The Distant Kingdoms Series: Books 1 to 4

The Distant Kingdoms

Volumes One to Four Box Set

by

David A Petersen

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO BOX 147

Hazelbrook NSW 2779

https://indiemosh.com.au/

Copyright 2018 © David A Petersen

All rights reserved

This edition © 2018

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

There are a couple of points I wish to mention to anyone who is about to read this novel. Firstly, I completed the initial draft of the Distant Kingdoms Series One (7 volumes in total) between 1994 and 1998. Most of what you will read has come from that original draft of the first volume, although numerous rewrites have been made after the initial draft. There are also further volumeson various e-book sites. Also, being Australian, I use the English/English spelling of most words instead of the American/English spelling. Also the metric system is used in the narration, rather than the imperial system of measurements.

I also wish to point out that a great many people gave me much needed assistance in many aspects of writing this volume. To those people, you have my eternal gratitude. Your help during this process over the years has been invaluable—my thanks to you all.

And lastly, my thanks to you for taking the time to read this novel.

Believe me, I do appreciate the effort.

David A. Petersen

The Distant Kingdoms

Volume One: The Beyonders

by

David A Petersen

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO BOX 147

Hazelbrook NSW 2779

http://www.indiemosh.com.au/

Copyright 2014 © David A Petersen

All rights reserved

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

MAP

This novel is dedicated to my parents

Ruth and Ray

"The beginning of any great historic event is

always a time of immense upheaval"

PROLOGUE

The only light to penetrate the cramped, stone room emerged through a tiny ventilation slit positioned high up in an inner wall of the ancient, foreboding building. This faint illumination pierced through the usual dark gloom of the cell’s interior, its glowing shaft reaching all the way to the cell’s floor. No other form of light touched the squalid room, leaving it in almost constant darkness.

To one side of this beam of light stood a girl, about seventeen years of age as measured on Earth. Her long, limp hair was dark, as were her intent eyes—a characteristic of her people. Dangling from her thin, malnourished form was a basic gown, reduced by time and neglect to little more than a collection of thin rags. The clothing disguised a number of complaints besetting the girl, although most of the prisoners in the surrounding dungeons cells suffered similar unfortunate ailments. These included constant cramps and headaches due to the foul water and a lack of proper provisions supplied to her. Her hair occasionally fell out in clumps from a severe lice infestation; the same pestilence littered the skin on her legs with festering sores, as well as the occasional rat bite.

Stepping silently into the shaft of light, the girl tilted her head upwards to take in the view through her only glimpse of the outside world. A world she had been denied access to for so many seasons, be they warm or cold. The only way the prisoner could tell the change in the seasons was if she was just cold or freezing near to death. The air temperature was becoming cool again, especially at night. Soon the cold season would bring mercilessly low temperatures and eventually masses of freshly fallen snow would partially block the overhead ventilation slit. The petite prisoner instinctively knew she was physically in no condition to survive yet another long, frigid cold season. Her uncaring jailers would, no doubt, discover her dead, frozen form in the cell one morning and eventually report this matter to the man responsible for her incarceration. The girl doubted he would bother to order his guards to give the deceased prisoner a proper burial. Most probably, her corpse would be jettisoned over the rear wall of the castle for the wild dogs and carrion birds to devour at their will. Over time, her gnawed skeleton would be little more than a macabre decoration amongst the rest of the garbage tossed carelessly from the structure.

Gazing upwards, her eyes looked to the heavens and beheld the only true companions she had known during the time of her brutal imprisonment. The three moons stood out like beacons in the dark, night sky, competing for attention with countless brazenly glittering stars that littered the otherwise black void. These celestial orbs were the only signs of hope in the prisoner’s otherwise forlorn life and returned to her with undeniable regularity that not even the powerful man in charge of the castle could prevent. They were the only companionship she had known since childhood—other than the dungeon’s guards who brought her a modicum of food and water on occasion. She had no real idea about the appearance of these men, as they never once ventured into her cell. They had no choice, as her cell door had been irreversibly locked, leaving the only access to the tiny room via an opening at the top of the door or the small food flap at the bottom of the sealed entrance.

Staring up at the trio of bright moons, the prisoner felt a heartened sense of longing as her delicate features were illuminated by the moonlight. At this grim time in her isolated life, she clung to one hope in her keen mind: one day soon, someone would come and remove her from this wretched place and set her free once more.

CHAPTER ONE

CANADA

TORONTO, ONTARIO

PRESENT TIME

The mansion was an impressive structure, three floors in height and possessing numerous rooms, halls, doors and windows—enough to perplex the uninitiated as to its interior layout. White in tone and built with thick, sturdy bricks to keep out the harsh Canadian winter, the dwelling was even more remarkable due to its location. Although it was registered as being in Toronto, the house did not actually fall within the city’s official boundaries but was located quite some distance north of the city. All sides of the building were surrounded by vegetation, including an imposing forest of evergreen trees, masses of bushes and smaller shrubs, giving it the impression of being an oasis deep within the dense forest: Civilisation versus nature. In this instance, nature appeared to be putting up a good fight.

Most of the structure’s rooms contained the usual array of furniture, decorations and personal effects of the occupants. However, one room inside the mansion—the single largest chamber—did not hold the expected items one associates with the average Western household, no matter how affluent the owners might be. Firstly, to gain access to this top-secret area, a key card was required in order to open an extremely heavy airlock door capable of withstanding a considerable detonation at close quarters. Once past this formidable entrance, the people who worked here were afforded a spacious chamber that was spotlessly maintained and brightly illuminated, although a bit on the chilly side.

The experiment in progress occupied almost the entire length and width of the huge room on two different levels. Directly at the room’s centre was a circular glass platform decorated by a collection of intriguing instrumentation. Surrounding this platform was a raised balcony covered in dark grey carpet with a highly polished railing, protecting anyone from toppling onto the delicate glass surface below. A waist-high fall onto the hard surface could easily prove dangerous to the staff, and more than a little injurious to the expensive mechanism. During initial renovations, the walls of the laboratory had been slightly rounded to enhance the platform’s circular design. Despite its irregular shape, almost every area on these walls had been utilised to house some form of control panel, measuring or recording device.

The ceiling had been extended to allow the technicians to walk freely along the upper level without the discomfort of banging their heads into light fixtures. The entire enterprise was powered by a great many solar panels situated on the mansion’s high, steep roof where they could greedily feed on the sun’s limitless energy. Despite their delicate appearance, these panels provided an abundance of power, the excess being stored in subterranean batteries positioned directly beneath the building. One day, these solar panels and accompanying batteries would be produced commercially for industrial and household use. For now, they were solely for use in Colin Bourke’s pet undertaking: The Minerva Project.

The Minerva Project was associated with Colin’s company, ScienceStart. Amongst ScienceStart’s more known scientific achievements were greatly miniaturised audio and visual players, personalised identification microchips that could be inserted into a person’s wrist to activate numerous electronic functions, such as auto tellers—thus eliminating the need to carry cards, and light globes that required next to no power to function and could glow for years without burning out. Also on the company’s impressive portfolio was carpet that failed to show one iota of wear after even extensive use, virtually unbreakable glass, and a spacecraft that made the now defunct Space Shuttle resemble a child’s tricycle. Unfortunately, many of these items were still in the experimental or manufacturing stages.

The company’s most ambitious project was now approaching its final stage. When fully operational, the Minerva Project would be able to manipulate the previously unalterable passage of history: ‘Time manipulation’.

Most individuals, including every member of the technical team, cringed at such a limited definition, as they immediately evoked images of clockwork-like devices, rotating discs or quite possibly a big, blue police box. This was such a sore point with the scientists working on the project they never dared mention the term under any circumstances. And heaven help anyone who dared utter the term ‘time travel’. In fact, the project was not an attempt to move through time, rather to ‘speed up’ its inevitable and seemingly ponderous motion. All the team aimed to achieve was a contained time stall of a meagre two one-hundred thousandths of a second. Despite this seemingly tiny, inconsequential measure, such a feat could be a major step in attaining some control over past and present events.

Albert Einstein once theorised that time travelled at the speed of light. The Minerva Project aimed to test his theory by moving intense light matter faster than standard light, a childishly simple and straightforward theory that was to be put to the test over the next twenty-four hours. If this experiment succeeded, then everyone associated with it would have their names etched in the history books of scientific achievement in big, bold letters for perpetuity.

But the Minerva Project was destined to be a catastrophic failure.

***

The small, gangly fawn pushed its way through the thick undergrowth, arriving quite abruptly on the manicured grass close to the single largest object the animal had ever seen during its brief life. Stepping with almost overwhelming trepidation onto the miniature, manmade field, the delicate animal carefully studied the vicinity for any signs of possible danger. Sensing no life-threatening predators lurked nearby, the fawn ducked its head and commenced dining on the short, luscious grass. While the animal ate, it failed to see a slight movement very close to the immense white structure nearby.

A tall, slim woman in her late twenties with shoulder length dark-brown hair and green eyes, courtesy of a Venezuelan mother, emerged cautiously from the confines of the mansion. The woman positioned herself on the building’s rear porch and once comfortable, remained silent and still. She hoped the fawn would not notice her presence and dash back to the relative safety of the undergrowth. The woman continued observing this peaceful scene as the deer tore hungrily at the grass near its hooved feet.

No more than two minutes later, the dark-haired woman was joined by a somewhat shorter, blonde colleague, who appeared to be of approximately the same age. Together they admired the grazing creature, grateful to be in a place where such a tranquil scene could unfold before their eyes. Overall, both science researchers were very pleased their current undertakings were in such a peaceful location.

An unannounced blast of classical music erupted from the mansion behind them, shattering the silence. So intense was this audible intrusion that the handmade panes of the building’s windows appeared to shudder. The unexpected outburst of music by a great composer from a long-past era issued forth with enough power and force to scare the daylights out of Satan. It just about killed the poor deer. The terrified fawn bolted back into the surrounding forest as if the Hordes of Hell were about to pounce. The mansion’s grounds were once again devoid of any life. The highly unimpressed women on the rear porch turned to face the upper level of the house.

Goddammit, Bourke! exclaimed the brunette scientist, her green eyes flashing dangerously. Why does he have to play Beethoven like it’s heavy metal?

The blonde woman laughed lightly, amused by her companion’s anger. It was no secret that Connie York and Colin Bourke grated each other’s nerves. Colin may have owned ScienceStart and sat on the Board of Control, but Connie had been appointed Project Manager by the entire board due to her PhD in physics and the fact she possessed an IQ that almost resembled a telephone number. The truth was, she had her way of doing things and Colin had his own individual style. Beethoven continued blasting his way across the Canadian countryside at an impressive level of decibels.

I suppose we better get back inside, Connie sighed, casting a despondent glance in the direction of the vanished fawn. There’s really no point in us being out here.

Perhaps we should steal Colin’s music collection, Lorraine Montague wryly suggested, a hint of French-Canadian accent in her voice.

Connie glared across at the other scientist. I’d be more inclined to burn down his room, she retorted.

Can I watch? Lorraine laughed.

Sure thing, honey, Connie responded as they wandered slowly towards the nearest doorway. I’ll invite everyone upstairs and we can make toast around his burning bed!

The load music abruptly halted.

Thank God for that! Connie huffed in a dramatic burst of relief. I thought we were going to have to listen to that racket all morning!

Beethoven is not a racket, Lorraine protested teasingly, flashing a broad smile.

It is when it’s played at supersonic levels.

They entered the mansion, figuring they would never set eyes on the young deer again. Their deduction was correct, but their reasoning behind it was way off the mark. Fate had other intricate developments in store for both women.

***

Connie waited until they were both inside the building, then closed and securely locked the rear entrance. Moving along one of the mansion’s many corridors, both women literally bumped into one of their team’s other members.

Sorry, ladies! Dale Johnstone apologised as he barged past them. I’d like to stay and chat, but I’m a man on a mission. After this off-handed comment, he bounded away, leaving his Minerva Project teammates bewildered by the speed of his departure.

What’s wrong with Dale? Lorraine asked, not really expecting an answer. His behaviour was particularly unusual and out of character for the tall scientist, who was also a qualified biologist. Even under the most trying of circumstances, he was the type who never appeared fazed by any hazards life threw at him, whether in regards to his work or private life.

Connie merely shrugged. You’ve got me.

Another horrendously loud blast of sound ripped through the mansion. This time, however, the disturbance was not the dulcet tones of Herr Beethoven. The noise reaching everybody’s ears was a fire alarm screeching at the top of its mechanical lungs.

Forget my last question! Lorraine announced as both women broke into an uncoordinated sprint.

Despite being the shorter of the two women, Lorraine was naturally more athletic and reached the metallic doorway a good three paces ahead of Connie. She motioned as if to open the door with her access card.

Wait! Wait! Connie yelled, finally arriving at the closed doorway. Don’t open the door before you check it!

The shorter woman turned to stare at her project manager.

How do I check if there’s a fire in the lab if I don’t open the door?

The Project Manager considered their dilemma for a moment. The other scientist was quite correct. A raging inferno could be waiting just on the other side of the blast door and they would be none the wiser until opening it, allowing a torrent of wild flames to come tumbling out onto them in the passageway.

I guess we’ve got no choice, she reluctantly conceded. Let’s open her up and pray for the best.

They opened the large door and rushed inside the smoke-filled laboratory. There they saw Dale working alongside a much smaller built, Asian man in a soot-smeared lab coat. The two men were engaged in fighting a small, but angry spout of flames billowing from a partially melted control panel on the far wall.

Fortunately, once the nasty little fire had been extinguished, they managed to shut down the fire alarm. The emergency air-conditioning kicked into gear, quickly draining away the acidic smoke that filled the chamber. Within sixty seconds, the entire room was completely clear of the offending fumes.

Thank God for that! Connie blurted, gasping in the acrid air. For a minute there I thought we were all going to be barbecued. What the hell happened?

Victor Chan and Dale shrugged simultaneously.

You’ve got me, Victor reluctantly admitted.

The project manager turned to the other scientist. Dale?

Hey! he responded, trying not to appear too defensive. Don’t look at me; I just got here myself.

Some silly bastard’s going to have to tell Bourke about this, Connie grumbled to no one in particular.

Dale stared mournfully back at her. Good luck.

***

In fact, Colin Bourke had already been informed of the mishap within the shockingly expensive lab. The tall, slightly muscular man had been reclining in a luxuriously padded chair, listening intently as the pounding waves of Beethoven’s Symphony Number Five rattled the windows and shook the door of his office. A large, hairy hand reached out from behind him, gingerly tapping the auburn-haired man on one shoulder a couple of times in rapid succession.

This action caused Colin to launch himself clear of his specially commissioned, ergonomic, leather recliner. Scrambling to his feet, he soon regained his customary composure and switched off the miniaturised entertainment player and projector, which took up the space of about three credit cards laid one on top of the other; the auxiliary speakers being much larger. He glared across at the older, portly man who had dared disturb him in his only haven from the pressures of the outside world.

Simon! Colin gasped, miraculously controlling his rising anger. I hope there’s a good… no, a ‘great’ reason why you almost gave me a coronary!

Simon Leveque nodded to indicate there was indeed a great reason.

What is it?

According to the fire control indicator in the secondary lab, a fire’s broken out in the Minerva Project room.

Colin paused. He continued to stare at the other scientist. "Did you say a fire?" Colin finally managed, as the information sank into his normally agile mind.

Simon nodded before responding, If you didn’t play that wretched music at a million decibels, you might have heard your own alarm going off.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present time, Colin could now hear a number of alarms screeching for all they were worth in the distance, somewhere deep within the large building. Almost as if sensing his great displeasure at the unwelcome noise, the alarms abruptly ceased. Blissful peace and quiet returned to the mansion’s interior.

The fire must be out, Colin suggested hopefully.

Maybe all the alarms just melted in the heat, the rotund physicist added, somewhat unhelpfully. It might be an idea, Colin, he suggested, if we go and check on the damage.

Let’s go and check then, Colin instructed, making for the doorway.

Both men headed with due haste out of the room and down the stairs. They prayed without any real religious conviction that the emergency was over without any damage to the Minerva Project or the research personnel.

***

Connie cast a look across the Minerva Project laboratory as the entrance was opened, allowing Colin and Simon to enter. She realised there was going to be a great deal of explaining to do about this recent mini-disaster.

Horrified by what he saw, Colin managed to retain a calm, benign expression as he slowly and deliberately paced about the room, inspecting the extent of the fire, and the smoke and fire-retardant foam damage. Besides the badly burnt area where the initial fire had started, the walls and ceiling were liberally smeared in a thin, grim layer of black soot. Extinguisher foam was sprayed from one end of the laboratory to the other.

Would anyone care to offer an explanation for this? he calmly requested, pointing briefly towards an ugly burn mark in the wall where the instrument panel had literally gone up in smoke.

Connie held her hands up and said sarcastically, Okay, you got us, Colin. We were trying to start a campfire to roast some chestnuts, but hell, it just got away from us.

Lorraine and Victor slowly moved away from their project manager. Dale was grateful he was standing on the opposite side of the room. Colin remained stone still, staring directly at the black, melted form that had previously been an important piece of instrumentation. He turned around to glare at his project manager who sported a long, black smear of soot across the left side of her face.

You think this is funny, Connie? he demanded, miraculously maintaining an even tone of voice. Have you any idea how much it is going to cost to repair the damage? Not to mention the time we’ll lose getting the Minerva Project back to a fully operational status.

Victor, who was also a qualified physician, disregarded all notions of self-preservation. He boldly stepped forward to intercede in the brewing brawl. Actually, Colin, he insisted, it should only take us two days at most to repair.

Colin was astounded at this hastily conceived estimate. Fixing this mess is only going to take two days?

…If we work around the clock. Victor nodded.

I think we better find out what caused the fire in the first place, Colin added, an angry menace just beneath the calm surface of his voice.

I think it was just a power surge in the batteries, Dale added, one hand absently clutching a fire extinguisher. I was checking the power meter under the stairs when the damn thing went right off the scale.

Colin immediately decided to take care of this problematic situation with a touch of pre-emptive diagnostics. Dale, you and Simon check the batteries and the solar cells. And for God’s sakes try to track down the cause of the surge, he instructed. Lorraine and Victor, do me a favour and clean up this mess. Colin turned to cast an inscrutable gaze towards his project manager. Connie, could I speak to you outside, please.

Not uttering a word, Connie marched out of the chaotic laboratory. If her employer wanted a word or twenty with her, she would be more than happy to talk right back to him. A good, old-fashioned exchange of ideas quite often cleared the air and made life a great deal easier for all concerned. However, on other occasions, it did nothing of the sort.

With her arms crossed, a certain sign she was agitated, Connie stepped onto the rear porch of the mansion and waited impatiently for her employer. When the project manager sensed him behind her, she spun around, her mouth partially ajar ready to have her say first about this unfortunate matter.

Colin leapt into the fray before the tall woman could get a single word out into the chilly Canadian air. Things were just not working out and needed to be fixed before the entire mess blew up right in his face.

What the hell is wrong with you, Connie? he demanded, pointing an overly dramatic finger towards her. This is serious, and you’re acting as if it’s just one big joke!

And you’re acting as if we’re conducting the invasion of Normandy! she fired back without a moment’s pause. Look, with an experiment as complex as this one, things are bound to go wrong from time to time. And when they do go wrong, you find a way of fixing the problem and clean up the mess. Every time there’s been a problem, you’ve been more interested in finding somebody to blame.

Bullshit! Colin angrily retorted, somewhat surprised his project manager would think so little of him. I’m just trying to make sure nothing goes wrong with the Minerva Project. For the past three years we’ve been working on this, and I’ve spent another four years researching every possible aspect of what we’re about to accomplish here.

Accomplish? Connie repeated, her voice a bare murmur. She looked nervously around as if she was concerned someone might overhear. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps we’re doing the wrong thing out here in the woods?

Colin turned to study his adversary. What do you mean by that, Connie?

She paused before responding. Until this moment, she had hidden her true feelings about the Minerva Project and its ramifications. This was an exciting time in her life and career, and she certainly did not wish to jeopardise her involvement in the experiment by openly voicing any disapproval harboured in the deep recesses of her mind. Now, unfortunately, the truth had forced its way into the open, right in front of her employer. Did you ever consider that just maybe we’re messing with something we’re not supposed to, Colin?

Excuse me?

We’re fooling around with something no one else has ever been able to tamper with.

Did you ever consider that if everyone thought that way, we’d still be living in caves, chewing on raw meat? Colin fired back, trying in vain to keep his temper in check.

It’s in our nature to try and better our situation on this world, he explained, his mind racing with the implications of his project manager’s apparent doubts over the entire experiment. We explore other places on the Earth, under the sea, in space.

And look what happened. Such exploration brought down entire civilisations. The Mayans, Native American and Australian Aboriginal cultures—all undone to a great degree by people like us. Every great advance in our civilisation comes at a shocking price. Look at the advent of the nuclear bomb; two entire cities destroyed in minutes.

They also stopped a terrible war and saved countless other lives, Colin politely countered. And may I point out; we’re not building a bomb. This is an important and serious attempt to help control our time for the benefit of humanity.

Even so, I have to admit after all these years I’m starting to have doubts about the viability of the Minerva Project, Connie replied.

Colin stared silently at the other scientist, contemplating his next words. Look, I know you’re contracted here for another two years at least, but obviously this isn’t going to work. I can’t have my Project Manager harbouring doubts—not at this stage. Perhaps it’s best we part company. I’ll give you an excellent reference; you’ve always worked so hard, you deserve that at least.

Connie nodded in reluctant agreement. On numerous occasions, she had come close to requesting her release from the whole experiment. She simply no longer held any faith in it. I’d like to stay on until the activation stage is completed, she requested, her tone weighed down with regret.

I’d be very grateful if you could, Connie.

The dark-haired scientist nodded briefly before turning and walking back into the silent, oppressive mansion.

Stepping across to the veranda railing, Colin took a rare moment to study the surrounding terrain with its magnificent flora and somewhat elusive animal life. A person could easily retire to such a peaceful setting and spend their twilight years observing first hand that the planet was not entirely doomed as a crime-plagued, pollution-ridden product of human greed and failure.

Shit!

He was not a happy man.

CHAPTER TWO

Victor Chan was half a day out in his estimate of the repair time to fix the Minerva Project lab, as it took taking the team two and a half days to complete the necessary repairs. Even to achieve this narrow timeframe, they had needed to work on a twenty-four hour roster; each taking turns to clean the affected area inside the laboratory and replace any burnt out or otherwise damaged components.

The team members were quite perplexed to learn about Connie York’s imminent departure from the Minerva Project. The day after the final repairs were completed, Colin Bourke decided they would proceed with the experiment’s first test run. Nothing too strenuous, they would simply light the device up for a couple of seconds and see what happened. This test would take place on the assigned day at exactly 1600 hours. On completion of this test—assuming nothing too disastrous befell the Minerva Project, Connie would pack her bags and go her own way.

On the day of the test run, Colin generously decided to let the technical team have a half-day off to do as they pleased. After all, they had toiled diligently under particularly arduous conditions. The team members deserved some ‘down time’ from their hectic schedule; he felt it was the least he could do.

***

With his large frame partially obscured in the dim light of the snooker room, Dale Johnstone watched intently as Simon Leveque lined up a shot on the expansive green surface of the competition-sized snooker table. They had decided to play a particularly haphazard version of pool rather than snooker, as neither were up to speed on the rules of that particular game. There were far too many similar coloured balls and way too many intricate regulations to be followed. They had enough ‘intricacy’ in their lives working on the Minerva Project.

The Canadian’s shot missed its intended target by a mile. The white ball cannoned about the huge table before eventually coming to a rest to one side of the dark green felt. Simon remained motionless, staring intently at the cue ball as though attempting to move it through telekinesis, an ability he did not possess (to the best of his knowledge).

Nice shooting, Tex, Dale smiled sardonically and chalked his cue.

Let’s see you do better, Dale, Simon grumbled, less than impressed with both the comment and his playing prowess.

In fact, Dale’s next shot bounced off no less than two of the side cushions before the ball in play deposited itself in a corner pocket. He gazed up at his combatant and grinned wickedly.

Behaviour like that is very unbecoming, Dale, Simon stated, unimpressed at Dale’s smugness. Especially from someone gifted with a slightly better than average IQ.

Sorry, Simon, Dale apologised insincerely. You know me—I do so enjoy my little victories.

You call this a victory? Simon inquired, placing his cue back into a nearby rack. Let’s go into town and chase some local girls. Then I’ll show you what victory is all about.

Sounds good to me, Dale agreed, likewise replacing his cue. By the way; that’ll be a dollar for the pool lesson. Oh, and I mean a proper US dollar, not some lousy Canadian peso.

If you don’t like the place, please feel free to leave, the other man retorted with a lopsided grin.

Remember what happened last time we went into Toronto?

Simon sighed heavily. I was hoping you wouldn’t bring up that unfortunate business. It’s not my fault the lady in question wasn’t anything of the sort. She—I mean he—looked like the genuine article, at least with his clothes on. The rotund man paused to recall his disgraced memory of the event. And then he began screaming about me trying to rape him. As if! Simon paused again and looked crestfallen …I’d never been inside a jail cell before then.

Colin wasn’t impressed, Dale added, rather unnecessarily. Nor Connie, nor Lorraine.

Only Victor seemed to find the whole tragic mistake amusing. I’ve never seen him laugh so hard. In all honesty, I’d never seen him laugh at all before that time.

The most important detail about this incident that had angered Colin the most was that Simon—under the influence of whatever alcohol he had been consuming in great quantities—had begun to discuss the Minerva Project with a collection of bemused law enforcement officers at the police station. Thankfully, they dismissed his talk of ‘time containment’ as the mad babbling of a drunkard. Afterwards, Colin issued everyone with a stern warning about discussing their work when not actually involved in the execution of their respective jobs. Even the usually placid Connie had spoken to Simon at great length about his damn big, drunken mouth. When provoked, she could be even more ruthless and belligerent than Colin. It all boiled down to one decree: No care, no job.

***

Colin scratched his recently shaven chin as he surveyed the previously damaged panel, which now appeared to be as good as new. He glanced across at Victor, who seemed to be pleased with himself, even though his initial repair time estimate had been a touch understated. Two and a half days to completely repair the problem was still a considerable effort considering the amount of damage inflicted on the instrumentation.

Do you think it will happen again, Vic? Colin inquired, running his fingers delicately over the panel in question. The plastic and highly polished metal components felt safely-cool to the touch.

The team physician shrugged. We can only try it and see what happens. If another fire starts up, we’ll have no choice than to shut down the Minerva Project and go back to the drawing board.

The thought of shutting down the entire experiment and starting from scratch caused Colin to cringe visibly. He had no intention of letting so many years of toil and effort go down the proverbial drain because of a single lousy fire. We’ll go ahead with the initial run today and pray there are no further problems, he instructed. If you could just run one more scan of this panel—just to be certain, Vic.

I’ve run two tests on it already, and nothing’s shown up Colin, Victor intoned rather haughtily.

Just one more for good luck, okay? Colin responded, smiling thinly. He was still concerned over the unexplained power surge.

Luck, Colin? Victor replied. Since when did you believe in something as simple-minded as ‘luck’?

We’re in a foxhole, he retorted, flashing a grin. And there are no ‘luck atheists’ in foxholes. Especially in scientific foxholes.

The doctor had no idea what the Minerva Project owner was babbling on about, but decided not to take issue with the matter and smiled back. In his view, if you put in the hard work, were careful with all of the finer details and kept your eyes open for any possible difficulties then luck, good or bad, should play no part in the process. This attitude would be partially responsible for the horrendous disaster about to befall the entire team and their cherished mechanism. Luck, good or bad, had an integral part to play in any undertaking.

Check the system once more, Vic, then take the rest of the day off.

Thanks, I’ll do that, Victor responded.

Colin completed one final inspection of the entire chamber before stepping towards the sealed exit. To his surprise, Victor spoke to him an instant before he removed himself from the room.

What happens if it works?

This unexpected question caused Colin to halt mid-stride. He about-faced to gaze at his colleague. Pardon?

What are you going to do if the Minerva Project is a success and we can exercise some control over the movement of time?

This is just the first of many steps, Colin finally answered after a moment’s deliberation. At this stage, it’s just two-hundred thousandths of a second; it won’t really change anything. You can put the DeLorean back in the garage; we’re not going anywhere just yet.

But later on, it could give us complete control over our own history, Victor enthused as much as his reserved personality would allow. Think about it... We could change everything. Any of history’s particularly distressing events we could alter forever or monitor our future progress.

"I still think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Even if today’s run is a roaring success, it’s still going to take a lot of years to accomplish even a bare fraction of what you’re talking about. And we don’t really know if we can alter history. Moving time and moving through time are two completely different aspects. One might lead to the other, but not necessarily. And then there’s the age-old question: Would you change the past if you had the chance?"

A moment passed in relative silence as Victor considered his opinions on this question. Who knows? The sky’s the limit, he responded. There are a couple of World Wars we would be well rid of. About half a dozen assassinations could also go the way of the Dodo. He grinned at his last statement. We could even bring back the Dodo from extinction!

But what are we supposed to do about the people responsible for these atrocities? Colin inquired, now warming to the topic. And I don’t just mean the extinction of the Dodo.

We could…

Kill them? Colin presumed to finish the other man’s sentence.

I wasn’t going to say that! the physician denied vehemently.

Once we figure out what we’re doing here, we could send hired killers after anyone not to our liking: Hitler, Idi Amin, Pol Pot. There was a guy back in college who beat me in the hundred-metre dash… I could send someone after him.

Now you’re putting words in my mouth, Colin. I’m the last person who’s going to declare open season on anyone. But there would be nothing stopping us from simply ‘removing’ certain people from the great scheme of history.

Let’s learn to crawl first, Colin remarked, before we start running a marathon. This endeavour isn’t about fixing history’s wrongs; it never was. No more than the Apollo missions were about conquering outer space. Society needs to move forward; otherwise, humankind will become stagnant and die out in a very short time. He glanced at his watch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make. Even I have people to answer too.

You’re putting me on, Victor countered seriously.

Smartass! Colin chuckled as he left the chamber.

No sooner had the scientist retired from the room than Victor went about rechecking the various repaired instrumentation panels. The last thing they needed was some unexpected malfunction to occur during the initial testing stage. He could not have been more right.

***

Inside his study, Colin prepared a generous bourbon-on-the-rocks in a heavy crystal tumbler. He disposed of the contents in two quick gulps in preparation for the next task on his agenda. Briefly searching about his desk, he located the object he needed. Picking up what appeared to be a small remote control, he strode across to a blank screen located on the far wall. He detested meeting with the ScienceStart Board of Control, even when such a meeting was via satellite link. Turning to face the screen, he pressed one seemingly innocuous button and watched with feigned disinterest as the surface of the screen flickered into life.

Well, he grumbled under his bourbon laced breath, here goes practically nothing.

The screen’s unfocussed surface quickly cleared to reveal an assortment of well-attired men and women seated around an immense marble-topped table.

Assholes of the world unite, Colin murmured under his breath, grinning falsely at the screen.

One of the more elderly men at the polished, oval-shaped table frowned. I’m sorry, Colin, Bernard Gosford announced in a clear, but slightly shaky voice, I didn’t quite catch that?

He had clearly heard every word.

Nothing, Bernard, Colin lied enthusiastically. So how are things on Mars?

We are not on Mars, Colin, the other man corrected him humourlessly, just here in Geneva, as usual.