The Madman's Clock
By Aaron Dov
Copyright 2011 Aaron Dov,
All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0288-8
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To Jenn,
the clearest voice in the darkness, who reminded me every day that I was not alone.
To Lynn and Bernadette,
who stood in the gap.
To Amrit, Mark, Sandra, Kyle, Colin, and Aaron,
who reminded me that not everyone turns away.
To Mary and Karli,
who reminded me about the power of legacy.
Thank you all.
PROLOGUE
DATE: July 10, 2245
It wasn't supposed to end like this.
"Wormhole initiation ready," the lithe, disembodied female computer voice intoned coldly. It was the loudest voice on the bridge, and cut through the near-deafening noise like a torch through the fog. "Awaiting confirmation for final countdown."
The voice seemed to hover over top of the sirens, the voices both calm and panicked, and the deep hum of the experimental gear as it rattled the entire ship from its birth, deep in her hull. The computer's voice seemed to push aside the gunfire to my right, and the stark, increasingly desperate voices of my men. It swept aside the ceaseless, breathless muttering of the Captain's yeoman as he rattled off a constant stream of facts, figures, and reports, in total disregard of the chaos about him. He didn't see it. He didn't hear it. None of them did.
"Captain Paetkau," I snarled through my clenched teeth, "don't you fuckin' do it!"
The Captain's eyes had a faraway look, their deep blue offset by the flashing red of the alert lights. The red flash reminded us that the machinery deep within the ship was coming to life, as if we needed reminding. As if anything else in the universe mattered at all, beside the slow, excruciating progress of the experiment about to be run. That single matter was the Captain's entire existence, and nothing else mattered at all. Not to her, anyway.
She seemed to look right through me, directly toward the main status board on the far bulkhead. She squinted, and I could see that she was reading the endless streams of information that scrolled by too fast for me to comprehend. I watched the displays reflect in those distant pupils of hers, and mixed with the flashing red; she seemed possessed, almost alien. Was it her temporal psychosis doing that, or was I starting to feel the bite of that particular terror? I shook it off. No time to think about that. No time. No time!
"Captain," I said again, stepping closer, "you need to shut this down, right goddamn now."
"Mister Mallory," she said evenly, "you are a Captain of Marines, but I am the master of this ship. I give the orders here, not you." Her voice was as distant as her eyes, calling out from the far off status board which held her in its grip. It was as though she were actually standing there, on the far side of the bridge.
"Captain," I hissed in frustration, as my mind tried desperately to focus, despite the sirens and gunfire. "Captain, you are not hearing me. You aren't hearing a damned thing, are you?"
I pointed toward the starboard hatch, where my men were blazing away, their weapons flashing with every plasma burst. The air warped from the heat of it all. Still, I could still see Raj Sandhu's enraged face as he cut loose, his thoughts broadcast as clearly as could be, his expression almost as deadly as the pulse rifle in his hands. David Forres and Kyle Taggart were giving just as much hell to the enemy, but Kyle was bleeding heavily from a shoulder wound. His face was already drained of color from the blood lose.
"They're right down the starboard passageway," I barked, stabbing the air with my finger. "We can't hold them off forever."
Captain Paetkau shook her head, her tight, black ponytail waving behind her. Her cap kept the overhead lights from her eyes, but I could see well enough how they held to that status board. "It doesn't matter," she said. "This experiment will run its course. I have my orders."
She pulled a small, red keycard from her left breast pocket, and before I could tear it from her fingers, she inserted it into the console in front of her.
"No!" I snarled again. "Listen to me! This experiment is a failure. Ship security is compromised, and I have orders to shut you down!"
"Card accepted," the computer echoed over the din. "Awaiting verbal confirmation."
"Captain," I yelled in her ear, so close to her now that I could smell the scent of navy-issue soap on her skin. "Stop!"
"Authorization six-echo," Paetkau spoke into her headset without passion or hurry. "Confirmed for final countdown. Begin now, please."
"No! Fuck!" I screamed into her ear, though she didn't seem to notice. She didn't hear me at all, anymore. Her focus was absolutely locked on seeing this damn thing through, as though nothing existed but this moment. Her psychosis was total, all-consuming.
"Ten seconds to initiation," the computer confirmed, starting its countdown.
The hum grew louder, and the deck began to vibrate. I felt it inside me, the rattle shaking my bones. My ears seemed filled with the deep, endless hum. It made my nauseous. I wanted to puke.
"Captain!" I heard the voice calling out from my left, but I didn't clue in right away, as I tried to force my voice into Paetkau's consciousness. The voice grabbed at me again. "Captain Mallory!"
I turned to the voice. It was Kyle. "Sergeant Taggart, report!" Anywhere else, it would have been just 'Kyle.' Here though, my instincts barked out the formality without me even thinking about it.
Kyle was breathing heavily, the adrenaline overload and blood loss starting to have its way with him. He was crashing, but holding on through sheer willpower. His voice cut through the rattling gunfire and sounds of impacts like a hot knife through butter.
"We can't hold them back much longer!" he hollered.
"How many are out there?" I asked.
As I asked, the ship lurched to port, and I grabbed hold of the rail in time to stop myself from being thrown to the deck. Out of the corner of my eye,
