By The Sword
Published by Michael E. Gunter, LLC
© 2011 by Michael E. Gunter, LLC
eISBN: 978-0-9837522-1-9
Smashwords Edition
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Contact the publisher Michael E. Gunter, LLC at BlackwelltheBook@gmail.com or at http://klyvian.com
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The following is a work of fiction. The characters, circumstances, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Thank you for reading my short story. If you are interested, I’ve also included the first four chapters of my novel, BLACKWELL: THE ENCOUNTER BEGINS at the end of this selection. Feel free to read it and share! Thanks! Michael E. Gunter.
By The Sword
A
Short Story By
Michael E. Gunter
“There’s our man,” said one of the two women sitting at a table in the back corner of the bar. She gestured toward the door with a slight nod of her head.
The man in question was about thirty, wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt, and a tattoo of a dragon on his left bicep. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it out with his shoe before saddling up to the bar.
“How do you want to handle this?” asked the other woman.
“Just like we planned.” The first woman got up, smoothed her skirt, fluffed her hair and sauntered up to the bar.
“Hey, sweetheart,” said the tattooed man, “buy you a drink?”
She shot him a this-might-be-your-lucky-day grin and slid onto the barstool next to him. “I would, but there’s just one problem. I don’t accept drinks from strange men.”
“My name’s Johnny. Problem solved.”
She gave Johnny a head-to-toe-to-head inspection and smiled seductively. “I’m Jill.”
Johnny returned the inspection and nodded. “All right then, what’ll you have?”
“Jack Daniel’s straight up.”
Johnny called out to the bartender on the opposite end of the bar, “Hey Stu, two J.D.’s.” He winked at Jill and added, “Straight up.”
Stu delivered the drinks, and Johnny took a sip. He winced as the liquid burned its way down the back of his throat. Jill grabbed her glass like a sailor and knocked it back, draining the glass and then calmly setting it on the bar. Johnny’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. Not to be outdone, he tried to follow suit, but his cool came close to derailment by a sudden coughing fit.
“Are you okay?” asked Jill, slapping him on the back.
“Yeah.” He sputtered, “Went down the wrong pipe.” Johnny coughed again, cleared his throat, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and shored up his cool. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“First timers. My friend and I just got into town.” Jill pointed to the other woman who was watching them from the table.
Following her gesture, he found an equally gorgeous woman waving flirtatiously. He nearly started coughing again. “Wow, there’s two of you?”
“Join us.” Jill got up from the bar stool and started back to the table.
Johnny admired the view. Then he glanced over at Stu to make sure this was all on the record. Receiving the confirmation head nod from Stu, Johnny strutted across the bar like he was somebody.
“This is my friend, Rachel.”
“How do you do? I’m Johnny.” His brain was engaged in a silent debate as to which of the two women was the better looking. He couldn’t decide.
“I do pretty well,” Rachel said with a seductive grin.
Settling into the chair next to Jill, Johnny put his arm around her. “So, what brings you two lovely ladies to my town?”
“A little business,” Rachel said.
“And a little pleasure,” added Jill.
Johnny nodded and wondered what star he had walked under to gain such favor from the universe. “Well, maybe I could be of assistance.”
“You must be some kind of mind reader, Johnny,” Jill said, and all three started laughing. The two women were amused by how easy it was to manipulate a man like Johnny. Johnny had no idea why he was laughing, but it seemed like the thing to do at the moment.
After the laughter died down, Johnny took it upon himself to get the conversation rolling. “Where you two from?”
“That’s kind of complicated,” Jill said. “How about another drink?”
“Sure” Johnny signaled to Stu for another round.
After the third round and a fair amount of flirting, Jill decided it was time to get down to business. “Say, Johnny, do you like adventure?”
“Sure, what do you have in mind?” The slur in Johnny’s voice indicated the alcohol was starting to have its intended effect. Any caution he might have brought into the bar with him was adequately disarmed.
“We have a proposition for you,” Jill replied. Though she was still smiling, she now exuded an air of sophistication she had carefully hidden during the ruse.
“Lay it on me, sweetheart.” For a very brief moment, it occurred to Johnny that neither of the women seemed the least bit affected by their libations. This should have sounded an alarm, but apparently the alarm operator was under the table.
“We can’t talk here,” Jill said, looking around the bar. “Can we go somewhere a little more private?”
Johnny considered the situation: Two good-looking ladies, adventure, what’s the worst that could happen? “You wouldn’t be thinking about trying anything funny now would you?”
“I don’t know. You might think it’s kind of funny. What do you think, Rachel?”
“It’s a little funny.”
All three started laughing again.
When the three stood up, Johnny stumbled sideways. “Whoa,” he said, “my leg must have fallen asleep.” He stamped the dormant appendage in an effort to restore feeling. “Wake up, leg.”
Anticipating his condition, Jill and Rachel positioned themselves on either side of him and allowed him to drape his arms over their shoulders. Johnny felt like royalty. These two lovely ladies could have taken him anywhere, and they did–right back toward the restrooms. Passing the ladies’ room, they were about to enter into the men’s room when the door flew open. A man wrapped in a blanket burst into the hallway and pushed through the threesome, knocking Johnny back against the wall.
“Hey!” Johnny yelled after the man. “Watch where you’re going!” He tried to make a grab for him, but caught nothing but air. The man ran through the bar, knocking over a few chairs, and disappeared through the door. “What’s this?” Johnny held up his hand. It was covered in blood.
“Are you okay, Johnny?” Jill’s concern was sincere.
“Are you hurt?” asked Rachel.
“No, it’s not mine. It’s that guy’s.” He frantically wiped his hand on his jeans. “Ugh, what a mess.”
Rachel and Jill looked at each other. “That was close,” Jill whispered. “We’re still good.”
“Quick, in here.” Rachel held the door open while Jill escorted Johnny into the men’s room.
Had Johnny not been so intent on getting to the sink to wash the blood off of his hand, he would have noticed the strange thing happening behind him. Twenty seconds of frantic scrubbing passed before he noticed the reflection in the mirror. “What the…?” He turned around and his mouth fell open.
“Relax,” said Jill in a soothing voice. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“What is that?” Johnny started to move toward the door, but Rachel had already blocked the exit.
“This is the adventure we told you about.”
“Again,” Johnny said, this time a little annoyed, “what is that?”
In the place where a restroom stall had been, the air was shimmering like heat rising from the road on a hot day; only here there was no heat, no smoke, no steam, no flame, nothing that Johnny could see to be the cause of it. Through the shimmering air, an impossible image emerged where the toilet should have been. Johnny pressed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes and shook his head. When he looked again, he thought he was looking into another room, but it quickly disappeared and there was only the toilet. Johnny chuckled nervously and glanced to the left and right at the two women. Their gazes were fixed upon the anomaly. Looking back in the direction of the stall, Johnny could have sworn he was looking outdoors at a sunlit meadow. Then it too disappeared, replaced by the toilet. This went on for quite some time–scene after scene flickered by so fast that he could not get a satisfying look at any one of them.
“What the…?”
Johnny’s inquiry was left to hang in the air. There was, of course, an answer, but Jill waited until Johnny’s initial shock had waned and he was becoming accustomed to the phenomenon. Finally, she walked over to him and placed a reassuring hand upon his arm. “Are you ready for your adventure?”
“Uh, huh,” was all Johnny could muster.
“This,” Jill began, pointing to the shimmering mass of air, “is a time passage.” She waited to let her words sink in.
“A time machine,” Johnny mumbled. He was unaware that he had actually said anything.
“No, it’s not a time machine. There is nothing mechanical about it. It is a time passage.”
Johnny blinked and tried to make his brain grab onto the signal his eyes were sending.
“I could explain the physics behind it, but I am afraid the explanation would be more difficult for you to grasp than the fact that it exists.”
Johnny, sensing his intelligence was in doubt, shot back, “Why don’t you try me?”
“Okay, since you asked…” And for the next ten minutes, Jill talked about the space/time continuum, wormholes, a folded universe, particle physics, quantum mechanics and several other things that, for all Johnny knew, could have been made-up.
All Johnny could do was stare at her and wonder what happened to that sexy woman at the bar. She looked the same, but she certainly was not the same woman who moments earlier was enraptured by his wit and charm. When Jill paused, Johnny took it that she was finished with her explanation. If there was any possibility of him not looking like a total idiot, this was his one play. “So basically what we have here is a time passage.”
Knowing the entire operation rested upon getting him to go along with the plan, Jill bolstered Johnny’s last-ditch effort to salvage his dignity, as well as any hope he had of romancing her. She flipped her long blonde hair, like she had seen on television shows from Johnny’s time, flashed a dazzling smile and gave him a quick hug. “You got it.”
Her ploy worked, and Johnny moved a little closer to inspect the shimmering air. “So, what’s the gig?”
“Rachel,” Jill said. “Why don’t you tell Johnny about the gig?”
Rachel took Johnny by the arm and moved him closer to the time passage. The thing was completely silent, but Johnny could feel a pulling sensation. He looked at his arm to see the hairs standing straight out as if reacting to static electricity. He moved his arm to the left and the hairs bent to the right. When he moved his arm back to the right, the hairs bent back to the left. “Weird,” he said. “It tickles.”
“See,” said Rachel, “there’s nothing to be afraid of. Now here’s the deal. We want you to come with us, just for a little while, and then we’ll send you right back. No one will even know you have gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
Rachel looked at Jill who was nodding her consent. “We want you to come with us to December 27, 2037.”
Johnny stared at the woman for a moment and then started laughing. “Oh, I get it now. You got me. Ha, ha, ha. You can come out now?” He started looking around the restroom for the hidden camera.
“Johnny,” Jill said, taking his arm again. “This is no joke. That really is a time passage, we really are from your future, and we really want you to come with us.”
Johnny stopped laughing and stared at Jill.
“Go on, Rachel. Tell him what we want him to do.”
Rachel placed her hand on Johnny’s cheek and gently turned his head toward her. Her touch seemed to calm him. “We need you to get something for us–some documents.”
“Oh, that kind of gig.” Johnny chuckled again, but this time it was an I’m-on-to-you sort of chuckle rather than an okay-you-got-me kind of chuckle. “Okay, so why me?”
“Two reasons,” Jill said. “First, we happen to know you possess the necessary skills. In fact, you could be the only person who can pull this off. And second, once the job is done and we send you back, no one will be able to find you. Oh, I almost forgot, you will be well paid. How does one million dollars sound?”
A smile crept over Johnny’s lips. “The perfect crime.”
Now most people would have pressed the matter a bit further, but not Johnny. The play against him was executed flawlessly–the company of two sexy women, a stroked ego, a million bucks, and a guaranteed escape plan.
“So, are you with us, Johnny Boy?” Jill had heard that in a movie once and decided to try it out. It worked.
Johnny almost jumped right through the time passage right then, but stopped himself. A look of concern came over him. “Will it hurt?”
Jill leaned so close that Johnny could feel her warm breath upon his neck. “Only a little,” she breathed and then she sealed the deal with a gentle nibble on his earlobe. Johnny felt his knees buckle, but this time it had nothing to do with alcohol.
With Jill on his right and Rachel on his left, and all caution thrown to the wind, Johnny stepped into the shimmering mass of air. Just like that, the men’s room was vacant and everything looked as it had before. But within the time passage, the pulling sensation increased exponentially, there was a high pitched squeal which turned out to be Johnny screaming like a little girl, and the temperature instantly dropped by about fifty degrees. In the span of a few seconds, Johnny and company stepped out of a hot stuffy bar in 1988 and onto the manicured lawn of a huge mansion in 2037.
“Whew, what a rush!” Johnny exclaimed. He turned around to see through the shimmering air mass the men’s room at the bar flicker out of sight. “Ooh, it’s cold.” He breathed into his hands and rubbed them together.
“It’s December,” said Jill. She took a moment to scan the area around the mansion. All was dark and quiet. “Rachel, what’s the date?”
Rachel pulled a small electronic device from her purse and tapped the screen, causing it to blink to life. “Sunday, December 27, 2037. 11:14 pm.”
“Perfect. Now show Johnny what he’ll be looking for.”
Rachel tapped the screen again and called for Johnny to take a look.
Johnny was staring up into the night’s sky at what appeared to be an enormous lighted billboard hovering high enough to be seen for many miles. It showed a moving image of a woman singing. Across the bottom of the screen, it read: Alena Novichek in Concert–Saturday, January 2, 2038. Johnny shook his head. “Well, I’ll be. I’m really here.”
“Johnny!” Rachel called again.
“Oh yeah, right.”
“This is a schematic of the house. You will enter here at the front door, proceed up these stairs, follow this hallway until you find this office; last room on the right.” Rachel tapped the screen at the point of the office. The image zoomed in until the office filled the entire screen. The safe is in this cabinet. And this…” she tapped the screen again and the image changed once more; this time it showed a manila envelope marked Old Photos. “This is what we want you to retrieve. That’s it. Piece of pie, yes?”
“Old Photos? What’s this all about?”
“Trust me,” Jill said. “The less you know the better.”
“I don’t know,” Johnny said, showing signs of wavering. “How do I get in? And how do I open the safe?”
“Don’t worry. It’s all been taken care of,” Jill reassured him. “Just go in and get it.”
Johnny assessed his surroundings and then nodded toward the house. “Who lives here? And what do I do if they see me?”
“Johnny.” Jill put her arms around his neck. “You need to trust me. It’s just one old man and he’s probably asleep. Besides, he can’t even walk. As long as you can outrun a wheelchair, you won’t have any trouble. You can do this. I traveled a long way for you, Johnny. Only you.” She pulled him close and kissed him long and hard on the lips.
Johnny did not resist. When their lips parted, he started to say, “I don’t…” Jill moved in and gave him a second dose. This time the medicine took. “Okay,” he said when Jill pulled away, “I’ll be right back.”
Whether it was the trip through the time passage or the cold, Johnny was feeling quite sober. He moved quickly across the lawn, driven partly by his desire to get the job done and get back to Jill, and partly because of the chill in the air. Jill’s kiss had warmed him, that much was true, but it was still late in December. He slowed as he approached the front of the house, looking to make sure he was alone. There was a light on in the house, but he could detect no movement. When Johnny got to within six feet of the front door he stopped. He had no idea how to gain entrance. He looked for a place one might hide a key, but found none. With no other option, he stepped up to the door and reached for the knob. Perhaps it would be unlocked.
Two things surprised Johnny: First, there was no doorknob–just a smooth, solid panel. Second, he heard a click and the door swung open. Johnny froze, expecting a confrontation, but none came. He was still alone. A place like this should have better security, he thought to himself. Cautiously, he stepped through the doorway and into the foyer. Inside was dimly lit and absolutely silent. He took another step and paused to listened. Still nothing, until...
The sound of the door latching behind him was as offensive as a door slamming in a library. Johnny jumped straight into a coat stand, nearly knocking it over. A full minute passed before he could work up the nerve to move. Encouraged by the absence of alarm, pet, or person, Johnny righted the coat stand and approached the staircase. The thought occurred to him that perhaps no one was even home. Then he replayed Jill’s kisses. Emboldened by both, Johnny scampered up the stairs two at a time. Reaching the top, he moved quickly down the hall to the last room on the right. Piece of pie, he chuckled to himself.
Upon entering the office, Johnny took a moment to admire the richness of the room. There was a grand mahogany desk and matching bookshelves, fine leather upholstered chairs and expensive art work upon the walls. Not one for books, he did not take the time to scan the titles, though he was impressed all the same. The office had the rich smell of old books and antique furnishings. Johnny found the cabinet and felt around it for an access to the safe. He missed it the first time, but on the second pass his finger brushed against a tiny latch. Responding to his touch, a hidden panel sprung open. Johnny chuckled at his good fortune and moved around to take a look at the safe.
“Now what?” he said under his breath. There was no combination dial and no keypad; just a handle. “No way it could be this easy.” As soon as he touched the handle, a tiny green light appeared. “Here goes nothin’.” With just a little pressure, the handle moved and the door easily opened. “Good grief, could this get any easier?” Johnny reached into the safe and pulled out a stack of manila envelopes. Rifling through them, he read the labels: Investments, Last Will & Testament, Stock Analysis (1989-2030), Travel Documents, and finally, Old Photos. Johnny smiled. “Old Photos. Just like the lady said.”
With package in hand, Johnny’s curiosity began to peak. It seemed odd that Jill and Rachel would go to so much trouble to get him to do something that thus far could have been handled by any two-bit crook. What was all that talk back in the men’s room about him being the only person who could pull this off? He looked at the envelope. Old Photos. He opened it and pulled out a notebook with a blank cover. Flipping through it, he discovered page after page of hand written notes and diagrams. He tried to read it, but could not make out the language. When he got to the last page, he saw written in English the word Sword and then in parenthesis (Time Passage).
Johnny was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he had sense enough to figure out that the book he held in his hands must be the notes of whoever had discovered the time passage. Suddenly, the million dollars he was promised seemed less impressive. Certainly, a notebook like this would be worth a lot more. He was about to replace the other envelopes when he noticed the one labeled: Stock Analysis (1989-2030). Now he was really thinking. He stuffed that envelope into the back of his jeans and tucked his t-shirt in around it. Insurance, he thought, in case I can’t get more for the notebook. He took one last look around the office and then headed for the door.
No sooner had Johnny stepped out into the hall than he heard it. It was a sound he had heard before–the unmistakable click of a handgun being cocked. There, between him and the stairs, was the old man himself. He was in his wheelchair, dressed in his pajamas with a blanket over his legs. He held the gun with both hands, pointing it directly at Johnny’s head.
“Hello, Johnny,” the old man said in a raspy voice.
“Hey, how do you know my name?”
“Never mind that. Just put the book down and get out.”
Johnny did not respond. He was still in shock that the old man knew his name.
“Believe me, I really don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.”
“Easy now old man. I doubt you could get me before I could get to you.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
Johnny could see the gun start to shake. Obviously, it was all the old man could do to hold the gun up. Johnny suspected he must be getting tired. If he could just stall a few more moments, the gun would drop and he could make his move.
“Nice place you got here.” It was all Johnny could think of at the moment.
“Don’t be stupid, boy. Just put the book on the floor and walk out of here. You can keep the stock reports. In fact, consider them a gift. Now please, just leave.” The gun dipped a little and began to shake even more.
Johnny cocked his head as a quizzical look came over his face. How did the old guy know he had snatched the other envelope? Finally, the weight of the gun proved too much for the tired old arms. He lowered the gun into his lap. Johnny saw his chance and took it, but as soon as he did, the old man raised the gun and fired three shots. The first two whizzed past Johnny’s right ear. The third caught him in the right shoulder, spinning Johnny around and dropping him to one knee.
“You shot me!”
“I told you I would,” the old man replied.
Johnny staggered to his feet, his eyes wide and fierce like a wounded animal. He charged the old man and landed a sidekick squarely into his chest. The force of the kick pushed the wheelchair back. It slowed, but not enough to keep it from toppling end over end down the staircase. The noise was tremendous–a horrifying blend of clanging metal and raspy yells. Then all was silent again, just like it had been when Johnny first entered the house. Tentatively, he approached the staircase and peered over the edge. There, at the bottom of the stairs, lay the old man in an unnatural contortion.
Johnny made his way down the stairs, cradling his wounded shoulder and clutching the book against his chest. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he could tell the old man was dead. He was about to step over him and head to the door when he noticed the lap blanket. He picked it up and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then something caught his eye. There, on the old man’s left bicep was a faded tattoo of a dragon. Johnny glanced down at his own tattoo. A perfect match.
Johnny stared at the old man while his brain worked on the coincidence. Suddenly, all color drained from his face as the truth dawned on him. He spun around in an attempt to make his getaway, but in his panic he turned the wrong way and found himself in the living room. What he saw next nearly caused him to collapse. There on the mantle above the fireplace was a large portrait of a family. The woman and little girl, he did not know, but the man had a face he knew all too well. He was older than the last time he saw him and he had shorter hair, but he had the same face Johnny saw every morning in the mirror.
Johnny ran out of the house and across the yard to where Jill and Rachel were waiting.
“Johnny!” Jill exclaimed. “What happened? We heard gun shots. Are you okay?”
Johnny was mad with fright; obviously in shock. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Rachel noticed the blood running down his arm, then she spotted the notebook.
“Let me take a look at that arm.” Rachel took a step toward him and spoke calmly. “You’re shaking. Here, let me help you.”
Johnny started to back away like a scared rabbit. He looked at Rachel and then at Jill. Between them and about ten feet beyond, he noticed the air was shimmering. Without another thought, Johnny made a break for it. Pushing his way between the two women, he leaped into the time passage.
“After him!” Rachel shouted. She made for the time passage, but stopped when she sensed Jill was not following. “Hurry, before it closes.”
“Let him go,” Jill said. She knelt down, and when she stood back up, she wore a triumphant smile. In her hand was the notebook.
Johnny re-emerged in the men’s room at the bar back in 1988. He was cold and scared and bleeding, but he was back where he belonged. Still wrapped in the blanket he had taken from the old man, he ran out into the hallway. A man and two women were coming his way, but he was easily able to push his way through them, knocking the man into the wall. He ran through the bar, upsetting chairs on his way, and burst through the door and out into the bright sunshine of his own time.
As the warmth of the day washed over him, he thought nothing could feel any better. He laughed deliriously as he looked upon the familiar sights of his own time with greater appreciation than he had ever given them before. Shedding the blanket, he examined his shoulder. The bullet had passed clean through the muscle. It hurt like crazy, but at least he was alive. His relief was momentarily overshadowed by aggravation as he realized he no longer had the notebook, but then it dawned upon him that he still had the stock analysis tucked into the back of his pants. He felt behind him with his good arm and retrieved the envelope that would be worth far more than the notebook he couldn’t read anyway. His only regret now was the fact that those two gorgeous women didn’t come back with him.
Johnny tore open the envelope and started leafing through the pages that foretold the stock market’s activity for the next forty-one years. Reading while he walked, he stepped off the curb and right into the path of a 1976 Volkswagen Bug. That’s when everything went black.
Later that evening, the local evening news reported the following:
A thirty year old Sacramento man, John Hutton, is in serious, but stable condition this evening after being struck by a car outside Stu’s Bar on West 9th Street. Witnesses inside the bar say there was nothing unusual about the man’s behavior until after he was seen accompanying two women toward the bar’s restrooms. Then, say witnesses, there was a commotion and Hutton ran out of the bar and into the path of an oncoming vehicle. Police are puzzled this evening by a mysterious gunshot wound Hutton sustained during the incident. The bar’s owner, Stewart Hiller, identified Hutton as a regular, but said he had never seen the two women he was with. Police are looking for the two women for questioning.
In other news, a Russian ballerina has defected. Svetlana Novichek was on tour with the Russian ballet when she walked into a New York City police station and requested political asylum. Novichek is the widow of Soviet scientist Gregor Novichek who was well known in the scientific community for his work in particle physics and quantum mechanics. Gregor died last year in a single car accident just weeks after announcing what the Soviet government is calling “a significant discovery.” There is no word this evening about the status of Svetlana Novichek’s defection. The Russian embassy refused to comment.
Sixty-two years later (2050)…
“Excellent work, agents. Obviously, your mission was a success.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Agent Jill Dell. “Everything transpired just as you said it would.”
“I never doubted it for a moment. Is there something on your mind?”
“Yes, I’m puzzled about the necessity of the mission. I understand The Sword notebook contains the theoretical formulae for time travel. I also understand that it is the very work upon which our time passage is based, which we have been using for almost a year now. And I know The Sword notebook currently resides in a museum in DC. I saw it last summer. Yet this morning, Agent Knight and I went to 1988, found John Hutton (the younger), took him to 2037 to acquire The Sword notebook, and then dropped it in a mailbox in 2040. Since we already possessed the technology, why did we go to all the trouble to retrieve it?”
“This is the funny thing about time. What has happened in the past, must always happen, even when it seems unnecessary. The fact that we had possession of The Sword technology yesterday did not negate the need for you to complete this mission today. It is what happened. Had you not gone back, well, I cannot even speculate. The fact that you did go back makes such a course of reasoning pointless.”
“May I ask a question, sir?” inquired Agent Rachel Knight.
“Of course.”
“I remember 2037. That was the year I started high school, in Minnesota. But now I was in California in 2037. Does that mean I was in two places at the same time?”
“Indeed, it does.”
“What would have happened had I encountered myself in 2037?”
“Have you ever encountered yourself?”
“No.”
“Then I should say you never will, at least not in the past.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“The fact that you have no memory of ever encountering yourself suggests that you never could. Unless, that is, you saw your younger self without your younger self realizing it was you. I’m afraid it only gets more confusing the more you think about it.”
“But what about John Hutton? He did encounter himself.”
“Indeed, he did, and you know the outcome.”
“Did you know what would happen?”
“Yes, because it already had long before you left this morning. Given the circumstances, I thought it best not to tell you.”
The director allowed his agents to ponder the circumstances they had not only witnessed, but had also caused.
Then he added, “There is an old saying, ‘He who lives by the sword, shall die by the sword.’”
“We must be careful then,” offered Agent Dell.
“Yes, very careful.”
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Checkout Michael Gunter’s Novel, BLACKWELL! Available for all e-readers anywhere you get your books! BLACKWELL is also available in print (for the old-school readers out there!) online!
“An AMAZING Read! If you want to be one of the first to discover the next best selling author, then Michael Gunter and his book, "Blackwell" is a must find! I have to admit that I wasn't an avid sci-fy reader, but after reading "Blackwell", I am hooked! I not only found it to be an easy read, but extremely "riveting" and "awesome"! The story draws you in and you become so involved with the characters. You want to know about them and what happens in their lives! I would encourage anyone looking for a book that you just can't put down, to pick up, "Blackwell". I can't wait for the sequel!” – Char
BLACKWELL is a story about loyalty, friendship, conviction and a danger that threatens to destroy it all. When visitors from another world show up at their Wyoming ranch, Rick and Jane Blackwell are amazed; first by the proof that extraterrestrial intelligent life really exists, and second by the friendship that so easily forms. As the shock subsides and the language barrier is crossed, they settle into a new way of life. But when a stranger shows up, everything Rick thinks he knows falls under the shadow of doubt as he becomes an unwitting pawn in an ancient battle from another world. Has he been tricked into believing a lie? Will the truth be his demise or his salvation? Can he act in time to save his wife and new daughter? And what if the world found out what really happened at the Blackwell Ranch?
BLACKWELL is your invitation to take another look up, and in, and imagine the possibilities.
BLACKWELL
A Novel
The Encounter Begins
Michael E. Gunter
As much as I would like to believe otherwise, this is a work of fiction. While some of the locations exist in reality, the characters, circumstances, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2011 by Michael E. Gunter LLC
Published by Michael E. Gunter LLC
Smashwords Edition
Discover other titles at Smashwords.com
eISBN: 978-0-9837522-1-9
Contact the publisher at BlackwelltheBook@gmail.com or http://klyvian.com
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Cover Art by: Carson Jones jonesca8@vcu.edu
Cover Photography by: Brandon H. Pearce kolodog@yahoo.com
Cover Design, Book Design, Publishing Management and Coaching by: Alane Pearce Professional Writing Services and Author Coach http://AlanePearce.com | email: alane@AlanePearce.com
Dedicated to my son, Erik
Prologue : Rosetta
“You’re wasting your time, Carl. There’s nobody out there.”
Carl Drake heard those words so many times they no longer bothered him. He didn’t even argue anymore. He’d just smile and nod and strike that person’s name from the short list of people he cared to remember. But when she said them and then added the stinger, “But if there were, they wouldn’t care about someone like you,”—those words were carved into his memory just like her name was permanently etched onto his short list. How could he forget her? How could he forget the last words she ever spoke to him? Even after a year, they still haunted him.
Carl sat motionless in his car, a dark green 1965 convertible Mustang he bought new from the dealer four years earlier. It still looked like it did the day it rolled off the assembly line. He liked it because it had the kind of style that made people look twice. In a car like that, a guy like Carl could feel normal, maybe even cool. And though there was no one out there in the lonely Nevada desert to notice him, he still felt good in it. With the top down, radio on, and the seat leaned back all the way, he watched the smoke from his cigarette drift straight up in the still night air. Above him, the moonless sky glittered with the billions and billions of stars that seemed close enough to touch.
The young man stared straight up into the cosmos and let his mind go as far and as fast as he could. Somewhere out there—beyond the tiny Sputnik, past the astronauts aboard Apollo 11, further out than anyone had ever peered through a telescope—there had to be someone; some kind of intelligent life. He knew it in his soul. And he wanted nothing more in life than to make contact, to see and hear them, to actually know them. He wondered if they were at all like him. Did they laugh and cry? Did they make love and war? Did they have hopes and dreams and fears? Did they wonder if they were all alone in the universe? Did any of their kind mock them for having such absurd thoughts? Carl imagined someone like himself on a distant planet like Earth. Maybe he or she or whatever else there could be was staring out into the same space, but from the other side. If only they could bridge the gap that separated their two worlds. Carl cursed the distance that rendered their meeting unlikely, if not impossible.
More than an hour had passed since Carl began his night vigil. The ground beside his car was littered with cigarette butts, and the RC Cola on the floor between his feet had long since become warm and flat. At some time in the evening (Carl was unaware when it happened), the radio faded out as the last bit of power drained from the car’s battery.
It was fifteen miles to the nearest town. Even if he wanted to try to make it on foot, his legs could not have carried him that far. While the thought of being stranded alone in the desert should have given him cause for at least some concern, Carl Drake was content to stay and keep company with the stars. Automotive problems could wait until the last star surrendered its light to the new day. Besides, he knew he would not be spending this night in the desert alone.
Carl heard the rumble of the 1937 Indian motorcycle a few moments before he saw the light from its headlamp. He did not bother to watch the motorcycle approach since he knew who was on it. When the Indian finally came to a stop next to the Mustang, its rider switched off the engine, extended the kickstand and took off his helmet.
“Any problems?” Carl asked, still gazing up into the sky.
“Naw. The old man’s on the verge of another breakthrough. He’ll be locked away in his lab for days. As of this morning, I became just another echo from the Big Bang.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you Frank. Did you get the key?”
“Yeah. Took it right off his key ring. He’ll never miss it.”
“You’re sure we’ve got the place all to ourselves?”
“For days if we want it. Not much interest these days in listening to static. No one’s scheduled to come out ‘til next week.”
“Guess it’s meant to be then.” Carl opened the door to his Mustang and swung his legs out. The metal braces on his legs rattled and clicked as he locked them into place. Without much effort, he heaved himself into a standing position. From the back seat he retrieved two crutches, the short kind with the wrist cuffs. It was a maneuver he had performed countless times. “So what’s on tap for tonight? Hendrix? Jefferson Airplane? Grand Funk?”
Frank unbuckled the leather pouch behind the seat of the Indian and pulled out a metal case about the size of a shoebox. “I don’t think it really matters, Carl. Whatever you want is fine.”
“Oh, but it does matter. You don’t want them to think the earth is square, do you?”
Frank stared blankly at Carl. Then the light came on. “Oh, square Earth—good one.” Frank snorted. “I doubt they’d judge us by our musical preference.”
“You may be right. But they probably do have style. What if they like to, you know, get down?” Carl made an awkward attempt at a dance move. “I’d hate to think they passed on us for a better party.”
“Carl, you have a bizarre view of the universe.”
Beside them was a steel building about the size of a double car garage. Frank unlocked the door and felt along the wall for the light switch. Light spilled out of the door and cut sharply into the black desert. Carl took one last look at the stars and hobbled his way into the building. Frank followed and closed the door behind him, sealing every bit of light back into its container. On the door, in simple block letters, a sign read: CETI BROADCAST STATION ELVIS. Beyond the building, about fifty yards away, was an enormous radio telescope with its dish pointed straight up. From a distance, it looked like a big salad bowl balanced atop a thin pedestal.
Inside the building, Carl took his usual chair and laid his crutches on the floor beside him. “What’s in the case?” He asked as he pulled a ten-inch reel of audiotape out of his leather satchel.
Frank was checking the printouts from the last several days. “Oh, something I’ve been working on.” He shook his head as he leafed through the yards of paper, studying the rows of squiggly lines. “Hmm. Not much here.”
“Patience, man. Patience.” Carl attached the reel to a machine and fed the tape through the reader head and onto the empty retrieval reel. “What’s in the case?”
“Uh-huh.” Frank was lost in the squiggles. He had zeroed in on one particular section and was scribbling some notes onto the paper.
“Earth to Frank,” Carl said a little louder.
“Oh, sorry. Did you say something?”
“The case. What’s in it?”
“Oh, yeah, that.” Frank placed the printout back in its tray and slid the case to the center of the table between them. “This is Rosetta.”
“Rosetta,” Carl repeated, flashing an impish grin. “Ah, your new girlfriend? Why don’t you let her out so I can meet her?”
“Girlfriend? Cha!” Frank brushed his greasy hair back with one hand and pushed his thick plastic-framed glasses back into place with the other. “Like I would go out with a girl who could fit in a box that small.”
Carl shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. Guys like us must have our standards. I’ll just go and tell all those girls lined up outside that we only want the tall good-lookin’ ones. Cha!”
Frank chose not to be drawn into another one of Carl’s cynical rants. “Seriously, you’ve heard of the Rosetta Stone?”
Carl nodded. “Yes. The stone Napoleon’s army found in Egypt.”
“That’s right,” Frank said. “It had the same text written in three languages: Greek, Latin, and Egyptian hieroglyphs…”
“I knew that.”
“…which provided the key for deciphering the previously undecipherable hieroglyphs.”
Carl nodded. “I knew that, too.”
“Well,” Frank said as he patted the case, “this is sort of the same thing, only it’s electronic. Here, let me show you.” Frank found a piece of graph paper and placed it on the table. “Let’s say you wanted to communicate human.” He drew a stick figure on the paper. “Using a geometric grid, you can figure out the plot points of the picture and assign them numerical values like this.” Frank scribbled out a series of numbers that represented the plot points for his stick figure. “If you transmit the plot points along with an audio recording of what the object is, whoever receives it can re-produce the object and hear an audible word designation.”
“You’re telling me you invented a machine that transmits a signal that draws a picture along with an audio track?”
“Yes,” Frank said proudly. “That’s right.”
“I hate to break it to you, Frankie, but I think someone beat you to it. They call it television.”
Frank shook his head. “Rosetta is nothing like TV. It doesn’t even use a picture tube. The code for the picture is an audio signal as well.”
Carl thought for a moment. “Okay. Aliens might not have a TV, but they probably have a radio. Come on, Frank. Don’t you think if they’re smart enough to travel through space, they’d be smart enough to have a TV onboard their ship?”
Frank frowned. “I’m sure they’re smart enough. But we can’t assume compatibility between alien and human technology. They probably do have some form of video technology, but the likelihood of it being able to receive and translate one of our television signals is…well, it’s hardly likely. Radio signals are much simpler.”
“Hmm.” Carl knew Frank had given this a lot of thought. He also knew that he was probably right. “So, you’ve created an electronic Rosetta Stone?”
“Yes, that’s why I call it Rosetta. You know, Carl, for a smart guy you can be kind of slow.”
Carl shot him a sneer, but cut off the sarcastic comeback that Frank probably wouldn’t have gotten anyway. “Tell me, Frank, what’s the point?”
“The point is, we can broadcast your record collection for a thousand years, but it won’t mean anything. If aliens are out there and they can detect our radio signals, they still wouldn’t understand our music. I hate to sound like my old man, but to an alien race with no human point of reference, our music would just sound like noise. This isn’t like Star Trek where all the aliens speak English. Rosetta uses what many scientists believe is the true universal language—mathematics. It’s a key for them to begin the process of understanding us. Check out these symbols I’ve already programmed into the machine along with their verbal cues.”
Frank drew the following symbols on the sheet of paper:
Carl studied the symbols and muttered to himself, “Okay. That’s the sun and our solar system and there’s Earth. What’s this? Oh, I see—mountain, tree, water, human. And a peace sign?” He looked at Frank. “You seriously believe an alien who has never been to Earth is going to figure this out?”
Frank was disappointed at Carl’s sudden lack of confidence. “It’s a start. And I think it communicates a lot better than, I can’t get no satisfaction.”
Carl smiled. “Okay, you’ve got a point. Let’s just hope they’ve got plenty of graph paper.”
“Very funny. You can play around if you want, but at least I’m trying to really do something here.”
Carl stiffened. “Oh, so now I’m playing around? Look at me. Do I look like I’m playing around? Let’s take stock. I’m a twenty-three year old cripple. Except for you, all my friends are either in Nam or Canada or getting stoned in a field of daisies somewhere. My parents think I’m a loser, and…” Carl stopped himself.
There was a long pause. “Look, Carl, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. You’ve been on edge since we got here. Let’s just pack it up and try again some other time. Maybe tomorrow, huh?”
Carl leaned forward and pressed the palms of his hands against his temples. “No, tomorrow won’t be any better.” There was another long pause. “It’s Amy. She’s getting married.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” Frank said. “When did you find out?”
“This morning. Her mom called.”
“What’d she say?”
“I really don’t feel like talking about it. Sorry I brought it up.” Carl picked up the piece of paper and studied the symbols again. “I guess if they’re smart enough to travel through space, they’re smart enough to figure out these symbols. Tell me how this contraption works.”
Frank spent the next thirty minutes explaining the Rosetta machine and patching it into Elvis’s mainframe. After several minutes of Frank’s fiddling with the dials and switches, Carl was getting restless. He had no understanding of computers and believed Frank purposefully engaged in excessive fiddling just to prove he could. When he couldn’t take it any more, Carl got up and started hobbling around the station.
“Hey, Frank,” Carl said, “what’s a pulse burst transmitter?”
“A what?” Frank said from behind a large rack of electronic equipment.
“A pulse burst transmitter,” Carl repeated. “It’s printed on this crate. There’s also some letters I can’t read. I think it’s Russian.”
Frank climbed out from behind the rack and walked over to where Carl was standing. “Let me take a look at that.” He examined the crate. “See if you can find a hammer or a pry bar.”
“Now this is more like it,” Carl said. He found a hammer in a drawer and brought it back to Frank.
“I know this. I read about it last year.” Frank strained to get the pry bar into the crack between the crate and its lid. “But it was only a theory then.”
“What theory?”
“There was this Russian scientist who claimed to have figured out how to transmit a signal at a super high speed over a tremendous distance. I can’t remember the exact figures he used.”
“Estimate.”
“Think of it like this: If we ever put a man on Mars, it would make communication sound like a phone call across the street. But remember, it’s just a theory.”
“By the looks of it, that Russian guy went beyond theory. Let’s take it out and fire it up.”
“I doubt the thing even works.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Look. It’s never even been out of the box. I don’t think anyone’s ever even hooked it up.”
Carl shook his head. “If they’re never going to use it, what’s the big deal? Besides, I thought CETI stood for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence. You and I seem to be the only one’s who actually send any messages out. If they’re going to stop trying to communicate, they ought to change the name to LETI—Listening for Extraterrestrial Intelligence.”
“LETI? That’s kind of lame.”
Carl thought for a moment. “How ’bout SETI? Search for Extraterrestrial Life. At least it still sounds the same.”
“Why don’t you mention that to my dad?”
“I think I will. Now let’s test drive this pulse burst transmitter and see what she can do.”
“I don’t know. If my dad ever found out…”
“How could he find out? You’re just an echo, remember?”
The image of his father on the verge of another breakthrough popped into Frank’s mind. It was an image he knew well. In fact, Frank could not remember a time when his father was not working on the discovery of the century. “You’re right. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Thirty minutes later, Frank stood up and announced, “That’s it. I think I got it.” Frank had a concerned look on his face like he might have missed something important.
“Finally,” said Carl. He had been reading one of the many technical manuals lying about. “How do you guys read this stuff? No wonder they put these places way out in the middle of nowhere. I want to slap somebody.” He tossed the manual onto the table. “Let’s fire it up.”
“Not so fast,” Frank replied. “According to these specs, this thing requires an awful lot of power. I had to hook directly into the main line coming into the building. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. We could blow something and lose power to the entire building.”
“I guess we better make sure we get it right the first time then. You got your Rosetta thing ready?”
“Yes. We’ll transmit the first sequence. If it works, we can send more later.”
Carl held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Can this pulse thing transmit music?”
Frank thought about it. “Sure, but not an entire song. The pulse is too quick. You’d have to somehow compact the music down into a much smaller package. Maybe in the future we’ll be able to do something like that. Hmm, compact music. That would be cool.”
“It was just a thought. Go ahead and pulse the Rosetta signal. I’ll stick to sending musical smoke signals.” Carl gave Frank a nod and a thumbs-up.
Frank looked as if he were about to meet Miss America. He was perspiring, his eyes were wide open, and his hands were shaking. “Here goes something, I hope.”
Carl stared hard at the Rosetta machine as if he expected it to do something. Every muscle in Frank’s body tensed, and then he pushed the transmit button. There was a click followed by an amazing display of…nothing. Both men stood transfixed, their eyes locked onto the Rosetta machine. Still nothing.
“Try it again,” Carl whispered.
Frank pushed the button a second time.
Another ten seconds elapsed.
Still nothing.
“A dud,” Carl said. All the hopeful tension of the moment was let out like air from a balloon. “Oh, well, at least we still have lights.”
“I don’t understand. Maybe I didn’t hook it up right.” Frank began checking connections and reviewing the spec documents.
“Don’t worry about it, Frank. We still have several hours. Let’s just patch Rosetta into the system the old way. Besides, maybe the pulse machine never worked. That’s probably why it was in the box. Good effort though.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll drop some hints to my dad. Maybe he knows something.”
Sixty seconds earlier…
Outside Broadcast Station Elvis, the steel frame holding the radio telescope began to rattle and the dish atop started to vibrate. Three seconds later, the moonless black night became ablaze in a shower of sparks, and streams of blue electrical energy shot out in all directions. Bolts of electricity congregated on everything in the vicinity that was made of metal—the steel lightening rods atop the building, the Indian motorcycle, the Mustang, the metal “Keep Out” sign in front of the building. Fifty miles to the south, every light in Las Vegas blacked out.
Then, as quickly as it all began, the light show outside of Broadcast Station Elvis ended. Vegas flickered back to life and everything seemed to be as it had been before.
Four hours later…
The eastern sky was showing the first signs of morning as Frank and Carl emerged from the broadcast station.
“That was a bust,” Frank said.
“It wasn’t a complete loss,” Carl replied. “You got me through my first night of knowing the only woman in the world for me is going to live happily ever after with another man. Besides, we can search the stars for intelligent life anytime.”
Frank laughed. “I hope we find it soon ‘cause there’s not much of it down here. Hey, listen.” Both men stopped. “Your car is running.”
Carl looked at the Mustang. Sure enough, the car was idling like a new sewing machine.
Four years later and several light-years away…
A tone sounded in a darkened room, waking its occupant from a sound sleep. He spoke calmly in a language never before heard by human ears. Translation: “This is Ido.”
From a speaker somewhere in the room, a female voice said in the same language, “Ka-Rel was correct.” There was an edge of excitement in the voice.
Part I: Incident at Blackwell Ranch
Chapter 1:
What Ed Tyler Found
Rick Blackwell stepped out onto the back deck of his single-story house and walked to the railing at its furthest edge. He shivered as the cold air enveloped his body. The steam from his favorite coffee mug mingled with his breath to form a white cloud that rose up in sharp contrast against the clear blue sky. He relished this moment. Although it became his daily ritual, it never got old. It was his favorite part of the day.
The thirty-year-old transplant from the East Coast surveyed his massive back yard. Stretched out before him as far as he could see, the Wyoming desert was white from the light dusting of snow that fell the night before. Randomly scattered tufts of desert sage punctuated the landscape, providing definition to the brilliant swath of white. The only man-made object in sight was a split-rail fence about fifty yards out from the house. Fifty miles beyond, the Rocky Mountains rose up out of the desert like the back of a great serpent. Rick could think of nowhere else in all the world he would rather be.
Rick and his wife Jane moved to their Wyoming ranch in the summer of 1996. When they arrived, the locals politely told them that most city folks were lucky to last a year before the harsh weather and loneliness drove them back to wherever it was they came from. Like many things in life, they were told, the idea of wilderness adventures and a lifestyle of simplicity is appealing to those who have only glimpsed such things in books and movies. The reality, it turns out, is a shock to the system; and few stick with it long enough to experience the benefits that come only after the heart has been conditioned to receive them. To the surprise of all who knew them, Rick and Jane survived the first year, endured the second, and thrived with each year that followed. After five years, the Blackwells had paid their dues and earned the respect of their fellow pioneers. Now they seemed as much a part of the land as it was a part of them.
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