Prologue; Three Paths Beginning
In a small, chain-link fenced testing facility on the outskirts of Ti-Gallin there sat a white, angular object which might remind someone of a spider’s egg sack or a Dragonfruit, except for that it was made of metal and the spiky protrusions were all antenna of some kind. Also, there was a sealed door on one side with a wheel to lock and unlock it. Through the door was a complicated control room which had a comfortable chair in the center of it. Strapped into the chair, with a communication device on his head, was a figure wearing a dark cloak. His hands, gloved in black, tapped over the controls busily, checking this and that. As he worked he heard a voice coming through the microphone at his ear, “Alright, now the Interdimensional Flippers should be on. Check the orange light above the I.F. switch. Is it lit?”
“Yes, Base Control, it is.”
“Now hit the Time Adjuster display, but don’t turn the T.A. knob. What is it displaying?”
“One thousand years in the future.”
“Copy that. We are Go across all boards. Are you Go, Time Machine Alpha?”
“I am Go, Base Control.”
“Prepare for power-up.”
The cloaked man hesitated a moment before reaching slowly over to turn the Time Adjuster knob. He spun it until the display had changed its reading entirely, upon which a red light showed for a moment on his board. But he dismissed the light with a push of a button.
The voice came back on his communicator; “We were getting a red light there for a moment on the T.A. monitor, Alpha. Is everything still Go?”
“It was only a display malfunction. I dismissed it.”
“Alright, then prepare for power-up. Power-up start. 9…8…7…”
As the numbers counted down over his communicator, the cloaked man waited impatiently. This was supposed to be only a brief test run, the first manned time traveling unit in the history of human-kind. He had been chosen because of his long experience in space flight and time-space mechanics, though he was not a scientist or even part of any scientific program. The truth was, he had volunteered for the job, giving his age as forty-three and his years of space travel experience as ‘over twenty.’
But he was not bound to the project by anything except for his honor. And that could be reconstructed in any way he wished, especially once he had traveled years away from the people who had sent him. They would think that it was a malfunction when he did not return on time. They would probably give up the program, at least for a time, and he would be considered a lost hero. Or fool, depending on who you asked.
Really, he was an independent adventurer seeking the limits of life.
—
The man nicknamed Maniac sat in his jail cell, pouring over the piece of paper in front of him. It had all of the details for a master escape set down on it. And it was a genius stroke: simple, straightforward and difficult for the guards to anticipate. But there was two large problems with the whole thing. First of all, it required at least three people to execute perfectly. Secondly, he simply did not have the gumption to find the people and carry it out at the moment.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
With a sigh he reached over to cram the paper back into the slit in his mattress, before flipping the mattress over with a flick of his hand.
He stood up, stretching to his full height with a yawn. He had been given a cell without a bunk-mate after beating the living tar out of the last one. He enjoyed its freedoms. But he also wished that he had someone to share a word with now and then, someone he could trust. Everyone he knew in this place was either a stooly, a cocker or a wimp. There was no one among the inmates with an ounce of imagination, or among the guards either, for that matter.
Moving over to lean on the bars of the door lazily, Maniac popped all of his knuckles one by one, loudly. He had the way to break out all planned, down to the last item, but what to do once out of the place was a mystery to him. A regular job would be boring, he had no inclination to live as a bum, and the life of crime he had been living previously was starting to get him down. If only he could magically inherit a large fortune and live at ease for the rest of his life…like here, but with a lot more freedom.
—
Eugene waited impatiently, tapping the toe of his soft leather boot on the sidewalk. It was dark, he was in a bad part of town, and he really did not want to stand around here doing nothing for the rest of the night. Or get surprised by goons and beat up because he was wearing fancy new clothes.
Distracted for a moment, he felt the golden embroidery on the sleeve of his red coat with his left hand. Even in the dark, he could feel its richness. So nice to have a coat like that, one made of silk and golden thread. Especially when he had not needed to pay for it.
It almost hid the leather cup on his right wrist where his hand should have been, though it did nothing to hinder the curved steel hook mounted on it.
Finally he got tired of standing ghost-still in the shadows and walked out into the pool of light around a dim streetlamp to stretch his legs. It was then that he noticed a piece of paper taped to the lamp post. Idly he walked over and peered at it, expecting a sign advertising a yard sale or a lost dog. He was brought up short when he saw that it was an envelope which someone had written on the back of, in large, bold letters ‘FOR EUGENE.’
The young man glanced up and down the road, making sure that no one was coming, before pulling the envelope off of the post. It had originally come from an address in the town and been shipped to one far off, but the seal had been broken and a new piece of paper crumpled inside. With another look around to make sure he was alone, Eugene pulled the crumpled paper out. In an unsteady, scrawled hand it said,
‘Sorry boss but I’m not going to bring the money or thingy to you after all. I am too afraid. Really, really afraid. Anchovies are just too salty. My partner ran off too, or something. Sorry, but I’m not coming to the meeting.
Fflewder Flan.’
“Great,” Eugene growled, stuffing the envelope and paper in his pocket and stomping off, “I knew I should have done the whole thing myself. But, oh no, I had to worry about being crippled and hire a pair of unstable goons that I’ve never seen, not now or before the mission, to get it done. Just great. Now what?”
He walked down the sidewalk for some distance, feet growing quiet on the cement when he remembered where he was. Parked on the side of the road in the shadows was a limousine, not one of the longest he had ever seen, but still what might be called a whale.
He opened the driver’s door and got in, slamming it recklessly closed behind him. Then he reached awkwardly over with his left hand to turn the key in the ignition. It started smoothly and he began cruising down the road. At least he had picked up a good ride with a free set of clothes in it, free of tax. But he did need that ‘thingy’ if he was to go home with any honor. The money would have been useful too.
He had only made it half way back to where he was going to dump the limousine off, when he heard the sirens behind him and glanced over his shoulder. A pair of highway patrol rigs were coming after him.
“Great,” he sighed again, putting his cold metal hook briefly to his forehead, “more bad luck.”