Truitt's Fix

By Rex Evans Wood

Dan Truitt is on the run, in the future, and pursued by a relentless villain. And at every twist and turn, there's more at stake as he meets "absolutely the best, most unforgettable characters you'll find anywhere."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rex Evans Wood
• Release date: Jun 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452356433

Rex Evans Wood

Rex Wood (Skip) is a producer for Prairie Public Broadcasting, an NPR affiliate.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Dan climbed into the companionway, closing the hatch behind him. The splashing of the waves, the whistle of wind in the rigging, and the buzzing of the mainsail’s trailing edge gave way to the sounds below deck – the thumps, squeaks and groans of the straining boat.

A vague glow from the running lights filtered in through the cabin windows, punctuated by flashes of lightning. Dan made his way through the semi-darkness to the chart table, leaning against it to steady himself. He pulled off a soaked glove and turned on the map light. Drops of water from his sleeve fell upon the chart, where a penciled line marked their course into the heart of Lake Superior. He blew into his fist and flexed his fingers to warm his hand, then lifted the microphone from the side of the radio.

Any support craft, this is Pegasus. Do you read?

The boat rolled sharply to starboard and something clattered to the floor in the galley. A dark shape tumbled from a bunk on his left. He reached to break the crewman’s fall, but the sleeping bag was empty. He exhaled in relief. Jerry and Mike were undoubtedly in the starboard bunks, where gravity would hold them in place. He peered forward, but couldn’t see them in the darkness. He wondered if they were getting any sleep.

This is Support Three, came a tinny voice from the small speaker. Read you loud and clear, Pegasus. You must be close. Over.

Dan keyed the mic. Pretty rough out here. How’s everyone doing?

Some boats have dropped out. Staying at Isle Royale. The committee is meeting now, might suspend the race.

Dan shook his head. We can't sail back to Royale. That’s into the teeth of it. We’re committed. Please relay to committee. If they suspend, we can’t regroup. Over.

Ten-four, Pegasus. Will relay your message.

Dan snapped off the light, felt his way to the steps and climbed back on deck. He kept his back to the wind-driven rain, which rattled loud upon his hood.

Tim stood at the wheel in the reflected glow of the stern light. His hood was drawn tight, covering all of his pudgy face, except for a wet patch from eyebrows to lips.

It’s still a race, at least for now, Dan shouted above the wind.

Wonderful, yelled Tim, his lack of enthusiasm apparent.

Dan retrieved his safety line and snapped it to the metal ring on his life vest. Have we cleared that freighter?

Tim pointed off the port quarter.

Dan shielded his eyes against the spray while fighting to keep his balance. At first he saw only a vague glow, but as a wave lifted them, he spotted the blaze of lights on the large ship. She was now well behind them, heading away, inbound for Thunder Bay. As for the other sailboats in the race, their lights had long since disappeared into the veil of rain – either well ahead, or well behind.

This was the sixth straight year Dan and Tim had entered the Great Lakes International Sailing Regatta. Every race had its share of excitement, but never before a storm like this.

Dan reclaimed the helm, Tim moving to his station at the mainsheet winch. They sailed on a port tack, meaning the wind came from the left, tilting them to starboard. The compass glowed yellow behind the dome of glass, indicating their southwest course – the dial tilting this way and that with the movement of the boat. The newer digital compass confirmed the heading, 120 degrees. Turning on the mast lights, Dan checked the sails. The wet, heavy cloth of the reefed mainsail glistened, the trailing edge fluttering loudly. Farther forward, the tiny storm jib flapped like a kite on a short string. Dan killed the light.

Are we crazy? Tim yelled.

Might be, Dan shouted, smiling. I’m just glad it’s not my boat.

Oh, thanks a lot. Tim turned his back to the wind.

Is your insurance paid up?

Tim responded to Dan’s teasing with a nod. But there’s five hundred deductible.

Though Tim owned the boat, Dan was the skipper when they raced. It wasn't a formal decision; it was just the way their friendship worked. Dan had the leadership and initiative, and Tim was glad to have him at the wheel – never more so than tonight.

The Pegasus surfed on a wave, gaining speed and heeling farther to starboard.

Hang on, yelled Dan.

Water rushed across the gunwale and swirled about their feet. The top of the wave tore on the wind, showering them with spray. The Pegasus slowed as the huge wave passed beneath them.

Wha-hoo! That was a big one. Dan smiled, despite a cold trickle of water that ran down his chest. He began to whistle, though the rain and spray on his lips smothered the tune.

A flash of lightning lit the white-capped waves in frozen brilliance. The echoing rumble of thunder blended with the noise of the sails. Dan could feel the boat's power in the wheel, the rudder vibrating with their speed. The Pegasus had never gone faster.

Get some sack time, Dan shouted. Send Jerry up. I'll stay on for another watch.

Tim nodded and crossed the tilting deck, hand-over-hand along the railing. He coiled his safety line and stowed it in the bin by the hatch.

The wind surged and the stern lifted high. Here comes a monster!

Dan shifted his feet to keep balance, but the boat lurched as the bow buried. The wheel slid from his grip and he fell hard, shoulder against the deck. Pain shot through his arm as the cold water rushed over him. A shout came from Tim. The mast and sail slapped the surface. Dan was suddenly swimming and the running lights turned under. The wave broke upon him, driving him under. He bobbed to the surfaced and called out. Tim!

It was a knockdown – that rare occurrence when a keelboat is overpowered by the wind and waves. The heavy keel would cause the boat to right itself, but the damage could be catastrophic.

Tim!

The smooth underside of the hull slid beneath Dan's hands. The submerged running lights briefly glowed within the water, then winked out. The keel and rudder pointed skyward, barely above the surface, silhouetted against a ripple of lightning. The weight of the keel kept the boat turning, and seconds later there came a splash and a clatter of rigging as the mast rose on the port side and the boat completed the rollover. Dan tried to grab the edge of the deck, but he couldn't lift his right arm.

Suddenly, he was pulled under. The safety line, now wrapped around the hull, had reached its limit.

He struggled for the surface, but the line held him. He tried to swim under to the other side to unwrap the line, but the buoyancy of the life jacket held him. He grabbed the line, trying to pull himself to the other side, but the thin, wet nylon slid through his hands. He kicked and pushed against the slippery hull to no avail.

A flash of lightning captured a swirl of bubbles against the blue fiberglass hull. Below, specks of algae danced against the black, infinite depths.

The water fell away. Dan gasped for air, but the well of the wave passed, slamming his head against the hull. Dazed and desperate, he began to unsnap the line, but stopped. If he became separated from the boat they might never find him. Instead, with his heart pounding and lungs aching he unzipped the lifejacket, peeled it past his wrenched right shoulder, and struggled free. Still holding the jacket, Dan reached the surface, coughing and gasping.

The crippled Pegasus began to make headway, the hull sliding past him. Dan felt a slight tug as the line came free of the rudder. With the added slack, the life vest rose to the surface, and Dan, still coughing, pulled it to his chest. Teetering atop the jacket, he tried to call out, but his voice failed him, his energy fading.

The Pegasus’ lights had gone out. The broken rigging clattered and the torn mainsail snapped angrily in the wind. The darkened boat sailed herself, gaining speed. The lifeline sliced through the waves and came taut, snatching the vest from his numbing hands.

In the muted glow of distant lightning, the vest tumbled away through the wind-torn waves. Dan tried to swim after it, but his strength was gone. Soon the water rose about him, and the storm became a gentle rocking as his consciousness faded.

CHAPTER 2

Myo and Major Reichel peered from the line of trees at the edge of the ditch. The wind rustled the leaves of the oaks and maples, but no other sound intruded.

Look at that road, whispered Myo.

Yellow and white lines decorated the smooth black surface. To the left it went straight for miles before rising on a hill to meet a blue sky dotted with cotton-ball clouds. To the right, the road curved out of sight through the trees.

Seems strange that a road this big would be so empty this time of the morning, said Reichel. You ready?

Myo took a deep breath and nodded slowly. The soil in the ditch was soft and wet, still drenched by the rainstorm, but the knee-high grass had dried in the sunlight. At the bottom of the ditch they negotiated the tall cattails and jumped across a ribbon of standing water. As they climbed to the shoulder of the road, grasshoppers flitted this way and that.

The sun-warmed asphalt had a vague, strangely sweet chemical smell. Myo walked onto the road, bending to look. They used petroleum to make these roads. From deep in the ground.

Reichel tugged on Myo’s jacket to pull him back to the gravel shoulder. He pointed to the left. Sunlight glinted off an approaching vehicle that shimmered in the heat from the road. At this distance, it seemed to make no noise.

Should we get back into the trees?

Reichel shook his head. Not if we’re trying to act naturally. Just step back to the grass.

They could soon hear the whir of the tires and the pitch of the engine. As the machine neared, its incredible speed became more apparent. Smoke flicked from twin pipes poking toward the sky. Myo edged behind Major Reichel, gripping the back of his friend's jacket. The tall roadside grasses waved in the machine's wake; the ground trembled. As it passed, a gust of wind buffeted them. The roar of the engine suddenly blared and the pitch descended as the truck took the curve.

My goodness, exclaimed Myo.

They headed right, in the same direction of the truck, the sun growing warm upon their shoulders as they walked. A few more of the early 21st century vehicles came by, but none the size of the first.

Beautiful machines, said Myo. I wonder if the colors denote their purpose.

Quit staring at them. You’ll draw attention to us.

They looked each other over, both self-conscious in the unfamiliar clothes – jackets, slacks and neckties.

Do you think that will happen? Will we attract attention? asked Myo.

I hope not. You’re the one who said this is what they wear.

You look funny out of uniform.

I feel funny.

They walked along the curve, passing a green sign announcing Iron Harbor. Up ahead, buildings lined both sides of the road. The lake sparkled through the trees on the right.

I can’t believe we’re actually here, said Myo.

Reichel smiled. Neither can I. Somehow I didn’t expect it to work.

The town was only a few blocks long. As they walked along the row of shops, Myo gazed in the windows at clothing, sporting goods, jewelry and books. The books brought Myo to a stop, his mouth ajar.

Reichel looked around. There were two people ahead of them on the next block, and two more in a doorway across the street. Myo, we should keep moving.

Can’t we go in?

Of course not. Come on.

Myo started moving, slowly, giving each book in the window a close look.

Reichel was more interested in the vehicles. There were several parked at an angle to the walk. Some of them, having recently splashed through puddles, smelled of hot steam. The mechs would love this. Look at the curved glass.

Myo nodded. It’s all so incredible. Do you realize how fortunate we are to experience this?

I’ll feel more fortunate when we’re on our way home.

Myo lifted his nose, welcoming the smell of baking bread from a restaurant. He paused, reading a menu in the window. His mouth watered. Chilor, I want to stay here to study. Six months or so.

Reichel chuckled at the ridiculous thought, though he knew Myo would sincerely like such an opportunity. I don’t think an extended visit is covered in the Decree of Action.

Myo noticed himself in the window. His thinning white hair flickered at odd angles in the mild summer breeze. Licking his palm, he did his best to smooth it. He still wasn’t used to short hair. His ears seemed to stick out and he could feel the wind on his neck. The suit added to the unusual picture. Myo sighed, and tried to straighten his glasses, but the wire rims had seen better days. The right lens had been cracked for months.

Reichel took Myo’s arm and steered him around the corner. The typical odors of decaying fish and flora came to them from the nearby shore.

Chilor, I’m glad you let me come. Only Myo could get away with calling Reichel by his first name.

Let you? You had to come. This whole thing was your idea. Besides, no one else knows anything about this place.

You could have managed without me.

No, you’re the only one who can likely understand their version of English.

Myo smiled, knowing their friendship had also influenced the decision. It would have broken Myo’s heart to miss this.

They arrived at a marina, passing unchallenged through the large gate. Waves lapped the rocks along the shore and halyards rhythmically tapped the masts of moored sailboats. A handful of people busied themselves along the docks, but no one paid any attention to the frail old man or his taller bearded companion with the tanned and weathered face.

Both Myo and Reichel were apprehensive. After all, the unknown loomed large compared to the threads of information that guided them.

Reichel leaned toward Myo and kept his voice low. No one is dressed like us.

Not true, said Myo. A man seated in the restaurant had clothes just like this.

Maybe so, but I get the feeling we don’t look like people who hang around the docks.

They reached the end of the last dock without finding the boat, but Reichel spotted more docks around a bend in the shoreline. Rather than return to the road, they took a well-worn footpath up a rocky hillside. Though Myo insisted he was up for the climb, Reichel stayed near his friend, ready to offer a helping hand. Myo paused from time to time, not only to catch his breath, but to take in the view of the harbor and the awesome expanse of the lake. The choppy waves were the only hint of last night's storm. He squinted at a distant freighter, wondering if the ship came from far away.

A towering stand of pines also captured his attention. The trees had taken root in the shelter of the hill and now cast even the summit in shadow.

What beautiful trees. Myo took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh pine scent.

Reichel wanted to keep moving, but it was hard to begrudge Myo a little sightseeing. Besides, time was the least of their worries.

Reichel had expected the luxury and the technology, but he was surprised by the trash along the marina fence. Maybe waste went hand-in-hand with wealth.

One of the power boats rumbled to life and eased from a dock. When it cleared the moorage, the water behind it churned, the engine purr becoming a sawmill whine. The boat bounded away. Reichel shook his head, astonished. He had to agree with Myo, it certainly was incredible to be here. Even if they didn’t find the doctor, they would have amazing stories to tell.

Reichel turned away from the harbor, ready to resume the climb, but Myo was gone.

Myo!

I’m here.

Reichel spotted Myo near a boulder. He picked his way through the rocks to find him bundling the roots of a pine seedling in his handkerchief.

I don't think Tegory would approve, said Reichel.

Nonsense. This poor tree would not survive long in this crevice. It won’t change a thing.

Myo cradled the souvenir and with an assist from Reichel, he got to his feet.

Perhaps I’ll give the tree to the doctor – if we find him.

Reichel nodded. If we find him.

At the top of the hill, they had a good view of the next bay. Boats lined the docks. Other boats sat at anchor in the harbor.

Myo pointed. Chilor, there it is! His voice cracked with excitement. That must be it!

The damage from the storm made the boat easy to spot. Lines dangled in the water and the top of the mast lay in a jumble upon the deck. Reichel shared Myo’s excitement, but more than one boat might have been damaged in the storm. He pulled a small telescope from his pocket and focused on the stern. In bold letters he saw the name. Pegasus.

That’s it. Well done, Myo.

Myo beamed as they shook hands. Finding the boat was the critical next step in their search for Dr. Daniel Truitt.

CHAPTER 3

Dan stretched, his toes slipping from beneath a scratchy blanket to find an ice-cold wall. He quickly drew back his feet and pulled the blankets up close, slowly coming awake. A yellow flame came into focus – the flame of a lantern mounted almost within reach on the wall next to a closed door. He raised his head, wincing from sore muscles, remembering the storm and the rollover. His head fell back to the pillow, and he took a deep, halting breath, his exhale slow and trembling.

The bunk took up half the tiny room, which smelled of lamp oil and mildew. Muffled voices drifted to him. The language sounded like English at times, but not quite. He wondered if a freighter with a foreign crew had picked them up. He squinted at his watch. 7:10 am. A few hours had passed since the rollover, but the last thing he remembered was the Pegasus sailing away without him.

Tim. What had happened to Tim? It must have been Tim who saved him. Dan smiled. Good for Tim, the unlikely hero. And Jerry and Mike – how had they fared in the rollover? They must have taken quite a tumble inside the Pegasus.

Dan rubbed his face, discovering a bruise on his forehead and a fat upper lip. A cough brought a twinge of pain to his sore chest, and his right shoulder throbbed. He rolled onto his side, which brought a draft of cold air along his back. He shivered and adjusted the blanket.

Why the hell was it so cold? He put his hand to the wall, leaving a palm print in a faint layer of frosty condensation. A refrigerated compartment? Did someone think he was dead? Dan chuckled. No, they wouldn’t give a corpse a blanket and a pillow. Someone had also dressed him in warm clothes – a plain woolen shirt with a heavy undershirt of cotton. The pants were made of heavy wool and had a button fly.

Dan struggled upright, propped the pillow against the wall and leaned against it. He pulled the blanket to his shoulders. A deep humming began, and with it came a vibration – some equipment running nearby. Though still groggy, he decided to find Tim and the other guys, and with luck, a warmer, quieter room. He was about to swing his legs from the bunk when he spotted a man huddled beneath a pile of blankets, asleep on the floor, his head resting on a backpack, his short white hair pointing this way and that.

What the hell? The words caught in Dan’s dry throat.

The old man’s face twitched; he rubbed his nose. His eyes opened, closed, and opened again. For a moment he lay blinking, then he stretched, looked up and saw Dan staring down. His mouth fell open. Oh!

He felt alongside the backpack for a pair of glasses and put them on. One lens of the small wire-rims was cracked. Grime marred the old man’s bulky, tan sweater. A matching scarf fell from his shoulders as he came to his feet. He took a deep breath, composing himself.

Hello, Dr. Truitt. Welcome. I am Professor Myo Avecinna.

He had raised his voice to be heard over the humming, but his accent was so thick that Dan barely understood. Hello, Professor.

Call me Myo. He extended his hand.

Dan winced as he lifted his arm to accept the handshake.

Myo noticed. I hope you are not feeling too badly.

I feel like somebody kicked the crap out of me.

I’ll come back. Myo kicked the scarf and blankets from around his feet, opened the door and left the room.

A young man sitting on a crate peeked in. He gave Dan a wide smile that featured a missing tooth. The beginnings of a youthful beard shaded a dirty face. He wore his long hair tied back.

Dan returned the smile, nodded and wondered if he looked as bad as the sailor.

The old man spoke with someone. It sounded like English, and some words were recognizable, but it was mostly gibberish.

The old man returned with a stoneware jug and a mug. Behind him came a man in a charcoal gray uniform. Dark goggles hung from the man’s neck. The skin of his tanned face was a shade lighter where the goggles had sheltered his eyes. Strands of gray accented his thick black hair and short beard. He stood about Dan’s height, but had a stockier build. An insignia adorned his left breast: five feathers radiating from a common center. On a rectangular patch beneath, an embroidered bird’s talon struck an angry pose. Dan guessed the man to be in his late forties.

The old man poured from the jug. Dr. Truitt, this is Major Chilor Reichel.

Welcome, said the soldier. He shook Dan’s hand.

Myo passed Dan the mug. I am sorry. It is probably not what you are used to.

The mug warmed Dan's hands. He nursed what seemed to be coffee past his sore lip, but it had a dusty, flat taste.

Are you hungry? asked Myo. Can I bring you some bread? Apples? Dried meat?

Not just now.

Myo dug in the backpack, finding a small vial. He opened it and passed it to Dan. Drink this. It will ease your pain.

Dan sniffed at the vial and shied away. Whew, smells ripe. He read the label. What’s arliphene?

Myo’s eyebrows rose. You are not familiar with arliphene?

Dan shook his head.

It must be a later development. It is quite effective and it will help you sleep.

Dan was leery of what it might taste like, but the dull pain in his shoulder persuaded him to give it a try. The liquid slicked his tongue and burned going down, but had little flavor. He chased it with a sip from the mug.

Where are my friends?

We rescued a man named Tim Anderson, but the others remained with your boat.

Is Tim okay?

Yes. The arliphene is helping him sleep. He’s in the next room.

Tim can sleep anywhere. How’d you manage to rescue us?

It is quite a long story.

Major Reichel excused himself. Dan could hear him speaking with someone in the next room.

What’s that language? Dan asked the old man.

It is English, but not the same as yours. Myo sat on the bunk beside him. I have studied your English. It is gratifying that you understand me.

They're speaking English? Dan yawned and struggled to focus his thoughts. The room had warmed since he first woke. The condensation on the walls now ran in trickles to the floor.

Major Reichel reappeared. He tossed Dan a white parka and a pair of boots.

Myo rose from the bunk. We are about to stop. Are you up for a surprise?

Dan looked from the old man to the soldier. What kind of surprise?

You will want the parka and the boots, said Myo.

The heavy clothes seemed excessive, but it wasn’t unusual for a morning on Lake Superior to be chilly, even in summer. He pulled on the soft, warm boots, then stood, his head almost touching the low ceiling. He closed his eyes while a wave of dizziness and nausea passed. Myo helped him into the parka. Dan gritted his teeth, his shoulder aching, as he lifted his right arm into the sleeve.

There are gloves in the pockets, said Myo.

Dan followed Myo from the tiny room, but stopped in the doorway. The flames of two lamps lit a small windowless room about twelve feet long, but no wider or taller than the room behind. A ladder in the center of the room ran to a closed hatch in the ceiling.

In addition to the Major and the young man who peeked in, there were four more uniformed men. They were a rough-looking bunch, unshaven, with chapped and weathered faces. As they tugged on parkas and gloves, they returned Dan’s stare, seeming just as curious. Wooden crates and canvas bags lined the walls, all secured with ropes or netting.

Dan spotted Tim in the corner behind the door, bundled in blankets, asleep or unconscious. Dan knelt to one knee and gave him a shake. Tim woke with a start. Dan!

Tim was also dressed in a wool shirt. Despite his girth, it seemed large by several sizes. A gray uniform jacket hung on his shoulders.

You okay? asked Dan.

Yeah. I guess so. Tim scrutinized Dan’s battered face. How ‘bout you?

I was keelhauled, but I’ll be all right. Jerry and Mike came through it okay?

I guess they’re fine; stayed with the boat … at least that’s what they say. But Dan, Tim lowered his voice and leaned close. Dan, something’s weird here. Strange stuff goin’ on. We’re in a submarine or something.

A submarine?

That explained the close quarters and the hatch, but the walls of the room were otherwise barren.

They grabbed us right out of the lake. You were pretty much drowned.

What would a sub...? Dan stopped in mid-sentence as he suddenly got a better look at one of the soldiers seated behind the ladder at the far end of the room. The man was huge. And he had gray skin, almost as dark as the uniforms. His back was to them.

See what I mean? said Tim. I don’t think he’s human.

The soldier turned. An incredibly oversized mouth dominated his cherubic face. He had dark-gray eyes and he blinked almost constantly. His black, close-cropped hair wrapped around his stubby ears to cover much of his neck. His squat skull seemed overly wide.

Dan, caught staring, managed a sour smile. The strange man answered with a smile – a huge smile, a knowing, yet kindly smile. The big man chuckled, his voice deep and halting, apparently enjoying Dan’s surprise.

That is Mr. Tegory, said Myo. But he is only part of the surprise. You will want to put your hood up. It is quite cold out.

At an order from the Major, the deep hum and vibration suddenly stopped. Dan began to rise, but Tim held him back. Dan, there’s more. Tim’s eyes become dewy. It’s been daylight.

Tim wasn't known for his courage, but he was a big guy, and in their many years as friends, Dan had never seen him really scared before. Should be daylight. It’s seven-thirty, Tim. You sure you're okay?

You don't understand. It's been daylight for hours. It was daylight just after they got us. I looked out. It was midday, warm and sunny. They left the hatch open for a long time, but then it got cold, real cold.

Dan cast a questioning look at the old man, who nodded. He is correct.

Dan glanced back at Tim, then slowly stood, his heart in his stomach. What’s going on? Where are we?

You are quite safe. We are friends.

A stocky soldier with a droopy mustache pulled a rifle from the piles of gear. Dan had never seen a rifle like it. Milky white and seemingly plastic, it had a large cylinder in the middle. The soldier threw a switch and the rifle began a high pitched whine, the sound slowly building.

A soldier on the ladder released the hatch and swung it open, sunlight streaking into the dingy room. The humid inside air collided with cold air from above to create a swirl of fog. The soldier climbed through the mist, followed by the man with the rifle, then two more soldiers carrying shovels.

The Major gestured for Dan to follow him, then climbed out. Dan exchanged a glance with Tim, then stepped to the ladder. He looked into a bright blue sky. Cold air stung his cheeks and caused his eyes to water. This can’t be.

Tim huddled under the uniform jacket and stayed in the corner. Dan looked to Myo, now also in a parka. Myo gestured to the ladder. Please. You will see.

They’ve been going out like this every so often, said Tim, his voice unsteady.

Are you coming? Dan asked.

Tim swung his head in the negative.

Dan looked back to the opening. He took a deep breath, then began to climb, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He peered over the edge of the hatch to discover a sea of blinding, sunlit snow. He shielded his eyes. Shit, Tim, it’s winter out here.

The snow stretched from horizon to horizon, no trees, buildings, or hills in sight. Dan climbed out, joining the major on top of a box – apparently a machine of some sort – not much larger than the rooms below. It was half buried in the snow.

The wind and cold bit his face and hands. He pulled up his hood and put the gloves on. Loose snow blew along the ground.

The polar icecap?

The major shrugged. He hadn’t understood. He pulled a ten-inch-long telescope from his pocket, extended it to almost two feet, and slowly scanned the horizon.

Dan watched, dumbfounded, as two soldiers shoveled snow from a corner of the machine. The major collapsed the telescope and hopped down to the snow.

What the hell is going on? Dan murmured to himself. He pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. August 6th, early morning – but a midday sun stood high overhead, flanked by icy sundogs. Dan lowered his eyes from the painfully bright glare. His balance wavering, he sank to one knee, fighting dizziness and fatigue as he tried to imagine an explanation.

Myo emerged from the hatch beside him, climbing just far enough to rest his elbows at the edge of the opening. His face remained hidden within the fur-lined hood. A nice day to stop.

Where are we? asked Dan.

Not far from where we found you. You were drowning, you know.

We were on Lake Superior.

Yes, Lake Superior. We have moved very little. Only the year has changed.

Dan shouted, The YEAR?

Yes. At this stop I believe we are in the 28th century. The old man looked below and shouted down the hatch, Tegory! What year ...?

Dan suddenly felt very cold.

Tegory says we are at the year 2748. We still have several hundred years to go. Time is at 4229.

Forty-two twenty-nine? Dan’s voice came in a breathy, unsteady whisper. What the hell’s going on?

It is a long story. Right now we have stopped to dig out from the snow. If we traveled straight through to our time we’d become buried by the centuries of snow. So, we must stop, dig out, and lift the resonator.

This is impossible. How did we get here?

If you’ve seen enough, come back inside, out of this wind, and I will explain. He climbed down.

Dan’s heart pounded. He regained his feet, shivering. His eyes locked on the major, who stood off to the side, watching him intently through the darkened goggles. Who are you people? murmured Dan.

He turned in a slow circle, seeking something, anything in the flat, empty expanse, but there was only the sea of snow.

* * *

Major Reichel watched as the doctor finally followed Myo back into the resonator. He had to admit, the doctor wasn’t quite what he expected. The heavy one was more like it – soft, spoiled by the good life, but the doctor was more rugged. His clothes had been exceptional, but now, dressed as a Naian, he seemed almost normal. Time would tell.

Reichel called to Sergeant Kerry, who jogged over to join him. Only the Sergeant's goggles, nose, and bushy mustache were visible at the opening of his parka hood.

You better go inside and keep an eye on our guests. Be subtle. Keep it friendly. The heavy one seems timid, but I’m not so sure about the doctor. Make sure he can't get at any weapons.

Sergeant Kerry hopped on the machine and climbed in.

By all rights the doctor should be grateful, thought Reichel, but that might be too much to expect. Thank goodness Myo could talk to him and explain it all.

Reichel trudged across the snow, deep in thought. A haze of blowing snow obscured the horizon. Closer in, the small drifts looked like waves upon the sea.

He doubted any Icers lived around here, but in this century, who could say? Even in his own time, Icer sightings were rare – seldom did anyone venture north, and of those who did, few returned. Most people blamed the Icers for the disappearances, but Reichel had his doubts. Storms, crevasses, or just the extreme cold seemed more likely hazards. The Icers were probably the least of their worries.

Reichel’s immediate concern was digging their way out. The height disparity had been the trickiest problem to solve. Several solutions had been discussed, everything from tunneling during their own time to traveling north during a different time, but none of those ideas seemed workable. Myo finally figured it out, and his solution was delightfully simple. They could overcome the height of the accumulated snow by going back in time by small steps, stopping briefly every decade or so to let the resonator fall a few inches.

Reichel recalled the first test of the transactional resonator. Only he and Tegory were aboard. A nod from Reichel had signaled his gray-skinned friend to begin. The vibration from the traction plates rose and they held their breath. Seconds later the humming stopped. The five-inch drop, though jarring, confirmed Myo’s prediction. They cracked open the hatch to a hiss of air, their ears popping from a change in the air pressure.

It had been a bright and windy day, but now they looked out to find it calm and cloudy. The white blanket of snow seemed unchanged, but as expected, the support team was gone.

During the actual mission, the trip to the 21st century went quickly, but it was bone-rattling, like getting dragged down a seemingly endless flight of steps, banging hard with each drop through time.

After rescuing the doctor, a jump forward in time had returned them to the ice and snow. In a way it seemed they were almost home, for on subsequent stops little else changed. However, going forward in time was laborious. They had to stop frequently to dig the resonator out of the accumulating snow and lift it using the jacks installed at the corners. The men had seemed apprehensive during those first few stops, but they soon gained confidence and their mood had improved.

Reichel made another sweep of the horizon, then collapsed his telescope. He looked up, visualizing the height of the snow in the 43rd century. Another fifty feet, he guessed. The thought of all that snow left him feeling claustrophobic – strangely so, considering the empty expanse all around them. The climb out was the most uncertain part of the mission, but there was also the long and dangerous trip south yet to come.

CHAPTER 4

Dan leaned against the ladder, his legs weak. Tim stared back at him from his place beneath the blankets in the corner. Myo tugged at Dan's sleeve. Come, sit down.

The short, barrel-chested soldier had closed the hatch after following Dan back in, but the scrape of the shovels still filtered through the walls.

What's going on? Where are you taking us?

To the 43rd century, said Myo. Please, sit down. He gestured to a mat next to Tim. It is a long story.

Hold on, said Dan, his voice rising. He glanced from Myo to the stocky soldier, then finally to the gray-skinned man at the controls. You don’t have the right to take us anywhere.

Perhaps, said Myo, but the alternative was to let you die, which historically, you had. He glanced at Tim. Both of you.

Tim groaned. I’m gonna be sick.

Dan held the ladder to steady himself. He recalled the feeling of hopelessness as he struggled in the water. But we’re not dead.

The old man smiled. Of course not. We changed that. As it stands, you have a second chance at life. Myo gestured toward the mat, inviting Dan to sit. Please. I will explain everything.

Dan let the ladder slip from his grasp and he sat beside Tim.

Myo sat on a neighboring crate. I know this is all quite a shock.

It doesn’t make sense, said Dan. How’d we get here?

We came specifically to find you, Dr. Truitt. We found a record of your death and some details about your background. And though we saved you, our reasons are quite selfish. We have a problem with Ambrose fever and we hope you can help.

Dan remembered the awful fever and those months he spent in Central America as a grad student. I worked with Doctor Ambrose. That was before they named the fever after him.

Yes. That is why we came for you.

Why me?

Because of your knowledge of the disease.

I don’t know that much.

You are too modest. Certainly you must know a great deal.

Maybe a little, but there must be dozens of people who know more than I do.

But they didn’t die under circumstances that made it possible for us to retrieve them. The criteria for who to select was complicated, and the research difficult.

Complicated, alright. Dan shook his head to clear it. He felt a little groggy.

Tim chimed in, If you’re from the future, why don’t you already know all about the disease?

Myo sighed. I am afraid our medical knowledge lags far behind the Advance.

The what? said Dan.

The Advance. That is what we call your time.

Dan and Tim exchanged a worried glance.

Historically speaking, the Advance happened in the blink of an eye. It took only a few dozen lifetimes for humankind to flourish. I believe you know its beginning as the Industrial Revolution or the Enlightenment. Even more quickly, but well after your deaths, it all vanished.

Vanished? Tim’s question came in a plaintive whisper.

The old man nodded and sighed. There was much hardship when the climate changed. In a very short time the Advance was erased.

Climate change? asked Dan.

Yes. The planet cooled.

I thought the planet was getting warmer.

It began that way. The warming began to melt the polar ice caps. When this source of fresh water became strong enough, it interrupted the ocean's system of currents. That changed everything, even the ocean chemistry. In a handful of years, the climate went from warming to cooling. The ice caps re-formed, and the oceans receded. It is a cycle that has repeated many times over the eons. This time, and perhaps during previous cycles, there was an increase in volcanic activity and new fault lines. Many generations had all they could do to find food and shelter. There was much famine, disease, and fighting. Countless species perished, and for centuries, even humankind teetered on the brink of extinction.

Dan glanced toward the gray-skinned stranger. The world seems to have gained some species, too.

Humankind began to make a comeback in the 36th or 37th century. Our people descended from your people.

Tim hid his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers.

Our country is the New Atlantic Islands, Myo continued. We call ourselves Naians. Our population has grown, and our country is now approaching 50 years old. The soil is rich and the climate is kind.

The climate is kind? asked Dan. It doesn’t look kind.

Once we get below the ice belt, the weather is quite reasonable. I believe you will find it to your liking.

Where are these islands?

Well to the southeast. They did not exist during your time.

The room began to shake. Alarmed, Dan braced himself.

Myo held up a reassuring hand. They are raising the machine. We will soon make another time transition.

The gray-skinned man rose from his seat. He was incredibly tall, at least seven feet. He had to stoop to avoid the ceiling. His long white parka hung like a robe to his knees. He pushed open the hatch and in two steps had climbed into the sunlight.

So how do you explain him? said Dan when the hatch had closed.

Mr. Tegory is an Adrailian, but most of our people call them Grayliens because of their color.

He’s got more teeth than a piano has keys, said Tim.

The Adrailians arrived here several years ago. They have been a blessing. They can sense time, you know.

Dan’s eyebrows rose. Sense time?

Yes. We realized early that they had unusual abilities, but it took a while to figure out exactly what it was.

I don’t get it. How can they sense time? What does that mean?

Well, their whole body plays a part. It is like touch in that regard, but they can also sense time at a distance, so in a way it is also like sight.

Geeze, this just keeps getting weirder, said Tim.

Myo nodded sympathetically.

Where’d they come from? asked Dan.

Adrailia, but we do not know where that is. They were not told their destination, and they do not know what direction they came from. As you can imagine, the night sky looks quite different to them from Earth, so we don't know which star is theirs.

Star? Tim’s mouth hung open.

Myo nodded. They are political outcasts. There were two hundred and thirty-three of them. Their landing craft floated to Earth just off North Island. They drifted to our shore.

I don’t believe it, said Dan.

Reviews for Truitt's Fix

[westfargolibrary · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Dan Truitt and his friend Tim are in a sailing race on Lake Superior when stormy waters capsize the boat. They are in a ?fix? because they are drowning. The two friends regain consciousness to find that they have been taken to another time and a frigid earth. Events over the next few weeks involve them in danger and intrigue between the Naian, Icer and Fahrian societies. The author describes evolved cultures and technology with great imagination and detail in a fast-paced adventure you won?t want to put down. Rex Evans Wood (Skip) is a radio producer from Moorhead, MN. This is his debut novel.