Minutemen: The Guardians of Time, #1

By David Danforth

TOMORROW TIME TRAVEL IS POSSIBLE. YESTERDAY A MADMAN SEEKS TO DESTROY THE UNIVERSE. NOW ONE WOMAN AND HER TEAM OF TIME TRAVELERS WILL NEED TO STOP HIM... America, 2074. Kaylan Smith will soon graduate and embark on the career she was groomed for. Until an executive from the corporation that rules half the world offers her a job she can’t refuse. Become a time traveler. Lead a team through the time stream in search of a lunatic who believes he can change history and destroy the universe. Kaylan’s new career comes with questions—How does the technology work? Who exactly is this madman? And where (and when) does he come from? As Kaylan and her team of Minutemen get closer to catching the rogue time traveler, she needs to get to the truth, before everyone’s time runs out... Minutemen is the first book in a Dystopian Future Time Travel series. Experience the beginning and get in on the action today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Danforth
• Release date: Jul 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536516951

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks goes to Angie for the Cover Design, and for Vicki A. for line editing this book

PROLOGUE

65 BC.  HE STOOD STARING out at the sea of sand, the sun reflecting off its surface.  In the distance, slaves ran up and down the sandstone ramps like ants, placing impossibly large limestone bricks on top of each other.  The pyramid was almost two-thirds finished.  He had arrived just in time.

Parker and Hodges, two members of his team, brought the Pharaoh to him, climbing the dune until they met.

Meh seta tonoi set.

He says you are dressed different than us, Parker said.

If we all knew we were skipping into ancient Egypt, I’m sure we’d all be sporting a cloth tunic like our illustrious team leader, Stanson said.  Why are we in ancient Egypt, exactly?

He gave his second-in-command a sideways glance.  Tell him I am Ra, and as his God I want his royal staff.

Parker looked at him.

Tell him, he repeated.

Parker did as he was ordered.  The Pharaoh answered.

While he was waiting for the translation, the man who had brought them all here against orders studied the Pharaoh, who was adorned from head to foot in gold.  His tunic was spun with gold fiber, and the sun danced across it as he breathed.  His crown, also made of solid gold, was tall and was made to fit his head snugly.  Even his sandals were gold laden.

He says he holds audience with his subjects every week, and someone eventually announces to him that they are a god.  He wants proof. Parker shrugged.

Proof? he said.  Fine.  No problem. He unholstered his weapon, a black cylindrical rod with a red button, and pointed it at one of the slaves near the base of the pyramid.  Tell him to watch as I take the life of one his slaves for his lack of faith.

Parker stumbled halfway through the translation when the team leader fired—a loud buzz and a flash of light and the slave disappeared.  His team looked out at the scene, and then everyone turned to stare at him.

Parker, finish translating, he said.

Parker quickly finished.  The Pharaoh talked over him, so quickly that Parker absently muttered, Hold on, hold on.  Too fast...

What did he say?

Parker looked like he was trying to work something out in his head.  He says one thousand apologies for doubting you, and his staff is yours.

The man looked up into the warm sun and smiled.  Tell him one of my disciples will follow him back to his palace and retrieve the staff.  He is not to be harmed in any way, or I shall unleash my wrath. He looked at Hodges. Go with him.

Why me?  Parker is the translator, Hodges whined.  The man didn’t want Hodges to come; he was a foxtail weed.  He stuck to you, but bent easily in a stiff wind.  Still, the man had no say as to who made up his team.  No say, except for Parker.  In addition to being an excellent navigator, Parker excelled in linguistics and, lucky for the man, that included Egyptian.

We need Parker to set up the bridge.  You have an hour to get the staff and get back here, or get used to sunny skies and warm sand.  Get going.

The man watched them walk back down the hill.

Kyle, Stanson said, Or should I call you God?

Kyle smiled.  God?  Definitely to the Pharaoh, but the first man to make fire must have seemed like a god to his tribesmen.  Still, Kyle was in possession of facts his team wasn’t.  Maybe where he came from, having this information made you God.  He knew his superiors thought that.

Yes, Riley, what is it?

Why are we in ancient Egypt?

Part of the mission.

I thought our mission was Hawaii, 1941.  You know, sandy beaches, warm water, hula girls, mai tais.

Kyle kicked the sandy surface, and a small, dusty cloud rose. This isn’t enough sand for you?

Where’s the water?

Kyle nodded and smiled. Mission’s changed, he said.

Well, I’ve been with you long enough to know that’s not true, Riley answered.

You’ve also been with me long enough to know when to trust me, Kyle said.  This matters; it’s important.

What, some gnarled wooden staff is important?  To whom? Riley chuckled.

It’s a gnarled wooden staff with a grapefruit-sized ruby on it, Kyle corrected him.

So we’re treasure hunters now, is that it? Riley asked.

I thought you said you knew me, Kyle said.  It matters, not here, but to the world, to our world.

Parker ran up to them.  I’ve started the sequence.  We’re green, extraction in forty-five minutes.

Well done, Kyle said.  He turned back toward the pyramid.  He could feel his teammates stare at him for a bit, then walk away.  Look at them, he thought, scurrying about like they are making the most important thing in the universe.  To their credit this pyramid would stand in the Egyptian desert thousands of years after they were all dust, but important?  No.  He knew what was important, though.  He knew what he had to do, and it wasn’t going to get any easier.  Saving the world is never an easy thing.

He smiled as he spotted Hodges start to make his trek from the pyramid, a long wooden stick in his hand.

Yes, maybe to be God is to do the tough things, knowing many will die, knowing your family will feel betrayed, but knowing that the world, maybe even the universe, will be saved.

***

2074.  KAYLAN SMITH REREAD the opening paragraph of her theoretical physics textbook for the third time.  It wasn’t the material that gave her pause—it was the view.

TriPharmaCorp’s Southwest Center for Advanced Learning was a fifty-eight-acre campus located along the central coast of the state once known as California.  Kaylan sat at a wooden picnic table at one end of a vast, lush grassy field.  Trees lined the field’s border, and the far end of the field spilled out to the coast.

Kaylan turned to face the sun, letting the warmth caress her pale complexion. She smiled.

I am getting no work done here, she said to no one.

She was about to take a crack at her reading for the fourth time when out of her peripheral vision she noticed a man in a black suit and tie walking toward her from the main campus courtyard. Her hands shook as she closed her textbook.

Good morning, the suit said.

Good morning, sir, Kaylan responded.  The suit gave her a surprised look.

Do you know who I am? he asked.

Kaylan cleared her throat.  Your attire, she said, sweeping her finger up and down the length of his frame. You’re executive staff.

That I am.  The suit held out his hand.  Thomas Kildere, recruiting director for TriPharmaCorp.  Unless your AE picture is incorrect in your admittance file, you must be Kaylan Smith.  Am I right?

Kaylan shook his hand.  Yes, she said as Kildere sat across the table from her.  Recruiting director?  I’m confused, sir.  I’m on track to finish my Corporate-approved education next year.  I’m already scheduled to start at the Midwest branch R&D section next August.

Yes, I know that, Miss Smith. Kildere took out a small, cylindrical tube and held it out to her. Nicotine sniff?

Kaylan shook her head. No, thank you, she said.

Kildere nodded, inserted the tube partway up his nose, pressed the side of it and sniffed hard.

Good for you, he said. Nasty habit.  Even worse when they were actual cigarettes.  I remember my grandfather going through a pack of them every time he visited.  Miss Smith, your transcript has you completing a double major—theoretical physics and criminal administration.

That was approved by TriPharmaCorp, Kaylan quickly said.

Kildere put his hand up and smiled. I know that.  The corporation, of course, knows everything about you:  your educational history as well as your family history.  We know, for instance, that your father was one of the unfortunate casualties of the Corporate Wars.

Kaylan’s face darkened.  He committed suicide when I was ten.

You found the body, correct?

Kaylan felt a sudden ocean breeze give her a slight push in the back.  It brought a slightly salty smell with it that made her nose flare.

Such a curiosity, Kildere continued.  He was an upper level executive of McKesson.  You were vacationing at the Grand Canyon, and he just...

Kaylan felt tears suddenly fall down her cheeks.  They always came like that when someone brought up the subject of her father.  Ten years later, and she still remembered the purple-blue predawn sky, still remembered the rusty color of the rocks from the canyon.  Still remembered her father’s smile, his whisper of, I love you.  And then he just...

I was ten when he killed himself, Mr. Kildere.  I didn’t find him.  There was nothing curious about it.

He was on the winning side, Kildere said.  Most of the...casualties of the war, especially toward the end, came from the losing side.  You see my curiosity.

Perhaps, sir.  I really don’t want to talk about it.

Kildare nodded.  I didn’t mean to upset you, he said.  He looked up and around.  It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?

Kaylan shifted in her seat.  It was a beautiful day, due to the ever-changing climate shift that would eventually destroy the planet; one of the pleasant side effects was the impossible combination of the absence of coastal fog, the bright, yet only semi-warm sun midway in the sky, and that slight breeze blowing off the Pacific.

Forgive me, sir, but you didn’t come here to talk to me about the weather, Kaylan said.

Of course not, Kildere said.  Why criminal administration?

I don’t understand your question, Kaylan said, partially exhausted, partially frustrated.  Yes, she was distracted by the scenery, but the fact was her quarter term exam on general relativity was next week.  She had no time for this.

Oh, you’re smart enough to understand, Miss Smith.  It doesn’t fit your career path—

That was approved by the corporation.

So you’ve said, and I told you I know that.  Now tell me how you plan to use your degree in criminal administration in TPC’s Midwest R&D branch.

Kaylan stared at him.  His face and hands looked like a person who’s taken too many nicotine sniffs.  Wrinkled and cracked, his face looked almost leathery, but beneath the lines, there seemed to be a kindness—no, authentic would be a better description.  Real.  Unlike other TriPharmaCorp directors she’d met in her life, this one seemed unwilling to wrap his words in red tape and political correctness.

I didn’t take it for my career advancement, sir. Kaylan rubbed her chin.

You have a genuine interest in the subject matter, then?

Yes.  Please don’t recommend to the board my learning track be revoked. Kaylan felt tears starting to fill her eyes.  Damn it, don’t give him the satisfaction, she thought.

He must have read her mind.  Don’t worry, he said, smiling.  I have no intention to do that.  However, I am here on the board’s authority.  How did you know that?

Kaylan shrugged.  I have an eye for detail, sir.

Kildere nodded and tapped the tiny microchip surgically attached to his ear.

I...didn’t know you had a MyLife device, Kaylan said.  She couldn’t help staring at his ear.

The board adopted as part of its company charter last year that all TriPharmaCorp employees at the director level and above have the MyLife unit permanently grafted to their ears.  Really marvelous piece of tech, it records your every thought, continuously monitors your vitals, and keeps a database of pretty much anything you would need. Kildere smiled, his company loyalty showing.

Sir, I don’t understand, Kaylan said.  This seems like some sort of interview.  I—

Perhaps it is, Miss Smith, Kildere cut in.  Tell me, what if the corporation were to offer you a career track in a completely new, cutting-edge project that would make use of both your degrees?

Kaylan stared at him. Sir, R&D has already agreed to pick up my contract—

New contract, Kildere interrupted again.  Higher rates, more credit in your family account should you decide someday to...find that right person.

Sir, I—why me? Kaylan thought she looked pretty enough with a thin frame, long, light chestnut-colored hair, and strikingly clear blue eyes, but she had her fair share of students, and a professor or two, hit on her.  Kildare mentioned finding that right person...

Again, it seemed as if Kildere had read her mind, and laughed slightly.  I assure you I wouldn’t be wasting your time if I did not have a serious offer.

All right then, what is this offer, sir?

I can’t tell you that.