Wormwood: Seeking Time

By T.E. Hubbard

In 1980, one fed up high school teacher, a wealthy philanthropist, a conservative-minded college professor, and a homeless teen from the streets of L.A. are swept up in a wave of synchronistic events interwoven between themselves, the past, the present, and ultimately the future.
There are many secrets in the past, but can Martin, Stan, Phil, and Pye find them in time to save the future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.E. Hubbard
• Release date: Feb 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465958419

T.E. Hubbard

Born in the second wave of the Boomer generation, just in time for the draft 18 years later. Musician, songwriter, husband, father, and generally skilled in everything else. But enough about me, I wrote this book see...

Book preview

Introduction

From the vastness of space they came. Only the life that had gained perilous purchase in the teeming population, flying, crawling, or hanging from trees witnessed their arrival. At first only the air felt the sear of their heat as one by one they plummeted through the primeval atmosphere seeking some specific target, some planned planetary event of their making.

Only the tree dwellers, genetic vestiges of a people to come saw the metal monsters spew flame from their mouths as they flew over the land and the forest and they marveled. They remembered the event to future generations, for it was such a magnificent display of energy, power, and destruction the shock and awe of it was experienced in the core of their genetic information.

The metal flyers settled on an area near a huge inland sea, a sea as calm and as clear as glass, then they burned everything alive down to the scorched earth.

Chapter 1

The sound of soft soled, sandaled feet running down the cobbled streets of the Pharaohs city was just silent enough to not awaken the dogs. Josha, one of the four men who were trying to make no sound at all in their haste, hoped that their luck would hold long enough for them to reach the horses. They passed the Royal Guardhouse, quickly but stealthily, fortunately not arousing any notice, and soon they were clear of the last of the city proper. The tenement section where the slaves captured from many lands lived their meager, short lives, spread before them, and a few courtesans up late, flashed their professional smiles as the running men passed. The youngest member of the group looked back and started to slow.

Rexus, the apparent leader of the group whispered sternly to the obvious youngest, who was slowing down to observe his surroundings, Make haste Tag, or those thoughts you are having will doom you for sure!

They ran for a few more minutes, until a torch flared up in the road just ahead of them.

By the Gods Rexus the whole world is gonna see that! said a short powerful man in full royal armor, raising his arm with sword in hand to cover his eyes from the sudden light.

Fear not Newt, it is the horses, and we are away!

Wasting no time, the four men mounted the horses, and as Rexus bent down to hand the man with the torch a bag, no doubt containing his reward, a sounding of gongs and blowing of horns from the direction of the Palace momentarily halted their motion.

It's for us, we're discovered! young Tag exclaimed.

Not yet! Josha said, who was holding back his mount and hovering near the younger man, But we must fly faster than your fingers on the strum of your fluke, if we are to escape this doom that is even now approaching!

In a moment they were all four urging their beasts forward to gallop, making a beeline in the darkness for the construction site of the Pharaohs tomb. Josha marveled to himself in the ability of Rexus to home in on direction like he had a compass in his head, but he marveled even more that in all his years of friendship and association with the man, that he could still be impressed with the mans' knowledge and resourcefulness.

He began to reflect upon his other companions, Newt, the scientist, and Tag, the musical genius. The four of them together had produced music that the world had never known, leading them to many peoples and places, spreading their word of peace and cooperation throughout the peoples of the Mesopotamia. Josha wished that they had never come on this mission to the kingdom of the Pharaoh, but he knew as well as the rest of them just how important it was to the future of mankind, and indeed the earth itself. After accomplishing this, they rode on into the darkness, the sand whipping about them like tiny razor sharp needles working their way into every crevice of their clothing. The horses were not happy about this, and complained loudly.

He peered forth into the gloom trying to see what was ahead, and he could see something looming large, and they were coming up on it fast. It was the sound that gave the first clue, like an army of a thousand chariots thundering across the desert.

Sandstorm! Rexus cried, Bring out your ropes and tie yourselves together, we're almost there.

While the men were doing this, Rexus continued,

We're getting close. And then, We'll ride for a few more minutes, but then we are going to have to cover the last stretch on foot so we can surprise the guards.

Aye. said Newt.

They rode on in silence for a while yet then Rexus passed the terse word to dismount. Leaving the horses to their own devices, they moved together to converse.

Are we ready? Rexus whispered.

Do we have a choice? was Josha’s soft rhetoric.

Instruments tuned and ready! Tag contributed.

Newt?

Just a moment, I'm looking for the coordinates of junctures, but I can’t seem to find them. This infernal sand makes the night darker! He fished around in his sidebar, here, this feels like it...yes I believe it is. He retrieved something and held it forth in the darkness. I know the situation Rexus, but we're going to have to have some light!

Alright, gather round so whatever light we can conjure will not spill too far. said Rexus as he sparked a flint.

They did so, and Rexus produced a marvel, a small metal container, with an equally small wick like a candles' that was providing a small light for them to look at the information.

Ah, see. These points here, Newt pointed at the small device in his hand slightly illuminated by the even smaller lamp held in Rexus' hand, here, and here, and there, will be taken by you three, and I will take this one here.

What about the guards? Tag asked.

Rexus turned from the light and looked towards the almost visible hulk of the foundation of the Pharaohs Tomb for a moment, then turned back to the huddle.

The light went out.

We are indeed in luck my friends, for all the guards are either sleeping, or lounging on the platform, and all well within the main frame of influence. We should be able to take them out of the action with a simple tonal spell.

Turning to Tag Rexus continued, "Tag, give us a key and range that has a sub-wave oscillation, and a frequency sympathetic to alpha transmission.

There were a few moments punctuated only by the hesitant experimentation of Tag on his instrument, searching for the right note, then;

I've got it.

Everyone found their corresponding note and relationships, and there was a mute sound that in a few thousand years would resemble an orchestra tuning up.

Alright. Now we only have to get within earshot, but we must not be discovered, so step carefully, and follow me.

And Rexus stepped forward into the storm.

Soon they could see the monstrous structure that was the foundation slab for the Pharaohs tomb, and some of the guards were even visible, but they didn't stop until they could hear what the guards were saying.

They quickly took out their instruments, and began playing a very soft, low toned melody. It swirled with the storm, and drifted into the consciousness of the men on the pyramid slab, becoming part of their drifting thoughts, and drew them away into their deepest dreams.

At the fading climax, Josha slung his fluke over his shoulder, and headed for the monument.

Make haste, He said, we've little time.

The lingering refrain, being still coaxed out by Tag stopped, and they all shouldered their instruments and followed Josha. Once there, they hauled the sleeping bodies well away from the structure, and took the positions that Newt had showed them. Then they began to play again, and the music was much fuller and intricate, occupying harmonious positions in nearly every octave of human hearing, and probably some beyond it. The torches that the guards had left untended blew out, but there was a glow developing around the platform.

It was very near this moment that the Pharaohs chariots came rolling up, and they were dismounting to charge the four musicians, but the strange light emanating from the structure in front of them caused even the most zealous to pause.

The Pharaoh himself, who had been so angry as to accompany his troops, and witness the capture, was taken back, and had no orders for his guards as they looked to him with fear and bewilderment. Then the glow became a light that brightly outlined the dimensions of a titanic pyramid of light that was perfectly in symmetry to the construction.

The Pharaoh stared unbelievably at the four rebels who were intent in what they were doing. It was not until the moment before they disappeared, that the one called Tag opened his eyes, saw the Pharaoh, smiled and said, Bye Pharaoh! whereupon they disappeared.

All of the guards who had not run away, fell on their faces in fear, praying to their gods, but the Pharaoh proclaimed loudly, 'Tis a sign, 'tis a sign of your Pharaohs greatness, and of his power. You have seen the mighty temple to my deity that will occupy this space. The Gods themselves have shown it to you. Bow before the wrath and the mercy of Pharaoh!

Chapter 2

The storm was intense, and though the stocky frame of the archeologist was bearing up in the wind, the sand was finding its way into every nook and cranny of his clothing. Even though his face was mostly covered, he found himself spitting sand out of his mouth, and there were miniature sand dunes around his eyes where the sand had missed his glasses and stuck to his perspiring face. He looked over at his taller companion, who didn't seem to be affected at all by this nasty situation. It was easy for him to imagine the stern look of determination on the man's face, even though he could hardly see it.

Stan, I hardly see how we can find anything in this sand-blizzard. He said. And I don't know how you even know where we are. I sure as hell don't.

Well Phil, Stan stopped and looked at his friend, you may be right about that, He looked around like he could actually see something in the silicon debris flying all around, but I know it’s around here somewhere. He pulled a curious looking object out of his pocket. The sandstorm is interfering with the sensors, and I can't get a direct fix.

How close are we?

Well we've been within 100 meters of it for over an hour.

You mean we've been walking in circles for over an hour?

Yes, well all quite scientific, I assure you.

Stan, if it's all the same to you; my feet are raw, my teeth are sand-blasted, and my glasses are ruined beyond repair. Can't we call it a day?

We're so close Phil, I really despise wasted efforts.

Well it seems to me Stan, Phil's perturbation was becoming apparent, that wasting any more time stumbling around in circles in the desert, and in the middle of a sandstorm, would constitute a compounding of that very situation.

Stan's pride was affronted now, and his retort sparked a heated argument where the two of them loudly complained to each other. They were so absorbed in their fracas, that the abatement of the sandstorm went unnoticed for a few minutes. Stan was the first to notice the half circle of mounted men that were silently observing their disagreement.

We have visitors Phil.

Phil stopped his tirade and looked. My God! He thought, as he surveyed the scene before him. There were at least ten mounted Arabs, armed to the collarbone, they all looked like something out of 'Lawrence of Arabia', and there were muzzles and barrels of all size and description pointed somewhat leisurely in his and Stan's direction.

The one with the best looking horse, the most colorful robes, and the meanest looking gun, obviously the leader, turned to one of his companions and said a few words. They all laughed.

What did he say? Phil asked Stan.

Are you sure you want me to tell you?

Yes I'm sure.

Well the big kahuna says that this is why the Christians have not yet conquered Islam, because they are simple idiots.

We're the 'idiots' right?

You could say that. Just compose yourself, and be quiet Phil, and I'll deal with this.

Stan turned to the leader of the Bedouins, and addressed him in fluent Arabic.

Greetings Oh just and merciful steward of the desert, we are two humble seekers of wisdom and knowledge. How can we be of service?

There was some surprise and stirring amongst the riders when they heard their language being spoken by an infidel, but their leader was impressed.

What are you seeking fellow? Perhaps my men and I can be of assistance?

We are scientists seeking ancient artifacts. We believe there is a sight somewhere around here.

The reaction to this statement was obviously not what Stan expected, or intended, because the Arabs were suddenly agitated and angry, and their weapons were resituated in a more determined manner.

What did you say Stan? Phil was very apprehensive of this turn of events.

Well there is no real translation of 'scientist' in their local dialect, so I had to wing it.

Silence infidels! the head Arab shouted. When he saw he had Stan and Phil's undivided attention, he continued, So you are here to steal the wealth of our ancestors?

Oh no esteemed friend, Stan supplicated, we are not here to steal anything. We have the authority, and permission of the Department of Antiquities. Whereupon he pulled a carefully preserved document out of his satchel and handed it to the Bedouin chief. The Arab looked at it, passed it around, and they began conversing to themselves.

I think I see my error here. Stan said softly.

What's that? Phil asked.

Well, I said that we were 'diggers of the sand', which was all I could think of, but somehow in the difference of dialect and some bad inflection on my part, it was heard as 'diggers of the dead'. They think we are grave robbers.

Oh no!

Oh yes. He paused, Maybe the paperwork will convince them.

Chapter 3

Ah! Friday.

Martin glanced at the ever-present clock ticking away in its constant subliminal profusion. Only 2:00! It would be nearly an hour before the aged doors of Kennedy High School disgorged their itching twitching horde of teenaged impatience upon the knowing yet still unprepared public.

Looking at his own personal collection of youth, all sitting there with uncharacteristic attention and expectation on their faces, for a moment Martin lost track of his thoughts. He'd been telling them one of his psychedelic 60's stories, an often favorite of his students.

Even though he knew that most of them had scarcely outgrown diapers by the time 1964 rolled around, he understood their curiosity because curiosity had gotten him to where he was. Nostalgic for the good ol' days, he grinned to himself in remembrance of some of the youthful scrapes that his curiosity had gotten him into. Following that thought he drifted off for a moment and stood once again in all his youthful color and finery, re-experiencing the exhilarating rise of his spirit to the beat of the music that was filling the air of that mythical place called Woodstock. Well, at least he learned from his mistakes.

His sigh was almost audible. It was at times like these that his students would smile at each other knowingly, and his hidden embarrassment would bring him back to focus. Sometimes, just to break the monotony of the constant stream of cold, well-defined, structures of logic and function that was his job to teach, he would relent and spin a yarn of the way it was.

Today was not the day for this however, and all he wanted to do was get it over with. His easy chair was calling him forth from his exhaustion to the familiar place of home.

There were only a few concerned looks as he left the small room that was his world most of every day. The faculty of the private school where he worked had pretty much accepted his reclusive behavior after these many years, and not much thought was given to his hasty exit.

The stretch from the steps to his car usually began the slow spark of returning life that accompanied his daily ritualistic shedding of the work persona, the time when he would start to become himself again, but today the distance and time seemed distorted. It was with an almost-but-not -quite sense of unease that Martin unlocked his car and began his short journey home.

Pausing at an intersection, he sought within himself for the source of the depression that was claiming territory in his free time.

It didn't depress him that he had wasted six years of his life going to college learning about electronics and mathematics. Though he admitted to himself that there were deep regrets, like spending his hours and days filling his mind with numbers of logic sequences and formulas like Ohms Law and its Pythagorean variations, much like his own students were doing, that was only one mistake. The image of his students and their doomed enthusiasm flashed into his mind as the light changed. In an unconscious motion Martin banged his fist down in frustration on the steering wheel, which caused his horn to blare. In typical rush hour Americana, there was an answering response of horns, a few curses, and Martin sped on in a slightly shrunken stature.

Coming up quickly on the next set of lights, absently wondering why you could never catch the green ones on the way home, Martin’s eye was caught by a rather unusual gentleman standing on the corner, apparently having a conversation with the air. For some unexplained reason that was unexplainedly connected to that unexplainable feeling that was bothering him, Martin rolled down his window as he came to a halt, and focused in on what the man was saying.

...and you call yourselves Christians! Hmph! You wouldn't know a snake if it bit ya! Hmph! Come to think of it, it would be like biting yourselves now WOULDN’T it?

Intrigued, Martin ventured (for academic reasons) to communicate.

What seems to be the problem sir?

Looking at Martin with a stare that was strange but friendly, the man spoke in a normal tone, Aw, you already know. Or at least you will soon.

Martin surveyed the man with a flagrant upsizing stare. As the whole image of this weird character came into focus he made a profound but befuddling discovery. This man dressed in overalls and weighing several hundred pounds looked for all the world like Tweedle Dee, right out of wonderland. All that was missing was the propeller cap. Martin closed his eyes, wondering anxiously whether all his reminiscing of ancient L.S.D trips was triggering some sort of flashback, or hallucination.

When he opened his eyes he was somehow not surprised, however, to find this incredible situation still going on. Fortunately for Martin’s collection of phobias and manias, Tweedle Dee (or was it Tweedle Dum?) had returned his attention and tirade back upon the hapless motorists trapped at this infinitely long traffic light.

The funny thing was, Martin noticed, was that no one seemed to be aware of this perfectly round man that was heaping bushels of insult and disdain upon them. It wasn't like they were ignoring him, just waiting for the light to change; it was like he just plain wasn't there.

Martin wondered at this as the light changed