Star Chaser in Time

By Martyn J. F. Haggett

Overprescribing modern antibiotic type medicines and so-called wonder drugs, together with modern intensive agricultural methods have ended in common viruses, such as influenza and others, that have been able to be treated and controlled over the past decades are now spiraling out of control with new strains gaining a foothold in the world population. This being due to the body's natural immune system failing to fight these viruses. A crisis has developed all over the globe; therefore, a team from Worldwide Pharmaceuticals Ltd have been tasked with finding a solution in combating the out-of-control viruses and stop the plight and demise of mankind on earth.

Meanwhile, a parallel team headed by Jim Kent at Transaerospace are working on the highly confidential Star Chaser 451 project for the United States and United Kingdom governments, which have been working secretly together on various scientific and military projects since the end of World War Two. On its completion, the Star Chaser craft becomes a valuable tool in helping to save mankind from its demise, in a very unsuspecting way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504944168

Martyn J. F. Haggett

Martyn Haggett was born in England but for the past few years, has lived in South Africa. He has worked both in the construction and mining industries. At present, a project estimation specialist working as a consultant.

Book preview

Chapter One

Timeline 1846

I t was a moonlight-drenched night, and the silhouettes of roosting crows could be seen in the bare-leafed trees of winter, together with the screeching cries of an owl who was hunting for unsuspecting prey. The distant sound of horses could be heard thundering along the ancient highway pulling the coach from Bristol to Exeter. Inside the coach, the occupants were leaning from side to side as it rumbled along the unforgiving stone and mud trail.

The travellers were carrying out the journey, one being John Lang, who was returning home to Exeter from Bristol on business. Lang was a man stout in stature with a protruding waistline; this was caused by good living and frequently entertaining business acquaintances in fine restaurants and coaching inns. He made his fortune in timber, which was used in the making of fine furniture that stood in the best country houses in the Southwest of England.

Another of the travellers was Kathryn Colder; she was returning to her home in Tiverton, having just spent a month with her sister in Bristol. Kathryn was a plain and gentle soul with dark, short hair that was hidden under a broad-rimmed white hat. She lived with her ageing mother and was the youngest of three sisters.

Other travellers in the coach were Marcus Templar and his beautiful wife, Jane, who were on their way to Plymouth to catch a ship to India through the Royal Navy. Marcus had received a commission as the commander of the King’s Regiment in Bombay. The final passenger was one James Warren, who was a farmer from Cloys St Margret, just outside Exeter. He was just returning from a trip to the English Midlands, where he had recently attended a lecture at one of the universities on the best practices of animal husbandry. Warren was a red-faced jovial type of character who made conversation with all in the coach throughout the journey and had the habit of laughing loudly after making quick sound bites of humour.

Miss Colder, you say your mother’s maiden name was Rose? I had a close acquaintance who originated in the Tiverton area, and I am sure he would have known your mother. His name was Gillis. John Gillis, his father, was a well-known blacksmith in those parts, Warren proclaimed.

I am not sure he would have known her, sir, as she never came from the Tiverton area. She grew up in Barnstable and met my father at a local fair in North Devon. She spoke in a loud voice to talk over the noise of the carriage and horses.

North Devon, you say? We have family there, haven’t we, Jane? Marcus Templar said.

Yes, Marcus has a dear aunt there. Yes, a lovely area. Yes, a very lovely area, repeated Jane Templar.

I have a client in that area: Lord Butterfield of the Upton estate just outside Bideford. Do you know him, sir? Lang exclaimed.

No, I am not sure I do; however, my aunt may know the gentleman, as she knew many gentlefolk from that area back in her younger days and frequented many a ball, Marcus Templar replied.

After much small talk within the carriage, a silence fell. And thereafter, all that could be heard was the noise of the carriage wheels and horses’ hoofs. An hour went by, during which all the occupants inside took a catnap, as there was no chance of falling into any form of a deep sleep, not with the constant bumps and humps of the highway.

And then suddenly, out of the blue, there was a shriek from the horses and a shout from the coachman, who was perched on top of the carriage. Woo, ha, woo. With that, the coach came to a stop with a deafening silence. The first person to say anything was Warren, who asked, What stop is this?

Then, peeping through the coach blinds, Lang answered, It is no town or village; it’s pitch-black out there, except for the moonlight. With that, one of the coachmen opened the carriage door in haste. His face looked shocked and ghostly in the light of the coach lamps.

What is wrong, my dear fellow? asked Marcus Templar.

Sir, sir, a very strong light came straight at us and came so close that the bright light blinded me and old George and the horses, and then … and then … he repeated himself while still in a form of shock. It came so close that I could almost touch it, and then it went directly into the sky and stood still, and then there was no light! the terrified coachman exclaimed.

My dear man, it was probably the moon, as it is shining well tonight, Templar suggested.

Yes, yes, old chap, it must have been the moon you saw, Lang added.

No, no, sir, it was not the moon, not that bright and not so close, the coachman hastily insisted.

As he was finishing his sentence, a strange buzzing noise was coming towards the coach, and the horses started moving uneasily in their harnesses; then a strong light came into focus. As the light came closer, a beam of swirling red and blue light covered the whole of the coach and horses. And then the coach, occupants, and horses seemed to be sucked up into the sky as a lizard would catch a fly with its long tongue. After this unbelievable event, all that was left where the coach and horses had stood were the indentations of the horses’ hoofs, the carriage’s wheels, and the coachmen’s boots in the mud. A marked silence was in the air, besides the noises of an old owl and the distant call of a prowling fox. The moon was still shining its veil of silky light onto the frosty landscape as if nothing had happened. As far as any living mortal was aware, nothing had happened.

Chapter Two

Timeline 1966

T he sound of an overhead aircraft drowned out the conversation of three young boys, who were out walking across the fields. They were looking for birds nests near the housing estate where they lived. The year was 1966. It was a hot early-summer day.

Hey, Alfred, look at this one; I think it is a robin’s nest! shouted Collin.

Hang on, don’t touch the eggs; your fingers will fall off, or they will be all stiff with arthritis, said Paul.

Who told you that? exclaimed Alfred.

My dad said if you touch a robin’s egg, your fingers will fall off, Collin replied.

Never heard that one before. I know if you steal a swan’s egg, you will end up in jail, Paul confidently replied.

Yes, that’s true! Collin exclaimed. That is because it’s the queen’s bird and it’s protected.

Let’s have a look at that robin’s nest. It’s in that old can over there! Alfred shouted. He peeped into the large, rusty opening of the top of the can with one eye closed.

It’s no good. They have already hatched. She’s got young, and anyway, I would not have touched the eggs. I want to keep my fingers, Collin said.

The boys kept on walking and talking, throwing sticks that they came across into the hedge so as to spook birds that were sitting on their nests and make them reveal their nesting spots. Their voices could be heard many fields away.

Look over there! Paul shouted.

Where to? Collin replied.

Over there; it’s a skylark. She must have a nest nearby.

Yes! shouted Alfred. She must. Lie down flat so she can’t see us, and we will watch where she lands. I haven’t got a skylark’s egg.

Then all three boys lay on their backs looking up at the sky with pieces of long grass sticking out of their mouths while chewing at it. As they watched the little lark way up in the sky, they talked of the different things they could get up to while out in the fields.

Aye, said Alfred, why don’t we go bird batting tonight?

Collin, staring at Alfred, asked, What’s bird batting?

It’s when you try to hit birds with a cricket bat, said Paul.

No, it’s not, Alfred said and went on to explain it in detail. "Actually, it’s when you have a net fixed to a wooden frame made of tree branches that are hinged in the middle so you can close it. What we can do is, one night, one of us goes to one side of a hedge with a stick while the other two go on the other side of the hedge. One holds the framed net open, and the others stand behind the net and shine a torch at the net and the hedge. The one with the stick hits the hedge to spook the birds; they fly towards the light at the other side of