect. Even if we are able to reach it, I'm not confident we can maintain the rift."
"Got any good news?"
"The temporal deflectors are fully restored."
"It certainly would have been an interesting trip without them."
"That's an understatement."
"Can we pull this off?" asked Kelly staring at a few dark console displays.
"Maybe," responded Cavinder slowly. "It will be close. Right now, we're at about seventy five percent operational readiness."
Kelly hesitated. "It will have to do."
Cavinder didn't look convinced.
"Are we set?" added Kelly.
"As much as we can be."
Kelly firmly throttled the control lever forward. The power levels dramatically increased on all the gauges. "Let's do it," he said.
Cavinder activated the ship's intercom. "Everyone hold on!"
Hovering motionlessly, the Dauntless suddenly surged with power. Exterior lights flashed defiantly. The time vessel sprang forward with more grace than the hull would have ever suggested possible. The roar of the engines echoed through the cold hills.
The Dauntless raced across the gloomy heavens.
"Rift at eleven miles and closing," stated Cavinder. "It's reaching critical mass."
To the northeast they could see the energy disturbance. It had taken form. It was as imposing and threatening as a coming storm and as bright as a sun going nova. The two men in the cockpit exchanged a brief look, but no words. As if a joint decision had been agreed upon, Kelly pushed the throttle all the way down, pounding it against the console. Warning lights flashed in protest across the cockpit as a new array of engine warning lights appeared. It would get worse.
"I think you've just invalidated our warranty," said Cavinder to break the tension. The warning lights filled his eyes.
The Dauntless shook violently as the tension returned.
New data streamed across Cavinder's monitors. "Propulsion just cut power to the anti-gravity generators and stabilizers. It's going to get a little rough from here on out. Airspeed 480 MPH and increasing."
The cockpit became silent except for operational noises and the sound of a few warning indicators. Kelly didn't responded. What was there to say? The remaining active indicators told him all he needed to know. Power levels were too low. The Dauntless began to vibrate, emergency motion restraints automatically clamped shut over their laps. The master alarm sounded accusingly at both of them as if this were their fault.
"Automatic shutdown in progress," warned Cavinder loudly as a new set of indicator lights flashed. "Main computer is commencing emergency shutdown."
"Override!" yelled Kelly over the noise of the alarm. "And turn off the damn automatic warning system!"
Cavinder gave him a questioning look.
"If we screw this up," explained Kelly, glancing to his side. "The last thing I want to hear is an annoying alarm telling me that I did."
With a few rapid keystrokes from Cavinder, the master alarm went silent. Shutdown of the time-warp engines had been aborted. Noise from less significant alarms slowly faded.
"Power levels are too low," added Cavinder.
"It will have to do," replied Kelly.
Both men knew the dire consequences and dangers of entering the temporal rift without sufficient power to engage the time-warp engines. It was highly doubtful they would achieve the needed velocity to penetrate the outer boundary, and without the required power and speed, the very rift the time-warp engines had hastily formed would rip the ship apart like a fortune cookie.
The Dauntless screamed across the bleak winter sky as it rapidly converged on the expanding temporal rift. Kelly's eyes seemed to plead with the display readouts for some good news. The rift had grown substantially and now filled the cockpit window. A mixture of rain and hail battered the hull.
"Come on, baby," whispered Cavinder under his breath.
The Dauntless shuttered and shimmed. Eight seconds away from the threshold of the temporal rift boundary.
They watched the rim of the world melt away beneath them.
"That can't be good," whispered Cavinder in awe.
The Earth exploded.

 

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