Marc Holiday and the Sand Reckoner: 1

By Mark Reeder

Math genius Marc Holiday would like nothing more than to be a typical tweener, with friends who come over after school to play video games and a mom who’ll bake him his favorite chocolate chip cookies. Yet ever since his mom died, all Marc ever sees is the inside of the classroom at his middle school, advanced math classes at the University of Washington in Seattle, and more studying when he gets home. His stepfather won’t let him go anywhere or do anything for fun. But everything changes when Marc meets the mysterious Time Doctor, Dr. Jake Tam, and goes on the most startling adventure of his life. There the eleven-year old Marc Holiday discovers he holds the key to unlocking the galaxy’s past and freeing its future … if he lives through the experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Feb 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483479521

Book preview

MARC HOLIDAY

AND THE

SAND RECKONER

1

MARK REEDER

Copyright © 2012 Mark Reeder.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7953-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7952-1 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 01/26/2018

Other books by Mark Reeder

Where Memory Has Lease

Shadowloom Series:

Shadowloom

Weft of the Universe

The Adam Enigma

(with Ron Meyer)

Young Adult books

The Crystal Sword Series:

A Dark Knight for the King

Queen’s Knight Gambit

Knight to Mate

Marc Holiday Series:

Marc Holiday and the Sand Reckoner – I

Marc Holiday and the Travelers Ring – II

Marc Holiday and the Curious Cusp of Time – III

Marc Holiday and the Moons of Ararat – IV

Marc Holiday and the Dragon’s Eye – V

The Adventures of Andrew Raymond

(with Ron Meyer)

NOTE ON THE NAMES IN THIS BOOK

Many of the character names in this book are taken from the Hebrew translation of the Old Testament.

Djam Karet is an Indonesian word, which loosely translates as ‘time stretches.’

I wish to thank Rosemary Wulf and Tyler Perkins for their help with the math and physics; the members of the Online Writers Workshop whose comments and suggestions have made this a much better book, especially Gene Spears, Arlene Ang, Laura Hooks, Karlos Laws, Fran Wilde, Rob Smythe, Kari Cooper and Kim Allison; my first reader Sarah Ross-Lazarov, whose smile and cheerful comments keep me from being overly critical of my own writing; and finally my friend and mentor, Ron Meyer, who encourages me to write.

For Debbie, always …

And for Evolène, Gail and David who make Marc Holiday’s world come alive

1

THE ARRIVAL

The story, as far as present day Earth is concerned at any rate, begins with a tiny dot of blue-white light. The dot is so small, as a matter of fact, standing next to it you would think it some kind of peculiar firefly, and you might wish to capture it in one of your mom’s old mayonnaise jars and take it home to show all your friends. And then ... well, luckily you weren’t there or the fate of Earth might have turned out altogether differently.

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Slowly the tiny blue-white dot grew wider and taller. Its light shined ever more dazzling. Within the space of two deep breaths the once tiny dot had grown to the size of a tall man and pulsed as bright as a star. The light vanished with a blinding flash, and in its place a transparent sphere hovered mid-air, its thin membrane tinted against the harsh glare of a yellow, class-G sun, 93 million miles distant.

A glow as soft as moonlight shimmered within the bubble. A moment later, a woman appeared. A loose, white robe covered everything but her right arm and her head. Long white hair curved around her ears and flowed down her back. On her wrist she wore a silver and gold bracelet with buttons underscored by strange squiggly characters. Her nose was hooked like a golden eagle’s, though no eagles flew the green skies of her home planet. Her name was Serah.

She smiled with satisfaction at her surroundings. This might seem strange because rubble spread across barren ground pocked with craters, edges crumbling with age. No grass, no trees, nor anything living existed for as far as she could see. It was a great white emptiness of moon. She floated above the lifeless ground unconcerned that only a thin layer of transparent crystal separated her from an airless environment that would kill her painfully in less than fifteen seconds. She hadn’t traveled thousands of light years to see the moon. It just offered the best place from which to observe. The object of her interest lay 200,000 miles away across a vast chasm of space. The planet was lush with air, water, plants and animals. And of course, people – primitive by her race’s standards, but humanoid.

As she stood, waiting with what might have been just a little impatience, a second glow glimmered beside her. She edged to the side of the bubble just as a much taller figure materialized. Surprise flickered across the woman’s face. She nodded respectfully and went back to waiting.

The new arrival’s name was Marek and he differed in more than just height and gender. Tall and thin, his ivory coloring contrasted with her dark skin. Shoulder length, cinnamon-colored hair framed a narrow brooding face. He was far older than Serah, with deep worry lines etched in spokes around his narrow, thin-lipped mouth. His long robe glowed green, the color of the aurora borealis.

Apart from their differences, Serah and Marek were alike in one very important way – both wore on the middle fingers of their right hands gold rings with a raised image of a figure eight on its side. The ring with its symbol for infinity marked them as Travelers of the Khronos Protectorate. They could go back and forth in time from present to past. And like all Travelers, they had honey-gold eyes, the pupils sharply curved, upturned crescents as though to catch all the light and hold it.

Marek looked out across the moon’s bleak landscape and frowned. By nature a humorless man, he rarely if ever smiled. Today he was unusually gloomy. Serah could see the past five years lay heavily upon him. She placed a hand gently on her teacher’s arm. It’s finally over, Marek. We won. Shouldn’t you be on Homeworld with the Council, celebrating the victory? Your victory, I should add.

I thought so too, at first, he said heavily. But it was out of place. All the joy ... the weeping ... people shouting. Some Council members were even popping back in time to relive the moment they heard the news? He blew out a long stream of air. I stayed for as long as I could, then excused myself.

It’s only natural for people to mark this day, said Serah. It’s been five years since Djam Karet first threatened our way of life. Now that he’s gone, the Protectorate could use some celebrating. Once more all the worlds are safe.

Marek snorted. If anything, the reign of Djam Karet should stand as a warning: No one is ever completely safe. He paused to emphasize his point. He brought the Protectorate to the edge of destruction.

You worry like a Meztaq bird about her chicks. Serah laughed sweetly to take the sting out of her words. You should rejoice with the rest of us. The Time of Troubles is over and we can return to our customary lives and to our work – keeping the worlds of the Protectorate safe and prosperous.

Marek’s frown deepened, the worry-lines around his thin lips turning his mouth into a grimace. It’s premature. They haven’t found his body yet. Everyone’s celebrating a wish not a reality.

Our best Travelers are unable to find a trace of Djam Karet in any of the pasts of all the Protectorate worlds, Serah said soothingly. Believe it he’s gone.

He’s brilliant enough to hide his tracks, and when he comes back, fools and believers within the Protectorate will once again flock to his banner.

"And the Council will be ready for him. But he’s not coming back," Serah finished, forcefully enough to end the conversation.

Marek took the hint and looked bleakly into space, his mouth clamped shut.

The younger woman studied her Master carefully. He was a brilliant Traveler and teacher. Djam Karet had been his finest student, and Marek had taken the young man’s betrayal especially hard. She could understand his desire not to associate with others who celebrated the fall of the Traveler they called the Destroyer.

So, since you didn’t want to join any of the feasts or parties you naturally came here, she said gently and patted his forearm.

Marek nodded. He drew himself straighter to his full height, his cinnamon hair just skimming the top of the bubble chamber. It seemed he had at last come to his real purpose for being on this barren moon. I had to be sure mother and son arrived safely. He pointed across a sunlit chasm of space to the majestic, blue-green planet spinning slowly below them.

Serah looked at the world, hanging like a festive ornament among the dark boughs of space. The inhabitants call it Earth.

Do you really believe everything will return to normal, once Anya and Marc are exiled on this world? Marek asked.

Yes I do, Serah said confidently. It is the safest place for them … and for us.

And if Djam Karet should turn out to be alive and find them?

Serah made an exasperating noise but managed to keep her voice even. He can’t. No one but the Council knows their whereabouts.

And now you and I know it, Marek said gravely. A secret with so many ears listening to it does not stay a secret for long. Are you sure this planet is the right place for them?

Yes. The Khronos Protectorate is safer with them here.

Marek stared down at her sternly, as though reminding the much younger woman she was not speaking to a feeble-minded idiot. If only it were that easy, he said coolly.

He rubbed a knotted and blue-veined hand across his forehead. The dark lines there grew even deeper. Once more he sounded troubled. Maybe I am just an old man, too tired to see the good in anything. But I can’t help but wonder if we’re all too relieved and not enough on guard. I mean, what if Djam Karet was right? What if Marc does fit the Prophecy?

Serah’s smile disappeared. It would be wise for you to keep that old fairy tale to yourself, she said, her voice filled with shock and dismay. The Council of Elder Travelers has forbidden anyone to speak of it ever again.

Are you going to report me?

Of course not, Serah said sharply, irritated her Master would think such a thing of her.

Then let us speak of it here and now, Marek demanded.

Fear welled up inside Serah, a fear so ancient it was a part of her being. It had been with her race since the very first time traveler moved along the galactic time stream from present to past. If Serah had been forced to explain her terror, she would have said aloud the words of the Prophecy she had learned as a child.

The Last Traveler will stand his ground

In the Arch of Time’s white core.

No longer will time be bound,

And Chaos will reign once more …

Serah’s voice trembled in spite of herself. The Last Traveler, she whispered.

Marek nodded. The end of the Khronos Protectorate. In contrast to Serah he was the picture of calmness.

You almost sound pleased, Serah said, gathering her courage.

Marek shook his head. Resigned to the inevitable, maybe.

Well I don’t believe it, Serah said, now angry. And you shouldn’t either. There is no Prophecy, just a bunch of silly fools who believe its foolishness. The Khronos Protectorate is safe. With Djam Karet out of the way, Travelers can once again adjust the events of history so the worlds of the Protectorate remain peaceful and trouble free.

In spite of her strong words, Serah shuddered under the memory of the dark days of the Time of Troubles, when Djam Karet controlled the Protectorate by claiming he knew the identity of the Last Traveler. The fear and hysteria that swept through the worlds nearly brought the Empire to its knees. She forced herself to concentrate on the blue-green planet below in order to calm herself. White clouds were forming over a great expanse of sea, dotted with islands. So different from the violet clouds of my home planet, she thought. She waited until she fought down the numbing dread.

The Prophecy is false, Serah vowed, once more sounding certain.

Why is that?

Because we would have seen this Last Traveler and stopped him long ago.

Djam Karet disagreed, Marek said thoughtfully. He believed in the Prophecy, in the Last Traveler. And he was the youngest, most brilliant Traveler the Protectorate has seen in generations.

Karet was a madman, Serah barked. He would have destroyed the Protectorate over this false Prophecy. And for what?

Marek swallowed. His voice sounded timid and weak and he spoke almost as if apologizing. Freedom.

Freedom! Serah spat the word. You mean hopelessness. She shook her head. Look at those Earthers. They have the freedom you speak of. Time passes by for them in a series of completely uncontrolled events … no one to guide their footsteps … no one to maintain order. They have no idea what will happen tomorrow or the day after or the next day. They live in fear of the future. No, we are lucky Djam Karet is gone. Trust the Prophecy was nothing more than a madman’s vain hope.

But Marek wouldn’t let go of the argument. "The Last Traveler might not know he can put an end to time travel. As a result, we would be unable to see him until the moment he closes the Arch of Time. By then it would be too late."

Serah grabbed Marek’s sleeve and held it. Master, I beg of you, let these treasonous thoughts go and do not speak of this to anyone else. If the Council hears of your words, they will send you to Gehenna Prison with the followers of Djam Karet, unable ever again to ride the Galaxy’s time line. She shook in pure terror at the thought. Imagine, she said, her voice now an awe-filled whisper, never to experience the wondrous beginning of the universe. Never to witness the great events of history.

A bright flash appeared in the sky above the planet. Serah pointed to it, glad for the interruption. Anya and Marc have arrived.

To the naked eye it looked like a wild comet screaming across the heavens. But the precise path through the planet’s atmosphere indicated a sphere like the one protecting Serah and Marek. They watched its fiery arc spiral toward the Earth, finally coming to rest on the northern continent of the western hemisphere. When it winked out of sight, the two Travelers let out a collective breath.

It is done, Serah said.

Marek shook his head. In spite of Serah’s reassurances he remained unhappy. I still don’t like it. Something isn’t right.

Serah laughed. You’re naturally–

Cautious?

I was going to say pessimistic.

Marek pressed his question. Is it wise to bring them here? After all, this planet is restricted and we do not control its history. If Marc should escape into its past, we could lose him forever.

Serah laughed aloud. So that’s what’s bothering you. Don’t worry. Here at the fringes of our galaxy, this planet cannot affect the Protectorate. These Earthers do not have interstellar space travel and have no idea what is going on outside of their world. She laughed scornfully. "More importantly, they are so primitive, they can’t produce the energy necessary to access the Arch of Time. So even though she is a Traveler, Anya will have just enough personal power to make a jump of only a few minutes into the past. And Marc will grow up ignorant of his ability to time travel."

His mother could teach him, Marek said, not at all assured by Serah’s arguments.

She has agreed not to or she and the boy will be sent to Gehenna Prison for the rest of their lives.

So whether or not Marc’s the Last Traveler, doesn’t matter.

Serah nodded her head. Anya and Marc can come to no harm here; they can do none harm. And the Khronos Protectorate is safe. She didn’t add what both knew already. Earth would be their prison for the rest of their lives.

Perhaps. But I can’t help but think this isn’t over, said Marek gloomily.

Serah pointed a long finger at the planet floating below in the well of space – a small, blue-green sphere of mayhem and confusion that by all the standards of the Khronos Protectorate was uncivilized. You have nothing to worry about. Even if Djam Karet were alive, on this world he would be trapped the same as Anya and her son, unable to do anything. Besides, every year two Travelers will come here to observe Marc and make certain he has learned nothing of his heritage and has not been told of his abilities. They will report what they find to the Council.

Marek raised his eyebrows. And who was chosen?

Hoth and my brother, Gaal.

I suppose they understand the importance of their assignment?

The Council has sufficiently informed them how vital their mission is. And I have volunteered you and myself to oversee their work.

I suppose it’s the right thing to do. Marek sighed. It’s just … I wanted some rest after these past five years.

Put aside your fears. You’ll have plenty of rest. Just you see. Nothing can come of this. Smiling up at her old Master, Serah tried to get him to cheer up, but Marek continued to frown.

Serah gave up and said, It is time to go. We must leave Anya and Marc to their fate ... whatever it is.

She pressed a button on the silver bracelet around her wrist. A soft glow bathed the two Travelers. They faded and disappeared. A moment later the bubble compressed once more to a tiny blue-white dot and winked out.

2

THE BOY WHO FELL THROUGH TIME

For the last ten years the Travelers Hoth and Gaal had visited Earth every year. They had never seen anything in the least curious or mysterious. They didn’t expect to. What was really curious was that the Council of Elder Travelers had chosen the two of them to be the observers.

Normally Travelers were paired because they shared similar interests and had similar personalities. But for some unfathomable reason the Council had chosen two very different people for watching Marc Holiday.

Hoth was a big man with long, silver hair and a huge beak of a nose. He moved and acted deliberately in everything, like now as he reread his latest report for the third time. This trait made many people think he was slow, especially Gaal, who complained Hoth took too long to finish even the simplest tasks. But Hoth believed he was being thorough.

Gaal was Hoth’s opposite in every way – short and thin, hair white as pure snow, dark complexioned, with a long narrow face. The drooping corners of his mouth curled his thin lips into a constant scowl. Even his honey-colored eyes, with their exotic crescent pupils, were humorless. And he did everything very quickly, pleased, and more than proud, he finished his reports perfectly, hours ahead of Hoth.

The big Traveler pressed a button on the console and watched his account vanish from the computer to flit through space to Marek and Serah on Homeworld in the Khronos Protectorate. Satisfied, he swiveled in his chair to talk with Gaal, who sat hunched over a pair of monitors, barely paying attention to the young boy he was supposed to be observing.

Have you watched the boy? Hoth asked. I mean really watched him?

As much as you, Gaal said.

Do you think he suspects anything?

How could he? He was exiled here when he was a year old. He has never known any life but this backward planet.

What about the mother? Anya was a Traveler.

We’ve been over this many times, Hoth. Our monitoring is very thorough and he has never shown any evidence he learned anything about time travel from his mother before she died. Nor have any temporal anomalies occurred where he is concerned. Gaal snorted. Monitoring this boy has been a monumental waste of time.

The Council of Elder Travelers doesn’t believe so.

Gaal snorted a second time, showing what he thought of the Council’s decision. What does it matter anyway? Without the proper training, he can’t possibly travel to the past. And there is the matter of psychology.

What do you mean? Hoth asked.

Marc has never known anyplace but here. He even has a last name – Holiday. Gaal shook his head in disgust at the Earth custom of surnames. For all intents and purposes he is an Earther.

"Who happens to possess the same mathematical skills we use to access the Arch of Time, Hoth observed dryly. Last name and psychology aside, he will never be an Earther."

Gaal looked at his companion with exasperation. I suppose you think there is something about him.

"Perhaps. I am concerned he might surprise us. After all, he has the brain and the biological structure of a Traveler, as well as a healthy time displacement organ. Plus, he inherited travaillier genes from his parents."

We all have the genes. We couldn’t travel in time without them, Gaal growled. But there is only a 25% chance Marc Holiday has the ability to travel in time.

Gall was correct. People with a complete set of travaillier genes were very rare. The genes that brought together all the traits enabling a Traveler to go back and forth in time were recessive, which meant that both parents had to be carriers for a child to have the ability. Hoth cleared his throat. Marc Holiday’s mother was one of the most gifted Travelers in history, but no one knows who the father is. Marc just might be that which we are not to speak of.

Not if we want to stay out of Gehenna Prison.

But what if it’s true?

Then, it will do him no good being trapped on this world, will it, Gaal concluded with smug satisfaction.

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Do you have your lunch? Professor John Holiday asked. He didn’t look up from the FlexFilm perched in front of him, nor did he appear to be listening for an answer.

Peering through the clear plastic computer screen, Marc Holiday could see his stepfather’s narrow face, high forehead and neatly trimmed mustache. He could also see in reverse the equations his stepfather was studying from the latest collaboration on the Swiss Large Hadron Collider. Marc blinked and twisted his lips in puzzlement. Something was odd about the math but