The Time Stone

By Jeffrey Estrella

A group of unlikely heroes from the opposite sides of the track embark on the ultimate human adventure surrounding an ancient alien transportation device. As the four improbable companions travel through time in search for answers and a way home, they end up stumbling on an age-old mystery that might stop a disaster in the future from occurring. Can these four heroes step up to save the future and, maybe, learn something about themselves in the process?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645365747

Jeffrey Estrella

Jeffrey Estrella is a lawyer and writer who resides in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife. This book represents over 30 years of effort.

Book preview

Epilogue

About the Author

Jeffrey Estrella is a lawyer and writer who resides in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife. This book represents over 30 years of effort.    

Copyright Information

Copyright © Jeffrey Estrella (2020)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Estrella, Jeffrey

The Time Stone

ISBN 9781643789583 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781643789590 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645365747 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020908414

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, N.Y. 10005

U.S.A.

[e-mail]

[phone]

Summary

Device

A group of unlikely heroes from the opposite sides of the track embarks on the most ultimate human adventure surrounding an ancient alien transportation device. The four main characters travel through time in search of answers and a way home, but end up making a difference in terms of helping to solve an age-old mystery and avert a disaster in the future from occurring. They learn a lot about themselves in the process.

A simple twist of fate

A secret destiny

Angels and Demons

Familia Omnia EST

Epigraph

Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.

–Helen Keller

Chapter 1

Time: 2012 A.D., Chronix Bay

The scorching sunlight beats down on a sandy and deserted country road, where a man walks toward no place in particular. He wears a tattered, navy-blue overcoat, over a white lab coat. His puffed-up dark hair has a streak of white across his hairline. His fuzzy, dark moustache and facial stubble highlight his unkempt appearance. His eyes squint in the blazing sun, as his wrinkled face reveals a lifetime of sorrow and suffering, loneliness and emptiness. His round glasses have a crack in one of the lenses. His face is bruised with visible signs of fresh blood, still drying on his cheekbones and above his eyes. He continues walking in a daze, as if having escaped a whirl of trouble and beatings in a horrible battle. It’s the middle of the day, as he makes his way down a dirt road. He stumbles over a pair of dirty shoes without laces, as he happens upon something ominous that appears to be the long, skeletal remains of a beast that is stretched out on the side of the road – not far from his path. He walks alone, passing the skeleton that bears a resemblance of a large reptile, that’s several meters long. He stares at a large, fish-like head, with big, empty eye sockets, skeletal amphibious qualities, and large, ferocious fangs. The head is larger than the man who obliviously passes it. The man continues to doddle forward, holding a strange, green, five-sided emerald in the palm of his right hand. The emerald is dull and lifeless, without even a spark from the scorching heat that comes from the sun above. The man thinks to himself, Doctor Howard Kowalski, what have you done to yourself now? He walks past the skeleton and looks up to see a green billboard sign that overlooks a shiny metropolis beyond the hillside – on the country road, he walks on. He carefully reads the sign that says: Welcome to Chronix Bay. He thinks to himself that this will be the beginning of the end of his adventures. He knows he’s wrong, as a voice inside him reminds him that the end and beginning are always the same. The darkness of night soon dominates the small city, which is a rundown community in a major metropolitan area, on the eastern seaboard. As Howard approaches the museum, loud rumbles of thunder echo in the distance, following a flash of lightning that sears the night air over the museum of ancient history.

Chapter 2

In the Museum of Ancient History, silence is common after hours, and the exhibits are like demigods, watching for the slightest bit of trouble and ominously pervading it. Their watchful presence dominates throughout the corridors that lead to the middle of a large atrium underneath a magnificent glass dome. They are surrounded by corridors of historical exhibits, such as the ancient Egyptian pyramids, the Viking ships, ancient Greco-Roman architecture, and various other halls and exhibits. The lights from the stars and moon flood the atrium, bringing hope to the enormous space with their luminosity. Along the halls, there are further adornments of statuettes and scientific monuments of great minds, such as Sir Isaac Newton, H.G. Wells, Nikola Tesla, and Albert Einstein.

However, at the middle of the atrium and the entire wing of the museum, there rests the most coveted artefact in the entire museum, its crowning glory, a five-sided, green emerald jewel, the size of the palm of an adult man. The jewel lies inside a small glass casing that has metal wires surrounding it, as well as a security strobe light. This five-sided green emerald rests on a metallic perch over a pillared pedestal of marble. It shines brightly under the penetrating moonlight high above the museum’s rafters and skylight. The interior of the jewel shines outward, revealing five circular emblems at its heart.

A shadowy silhouette of a human suddenly appears in the atrium. It casts upon the back walls, eagerly waiting for the right moment to strike. The shadow surrounds the casing and the floor of the museum immediately, engulfing it. The museum remains in silence, as the shadow casts itself off of a man standing with a strong sense of empowerment. The man, cloaked in darkness, unleashes a canister of aerosol spray from his tunic belt pouch, and sprays the air before him. What was previously empty space is now riddled with a series of green, red, and orange lasers, lighting the air in crossing patterns. The lasers are very thin. There is a slow movement to the laser lines, causing the gaps between them to grow and shrink rhythmically. The patterns appear to leave tiny gaps that are growing and shrinking, but also expanding quickly, thereafter, leaving an opening only for a matter of seconds, before retracting once again. Timed just right, the man imagines he could maneuver between them and avoid triggering the impending alarm mechanism of the museum. Fear strikes his heart, as he views the moving lasers with a disheartening glare. The lights fade slightly, but remain visible. The man, with fear of failure on his mind, goes to work throughout the maze of light. Accordingly, he dodges the series of glowing red, green, and orange lasers. He leaps through the moving lasers and jumps around them and through them. He twirls and spins like a ballerina through the glowing lights. His maneuvers are graceful in the slightly lit air. He moves skillfully, avoiding hitting each laser beam. He then hops around the casing, before suddenly leaping right on top of it. He is dressed in a black outfit that is stealthily adaptive as the fabric blends into the darkness. The man wears a bright red sash covering his waist, tied into a knot that is carefully melded to his dress at the end. His beady dark eyes protrude from underneath a baggy, loose-fitting mask. The man carefully adjusts into a crouching position, as he sets himself down on top of the glass casing. He carefully removes a small metallic object from his tunic belt pouch. He carefully extends the object, unfolding it piece by piece, until finally – he holds a full-size pair of metallic glass cutters. He extends the cutters onto the glass he stands on. He moves his fingers carefully, turning the blades with precise measurements that form a circle, and then a square within the circle. He moves in a skillful artistic way, using the cutters as natural extensions of his hands. He had previously studied the design of the casing and its alarm system, so he knew exactly how and where to cut the glass. After achieving his objective, he then uses the blades as grabbers to slowly lift the cut glass piece. He then reaches into the casing. Within seconds, a loud security alarm disrupts the silence of the museum, as every corner is filled with the noise and the bright lights that surround the casing. The man looks up with an unsuspecting glare into the bright lights.

Cameras turn on their axis to monitor the incident. Strobe lights flash in the air, accompanying loud sirens, as the hot laser beams continue to swirl around. A young man in a security-guard uniform runs over, with a pistol in one hand and a radio in the other. He nervously looks around, perspiring heavily, as the strobe spins flashing bright red and white lights imaging within the casing, and surrounding exhibits. He sees a flashing yellow light hovering in mid-air. The guard wipes his brow and looks around. He sees a shadow of a man leap off of the casing, that’s surrounded by the horrific flash of yellow whirling light. The security guard points his gun and yells nervously, Freeze! Then, he looks at the swirling light above the atrium, and he panics at the sight. He closes his eyes and squeezes the trigger of his gun, firing a loud shot into the air high above him, as the vortex vanishes carefully, collapsing into itself, in an instant.

Suddenly, the lights stop flashing and sirens stop wailing. In the silence, the form of the young security guard lies on the floor mortally wounded, as blood gushes from his chest. As the light fades from his eyes, and his heart slows, he looks up into the dome-shaped atrium. His eyes close, as the life force drains from his body. The mysterious figure above the casing and the jewel that rests within it are long gone, as if having vanished into thin air. The warm air surrounding the casing remains the only evidence of the figure’s presence. The darkness outside is still, and pale moonlight gleams down over the sudden crime scene.

Chapter 3

Police cruisers with sirens wailing loudly light up the vicinity of the museum, as the dark skies are partially obscured by the streetlamps that burn with vibrant luminosity. Uniformed officers walk back and forth in a hurry. One passes along the front of the museum entrance, holding a plastic evidence bag. The patches on their shoulders read Chronix Bay Police Department. They set up roadblocks from the main road, and roll out yellow crime-scene tape to cover the perimeter. Several news vans and various people stand about a dozen feet away. Several men in suits also walk along the grassy pathways, outside the museum, heading toward the front entrance.

A blue Lincoln town car pulls up with U.S. government plates, its headlights shining into the scene like a beacon of hope. Wait up, says one of the suited men about to enter the museum, as he runs back toward the town car. Lieutenant Brock Walton runs up to the car and stops near the front passenger-side door. He waits eagerly for the door to open and pulls it. It opens, as it starts to move. It’s about time, says the fair-haired man in his late 30s.

I’ve been fighting off the press for an hour. We got a serious situation inside, says Lieutenant Walton.

I know. That’s why I’m here, says the man in the car, rising out of the passenger seat and removing the sunglasses he coolly wears even in the nighttime. The Bureau wants a complete report on everything that has been going on. If this case involves what we think it does, it’s our baby until the end. He smirks.

I still don’t understand why the Bureau wants action on this. It’s a regular theft.

There are some occurrences surrounding this ‘regular theft’ that encompass the unusual and bizarre, which my division is used to investigating. The F.B.I. agent speaks eloquently and sincerely, as he touches his ear and wrinkles his nose. A small patch of brown hair furrows behind his ears, slightly longer than that of the average man. His face is pale and somber, and he has a hint of eagerness in his tone.

Lieutenant Walton leads the man through the walkway and inside the museum. I know we’re friends, but this cloak-and-dagger stuff is beyond anything I’ve known in my professional career, says Lieutenant Walton.

All information is on a need-to-know basis only, says the man, as he flashes his F.B.I. badge to the uniformed officer standing guard outside the entrance. The man enters the museum, following his local police colleague, and sees the many colorful exhibits and heroic figures on display. The federal agent’s jaw almost drops in awe, as he remembers suddenly his boyhood fantasies of wanting to be like the Gothic knights of the old code in medieval Europe. But then he snaps out of it, when he remembers why he is really here. He notices a small dab of moisture being emitted from a small pipe near a glass casing, with a cleverly cut hole in it. A famous artefact once had rested in the casing, but now it’s empty, and is surrounded by yellow, police, crime-scene tape.

The agent is memorized, looking around. He did not notice that his old friend, the lieutenant, was still talking. I tell you, it doesn’t make sense. Locals claim they heard some kind of explosion, but there is no evidence of any debris. Whatever it was, damn thing turned off the alarm system.

Interesting, says the agent, quietly looking around.

Adam, please come over here, says Lieutenant Walton, as he points to a black body bag on the floor and grimaces.

Adam walks over and examines the scene, What is it, Brock?

The body is still fresh, rigor hasn’t set in. We responded as quickly as we could after the alarm went off. The medical examiner says he is going to need to take it right away, but I wanted to wait for your arrival.

Open it, says Adam.

Lieutenant Walton sighs while shaking his head, and bends down on one knee. He unzips the bag, revealing the dead security guard, his face pale and his eyes shut. The coroner examined him just before you came. The cause of death was a bullet from his service weapon. Poor S.O.B. must have panicked in the heat of the moment. It was a breaking and entering job. Someone stole the pride of the museum’s collection, the fabled ‘Eye of the Gods,’ exceedingly rare emerald quartz. It’s supposed to be one of a kind. Its value was last appraised and insured by Lloyds of London, at over 60-billion dollars. That is one pricey paperweight, Lieutenant Walton laughs at his own joke.

Adam notices a slight green glow behind the guard’s ear that slowly fades into an electric phase. It was completely unnoticeable to the others that had observed the body. This wasn’t about money, replied Adam, without even a smirk. He stared at the cold, lifeless face of the former night-security guard.

Wrap up the case files and the body, along with all security footage, Adam speaks, adamantly gesturing to the cameras on the wall with his finger. Our medical team and forensics group will take it from here.

But, Adam, what the hell is going on in here? Lieutenant Walton rises to his feet, demanding answers.

Sorry, old friend, says Adam. But this is federal jurisdiction now in the interests of national security. Adam’s eyes burn with the electricity of his heart and soul, as he looks at the dumbfounded Lieutenant and puts back on his sunglasses. Adam smirks, as he turns and walks toward the door, opening it with one hand and reaching into his breast pocket with his other hand for his cellphone.

What the hell does this have to do with national security? yells Lieutenant Walton at his old friend. Adam continues walking out the door, as the cellphone he holds emits a long antennae automatically. That’s ridiculous! exclaims Lieutenant Walton, as he shakes his head furiously. He hears the sound of footsteps far ahead of him, and the sight of his oldest friend and army buddy, rudely walking away.

Chapter 4

The darkness permeates the recesses of the human soul, but sometimes, when one feels completely hopeless, there is a glimmer of light. Finding that light among the infinite dark space ahead, which may be the reason why we are here. We are each chosen to find our way in this world, this life, to find the one light that makes us feel absolutely complete, a remnant of a bygone past and long forgotten, destiny! Melody Blanket thought to herself, as she sits in darkness, in a corporate boardroom after hours. It was a plain sight for the 22-year-old, well-dressed woman, who was newly hired as a paralegal for Temporo Inc.’s General Counsel’s office. Melody remembers when she was an intern for the company while in school. It seemed like it was a lot different then – much more positive energy. Now, there was a colder and darker reality of the place that she was growing accustomed to. She figured she was early, so she didn’t bother to turn the lights on. She takes a seat at the head of the long table and opens her portfolio. She shuffles some papers with corporate stationery and handwritten notes in the margin. She studies them, while batting her long, dark curls that keep getting in the way. Then, suddenly, the doors swing open, and the ceiling begins to glow with bright red, purple, and orange neon lights. A slight hum surrounds the visages of color above, and a display screen appears. It rises up from under a secret compartment beneath the table. A form appears on the screen as it lights up, and a faceless shadow of a man appears. He has waves of dark curls surrounding his face, which are hidden under a cloak of total darkness. Several men and women in dark black suits enter the room. Melody rises to her feet and nods her head, as she nervously gathers her papers. A voice echoes across the room, causing everyone to take their seats silently. This emergency secret meeting of the 12-VMX Secret Command Council is called to order, a dark and mysterious voice echoes before them. Melody trembles with fright, as she sits in the back of the conference room. Behind her sits a tall, bald man with a strong muscular physique and a square jaw. Beside him sits Melody’s boss and Luther Von Strauss, General Counsel of Temporo, Inc. A symbol rests on the table and on each leather portfolio that each person is carrying.

It’s the symbol of the Temporo, Inc. Company; a set of double-curved, upside down arches, and the symbol of the Egyptian snake god, Apophasis.

Let us begin, says a cocky middle-aged man at the head of the table. It is important that we act quickly and not let the other factions find out about what happened tonight. We do not want to cause problems for our various overseas operations.

True, speaks Ogelsby Bradshaw, a short, older man. Everyone in the room recognizes Mr. Bradshaw – the founder and former Chief Executive Officer of Temporo, Inc. Mr. Bradshaw is a wise man who has earned the respect of everyone in the company. He always had a courteous smile for everyone, from the senior vice presidents, down to the janitorial staff; although, no one has ever known the true nature of his private life.

I put my complete faith in this young man, Mr. Broad Staffnight. He’s our new C.E.O., who will take my place and be a shining example to our company’s continued success. The older man then takes his seat.

Thank you, Mr. Bradshaw! No one could fill the shoes you are leaving behind, says Broad, rising to his feet. Now, down to business with this museum incident, we know the death was no accident and wasn’t supposed to occur, but it did occur.

We know that guard was not supposed to be there, sir, says a young blond woman sitting next to the seat where Broad sits. But on a hidden surveillance tape, we saw that he was outside, smoking a marijuana cigarette. He had probably just arrived, and was waiting for his shift to begin, when he heard a noise and ran in to check on it.

Thank you, Liz, replies Broad. My assistant, Elizabeth Peters, has been working with me on this cover up. We hired ‘The Culto,’ a legendary band of misfit ninja warriors to find the artefact. But now, a simple theft by our contractor turned into a homicide investigation, by the F.B.I.’s Strange Occurrences Project. Our contacts within the Chronix Bay Police Department and F.B.I. tell me that this was not an accidental death, as the police initially thought. It was true that the guard was shot with his own weapon; someone or something turned it on him at the moment it fired. Because of this strange method of killing, the Bureau is giving it high priority and will stop at nothing to reveal the truth. We can’t have that. If they discovered that we had, in fact, ordered the theft, it would jeopardize everything. We need patsies.

Already done, sir, a search of the citizen database found two, nobody simpletons who are the perfect fall guys for this. Once they are arrested and convicted, the case dies, and no one is the wiser, Liv says, with a clear and concise voice. No one would miss them. Liz pats two manila file folders under her leather portfolio.

Good, says Broad. And what became of the artefact?

It disappeared. Our guess is the contractor had no choice when he saw the guard. He was not supposed to be there, and the contractor must have panicked… He activated it. Liz’s face was blank, pale as a ghost. It seems from our examination of the police file and our own investigator’s reports; there was a secondary alarm that was not anticipated.

Disappointing indeed, replies Broad. We hired The Culto to get the artefact back safely to us. We are the object’s rightful and lawful owners. Regardless of his motives at the time, we need to get the artefact back, the eye of the gods must be returned home.

But now, sir, it is simply gone, says Liz bluntly. It could be anywhere in time or space.

We will find it, my pupil. There is another way. Broad’s eyes burn with passion.

Miles away from the downtown area, where the mayhem of the crime scene continues; the daylight is bright over the city’s residential district. The sun shines overhead and the day feels relaxed and quiet. The people of the city are going about their daily routines in the urban middle. But far from the chaos of the museum, there is silence in the residential district. The routine pedestrian population is gone, where the people either are either out at work, or tucked in their homes – not knowing what has happened at the museum the night before.

Chronix Bay has had its fair share of poverty and homelessness. Among those who are aware of the decay in society, are lonely and impoverished individuals, who sulk about aimlessly. One of those wanderers is James Timewalker, a young man in his late 30s, who is lost in his own world. He strides down Main Street.

At times, I wonder what it is that drives our lives. Are we the products of free will or are we subject to more ominous forces beyond our control? I remember learning about how the ancient Greeks and Romans believed that we were a product of the whim of the gods. Modern theology teaches us that we have to believe in God’s plan. Maybe the key is having enough faith, but recognizing that faith only takes you so far. The rest is… A mystery of the unknown dimension in life, James ponders to himself, with his hands in his pockets, as he struts down the street. James is often alone. He has grown accustomed to many hardships during his life. He passes by his old high school, which is now an ominous fortress, in its afterhours appearance. It appears empty, lonesome, and epitomizes the starkness of poverty. At this time of the year, it is vacant, with not a soul in sight. He remembers his life as a student, thinking that he had always aspired for success, yet failed to achieve it – whether as a student or as a businessman. He grimaces as he thinks back over his failures in school, one of the many in his life. His eyes are dark and somber, emanating loneliness and sadness. His olive-tone skin bears signs of age. He has a permanent frown on his face, as he wanders without a companion, without an opportunity, without hope – and without a prayer. He feels his dreams are an endless blur of images, forever forsaken in the long expanse of time. He often wonders what the point of going on in life is, when everything seems to equate to nothing – no matter what he does. He has no worldly possessions, only the clothes on his back. He has a heavy, unkempt beard, and a thick smell, for he has not had a bath in weeks. His personal hygiene vanished with his dreams long ago into the realm of oblivion. He walks across the intersection of Main Street and Avenue X, as he has done hundreds of thousands of times, since he was in grade school. He’s 35 years old, homeless and destitute. The clouds begin to gather, and the rain begins to pour down hard. He walks forward with a sense of humility. He feels an acceptance of his current state of affairs, and how glory and hope might never return to his world, or to his heart.

After a moment, the rainstorm passes, and James walks down toward the pier and the Sea of Hope – the body of water that borders this small community. His clothes are drenched from getting caught in the downpour. He does not know where he is headed, nor does he know where he is headed for in life. He looks past the small body of water toward the shining downtown middle, with its tall buildings. He hopes and prays this trip to the Sea of Hope would yield some benefit, but he felt he knew better. James saw a young man walking before him, the only other person around in the dim daylight.

The young man wonders to himself, At times, I wonder what it is that drives our lives. Are we the product of free will, or are we subject to more ominous forces beyond our control? The ancient Greeks and Romans believed that we are a product of the whim of the gods, but modern theology tells us we have to believe in God’s plan. Maybe the key is having enough faith, but recognizing that it only takes us so far. And the rest is… Then, suddenly, the mind stopped thinking, and blood spattered. The body stopped and fell down. James turns, and is dumbfounded by the death of a stranger, a victim of random violence. He turns and sees a silhouette of a woman in the distance, and as he strains his eyes, he sees her approaching suddenly. He thinks she looks familiar. His mind quickly conjures up the past image of a face he hasn’t laid eyes on in years, a young woman from his past, who he had once harbored great feelings of attraction for, but he has always been too shy to speak to her. His mind is feeling aged, but his soul is as mighty as a runaway train. He approaches her, barely making out her facial features, the intense sunlight blurring his vision. He walks along the street, finding it difficult to see. As the two become physically closer, he sees more of her ever-so slightly. At first, he thinks he may be hallucinating, a mirage brought on by fooled senses because of malnutrition and dehydration. But as he approaches her, he sees her clear as day. She is dressed somewhat provocatively, wearing a short mini-skirt, netted stockings, leather boots, and a white cotton shirt tied at her waist, revealing her belly.

Her hair is dark, with chestnut and blond highlights, and is tied in a knot, behind her head.

Tina May, says James, his hoarse voice barely forming the words, Tina May Prescott, is that you? He notices her head turn, her dark-brown hair and pale complexion glistening in the open streetlights. She is very beautiful! he thinks, as he approaches.

She smirks. Do I know you? she asks, a young lady in her 30s, accustomed to life on the streets.

Yeah, he says, standing before her. It’s James. James Timewalker. We went to C.B. High together, back in… he grunts, …too long ago. He laughs, and she smiles in return.

I do remember you now. You always were a funny one. How have you been?

Well, great…

She catches his confusion. You’re not doing too well, huh? She frowns, seeing his shabby and unkempt appearance.

What about you? he asks.

Doing well, she replies, shrugging her shoulders. Trying to survive like everyone else, she adds.

Ain’t that the truth? It is nice seeing you. We ought to keep in touch.

That would be great. Tina smiles in a manner symbolic of preschool puppy love. Then, a car pulls up, headlights bright purple of the old Cadillac. Well, I have to go. She pulls out a card from her shirt pocket and hands it to him, Call me when you get the chance.

He thanks her. He pockets the card, as she turns away and enters the old Cadillac which pulls away. He feels the sense of butterflies in his stomach, like the schoolboy crush he carried once before. The feeling of romance newly revived in him makes him forget his troubles and feel young again. He thinks he might see her again soon. Then, he turns and realizes the reality of his meagre existence, and that the truth is that he is alone in the dimness of the street corner, and he is homeless.

Chapter 5

It’s how the other half lives, Broad Staffnight speaks so eloquently that his echo could be heard down the dim corridors of the typically bright office building belonging to Temporo Inc. The arched portals mimicked ancient Greek architecture, and the attitude of the principal officers are akin to that of the gods. Just imagine, my friend, with the right timing and patience; we will be like gods ourselves.

I like your style, Broad. You have a bright future with this company. The older man pats his subordinate on the back, as he walks out of the younger man’s office.

I’ll see you at the country club, Mr. Barry, says Broad, as he waves goodbye to his older contemporary – Mr. Marion Barry, chairman of Temporo’s board of directors.

Broad then looks at his subordinate, Daniel Raymore, in-house accountant and chief bookkeeper. He yells out into the hallways, Mildred, come in here please. Broad beckons hoarsely at his assistant – a fair-haired young woman in a plaid dress and small glasses. Daniel takes this as his usual cue to leave. He slowly heads out the door as Mildred enters the room. Broad admires her tall voluptuous frame as she approaches. He reaches out, as if to grab her rear end, but smirks, as he pinches the air behind her. Nice caboose, Mamasita.

You wanted to see me, Mr. Staffnight? Mildred looks at him with her usual tone that indicates respect, but also that she’s not at all amused by his behavior.

Talking about fortunes and empires, making money, and distress…. Broad utters his famous diatribe that everyone who knows him has grown accustomed to.

Yeah, nice staff you got here, Broad, utters Denis Thoroughgood, who passes by the office, glancing through the open door.

Broad gives him a coy glance, signaling that he doesn’t want to be interrupted.

We will discuss more about the project soon, Denis, he responds with a hint of annoyance.

No problem, Denis responds with a smile, as he pops his head into the office. He nods quickly, and then just as quickly, he takes his leave from the large corner office, closing the door behind him.

Broad then takes his seat at his desk, as Mildred sits in the chair before him, with a pad and pen resting in her lap. Broad is what most would consider a ladies’ man, and has his way with anyone he pleases. He stands six-foot five-inches tall, square-shouldered, tight, round jaw, with a jet-black buzz cut, and wearing an Armani suit, gilded cufflinks, and a bright-orange power tie that epitomizes the perfection and massive wealth that he seeks and claims he deserves. When he sits, he exhibits the persona of the all-American boy, a football quarterback and champion-star athlete in high school, who dated and married the homecoming queen, studied law, politics, and high finance at the finest European schools, served in the Marine Corps, and now, is head of one of the top Fortune 100 companies in the world, but there is something else about the way he carries himself that makes him seem far more ominous, as his long arms curve in front of him like tendrils plotting and waiting deviously for the kill. We need to talk more about your future.

Mildred reluctantly smiles and sits uneasy in her seat before her boss’ massive, marble-topped oak desk.

Broad lights and begins smoking one of his famous Cuban cigars taken from his secret spot underneath a hardcover copy of Machiavelli’s Prince in the middle right-hand draw of his desk. He looks at Mildred as he puffs his cigar. Do you know why I called you in here?

No, Mr. Staffnight. I am here – she begins.

Honey, will you please do a favor for me? Broad interrupts her. Will you call me Senor (accent) Staffnight? That Latin side of you makes me all fired up. Broad mimics a jungle cat’s roar jokingly as he displays his hand out like a claw. I feel feisty too.

Mildred begins to rise to her feet. I don’t feel comfortable.

Sit down, Broad commands. We are here today to start talking about fortunes and empires, the true realities of making money, amidst the boldest corporations of high finance in our market.

Mildred rolls her eyes with a nonchalant attitude displaying sarcasm, but having a hidden fear of Broad. Mildred has heard Broad’s typical diatribe before, but was never alone with him. Mildred has heard that Broad made sexual advances to the female staff during time alone with them.

Mildred, Broad continues. Some say that there are some things in this world that are too powerful to fully be understood by the human mind… But given the right market, anything is possible, even amid the chaos and distress of innocence lost, madness revered, challenges conquered, things lost, more gained. His thoughts slipped away from him as he gazes into empty space.

Sir? Mildred interrupts.

Mildred, Broad screams out. I want you to prepare a letter to Mr. Lorn Kilner of Chronos Enterprises and inform him that we are ready to participate in the project that we discussed last week, and that preparations are being made to engage the relevant third-party collectors who will bring forth the necessary equipment. He smirks as he watches Mildred carefully taking notes, and he admires her slim physique in the short, plaid dress, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and her long legs crossed in front of her, with her legal pad on her lap, where she furiously takes copious notes. Further, inform him that we have devoted our full attention to this matter and the success it will bring to both our firms.

Yes, sir. Is there anything else? asks Mildred.

Yes, get up and shake that moneymaker for Daddy. Broad puffs his cigar arrogantly, as Mildred rises to her feet, grumbling, hands placed on her hips, giving him a deathly glare, but then turns to leave without another word. Broad looks at Mildred as she disdainfully walks away, disgusted by his ego.

Chapter 6

James continues walking down the streets on the garbage-strewn sidewalks of his home community. His beard and short, black hair are lice-ridden, his olive-skin suntanned, and his teeth yellow and in need of care.

Intense heat from the sunlight makes him sweat profusely in the dying neighborhood around him.

James…James Timewalker, is that you? A limousine approaches, appearing oddly out of place in the decaying mess that became this tattered community. A man in his 30s, with a moustache and custom-made suit, popped his head out of the window.

Hello, do I know you? asks James, as he stops, wondering who knows his name, specifically someone wealthy enough to be in a limousine.

It’s me, James. Cyrus Bilderberger. We went to Chronix Bay High together. Wow, you look…different, Cyrus says with a shy frown. What happened?

Life happened, I guess. The economy is rough and it’s tough to get work, and boy do I need some cash, says James.

I’m sorry, James. Let me help you. Cyrus exits the limousine and reaches into his back pocket.

No, Cyrus, I can’t take your money, James speaks modestly, ashamed of his own sorry state of affairs.

Actually, I was going to give you something better than money. He takes out his wallet and opens it, pulling out a business card.

Nothing is better than money, laughs James, but then stops, as he saw Cyrus has a serious look upon his face. He hands James the business card taken out of the wallet.

What’s this? asks James.

Possibly your future. You see, I run a Fortune 500 company in Superior City, and we need some good people for a special program we are starting, aimed at assisting disadvantaged members of society to get a better grasp on life, says Cyrus.

They don’t want me. I’m a junkie, I mean, recovering junkie, sort of by choice, says James.

We can help you get the help you need. Just think about it and call me. Here, he gives James a quarter and then renters his limousine and smiles.

Thanks, says James.

It is good seeing you again, James. Cyrus waves, as the limousine drives off, leaving James still alone and homeless.

James looks at the card and smiles. Temporo, Inc…. ‘Knowledge is power.’ That is interesting.

James pockets the card and continues on his way toward no place in particular.

Chapter 7

Lives in wealth and poverty split in two, but no longer, Broad Staffnight speaks with a reverent voice, rivaling any who he went up against, as he stands on the stage of the auditorium before a crowd of military and civilian individuals ready to eagerly embrace the unveiling of a new technological advancement by his company. Broad remembers practicing the speech in his head a dozen or more times, and thinking of what he is working on is going to change civilization, as he echoed the words before the podium microphone as he has done to the mirror in his bedroom over a thousand times over. We are on the threshold of a new era, where the technology we dreamed of, for centuries, will become a reality, and the power our ancestors envisioned as the scourge of their gods will help us turn myth into reality, legend into truth, and hope will come to the world. Along with our philanthropic endeavors to rid the scourge of homelessness from our city streets within one generation, we will focus on producing new innovations and technologies to challenge us and bring hope and prosperity to humanity along the way. This technology behind me is the key to the beginning of our journey into the next step of humanity’s transgression into the new frontier of exploration, Broad says, gesturing to the curtain behind him that connects to a gilded string hanging before him. This will help us in many ways, and be used for the benefit of humanity, and we, at Temporo, Inc., will lead the way! Godspeed on our journey with this new device that will be the first of many more to come, as our future depends on it!

The crowd applauds and stands, eagerly ready for their exposure to the promise of tomorrow.

Broad pulls the string and the curtain drops, revealing a large pod with circuitry and computers attached, spanning almost the entire auditorium. There it is, the Temporo, Inc. Matter Stream Generator, the world’s first Teleportation Device, says Broad. Broad grimaces, as he unveils the device he has helped build, and that he and others like him have dreamed of for so long. Broad then remembers the story he read as a child, by Herman Melville, about a sea captain who has been obsessed with the hunt of the great white whale, and how he is often warned by his superiors that, A healthy obsession is one thing, but a crazed one would ultimately destroy you…how odd of me to remember that now? Broad thinks, as the crowd erupts into further applause to the glowing smiles of the white-coated scientists and dark suits on stage. Broad merely smiles and rejoices in the moment.

Chapter 8

James grew up in Chronix Bay, and he always had bad luck in life. He never finished high school, and he never held a job for more than a month. His friends from his youth have left for bigger and better things, including his childhood sweetheart. He got involved with drugs and alcohol at a young age and never recovered; falling behind in everything he did, until even his own mother had enough, and he is left alone on the streets with no money and no hope. Having always been curious in wanting to pursue the lure of riches and pleasures that accompanied the stereotypically successful life, James is drawn to a life on the streets mainly because of his personal failures that came to pass. Ironically, James failed at his life so far, having stemmed from his childlike curiosity. James tries to make himself feel better by accepting his life and being grateful that he is not confined to the golden cage of a typical corporate office job, but there were times when he is envious of those who have attained such status. James has survived for the past two years by the only means he knows: lying, cheating, and stealing. It is the grace of good fortune that prevents his capture by the police or the local criminal