THE TEMPONAUTS: A Science Fiction-Novel

By Ronald M. Hahn and Harald Pusch

1887: Adventurers from all over the world sell all their property, buy equipment and provisions and cross the Chilcoot pass in hope of finding gold at the Klondike. But not all of them are what they seem to. In fact, some have spent a fortune for the adventure of their lifetime. They are Temponauts, tourists from a future where Alaska at the time of the gold rush has become the romantically glorified hit of a time travelling agency. But there's a catch: Temponauts may not alter the past, lest they jeopardize their own future.

Temponaut Nick Scott is well on his way to break all rules of time tourism. He has lost his memory, forgot his origin and is chased by mysterious enemies without knowing why. He meets Constance, a woman from the future who has known him well there. Together they search for the last remaining time gate and can only hope that their future world still exists.

Ronald M. Hahn - seven times winner of the Kurd Lasswitz-Preis, the most prestigious German science fiction award - and Harald Pusch tell a gripping adventure yarn set against the background of Jack London's gold digger world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookRix
• Release date: Aug 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9783739666563

Book preview

The Book

1887: Adventurers from all over the world sell all their property, buy equipment and provisions and cross the Chilcoot pass in hope of finding gold at the Klondike. But not all of them are what they seem to. In fact, some have spent a fortune for the adventure of their lifetime. They are Temponauts, tourists from a future where Alaska at the time of the gold rush has become the romantically

glorified hit of a time travelling agency. But there's a catch: Temponauts may not alter the past, lest they jeopardize their own future.

Temponaut Nick Scott is well on his way to break all rules of time tourism. He has lost his memory, forgot his origin and is chased by mysterious enemies without knowing why. He meets Constance, a woman from the future who has known him well there. Together they search for the last remaining time gate and can only hope that their future world still exists.

Ronald M. Hahn - seven times winner of the Kurd Lasswitz-Preis, the most prestigious German science fiction award - and Harald Pusch tell a gripping adventure yarn set against the background of Jack London's gold digger world.

This novel is based on Jack London’s short story

The Sun-Dog Trail

(Harper’s Monthly, 1905)

„All my life", he said, „I have searched

for the treasure. I have sought it in the high

places, and in the narrow. I have

sought it in deep jungles, and at the ends

of rivers, and in dark caverns – and yet

have not found it.

„Instead, at the end of every trail,

I have found you awaiting me. And now

you have become familiar to

me, though I cannot say I know you well.

Who are you?"

And the stranger answered: „Thyself."

- From an old tale

FINAL BRIEFING

Your name is now Nicholas Scott.

You have a perfect history.

If someone should address you by your real name, do not react.

If someone should give the impression of knowing you, do not deny this outright. But do not go into the matter too deeply. Stay non-committal. At all costs avoid intimate contacts. The danger of entering into emotional commitments is too great.

Do not talk about things which are not present in your immediate surroundings.

Avoid discussing books you have read and films you have seen. Do not sing.

Do not engage in serious discussions.

Do not talk politics.

Do not let anyone realize how much you really know.

Admit only in the direst emergencies that you speak foreign languages. Do not arouse suspicion with undue correctness.

If you come across familiar faces, go out of your way to avoid them.

Under no circumstances associate with historical figures.

Is everything clear?

Is everything clear?

ENTRY

As the tip of the needle penetrated his vein, he was filled with an inner warmth. It swelled into heat, the heat he had experienced in a calcium injection.

Numerical symbols.

Shifting ground.

He could not shake off the feeling that there was something wrong with his eyes.

Hey, old chap, he told himself, it’ll soon be over. There is just the entry, the entry to…

Or the exit.

It depended on how you looked at it.

The man... There had been a man there a moment ago. A man bending over him.

It’ll be O.K., he thought, you’ll see. They’ll manage it. They’ll pull it off. They’re experts. They’re not doin’ it for the first time. Those guys’ll pull it off all right. No problems.

The gentle tingling in his veins increased, grew stronger, stronger still, overwhelmingly strong, huge, cruel, painful.

That was the way.

They’ll pull it off.

The ground stopped shifting. Heat gave way to coolness.

There was a wind blowing.

From far off: the murmur of voices.

Frost and fire. He was burning and freezing.

And then: INSIDE.

Inside!

That was when he knew that something had gone wrong.

OCTOBER 1897

Leaving the Chilcoot Pass behind them, they had found their way through the chain of lakes and across Lake Linderman and came on through the Yukon to within striking distance of Dawson. Cody had been the first to give in. His weak ticket collector’s heart stopped beating when the winter took them by surprise and the snow fell so thick and so steadily that nobody could see his hand in front of his eyes, while the camps of those who had already been here some time grew more and more numerous.

Hellman, who had cleared out of San Francisco because he thought the child his wife had given birth to was not his, was the one to suggest that the others should forget their hunger for gold for a while and take a break, in order to bury Cody under the snow and fashion a thin cross of spruce twigs.

The ceremony did not last long. Ten minutes later Devereaux, who had taken the opportunity to unharness Cody’s dogs, drove the animals together. Gorsky, the narrow-chested, tuberculous Russian who had been carried on from the Bering Strait into the Gulf of Alaska, cast a brief glance at the dead man’s equipment and said, „What do we do with it?" He had a harsh accent, which not everyone understood.

Hellman said: „No-one can drive two sleds at once."

„We should divide up the things among us, proposed Devereaux with a shrug of his shoulders. „I think we can all do with a bit of them.

„Hm", was Hellman’s comment.

„He no had luck, said Gorsky. „So short way to go. He looked sad.

Devereaux’ gaunt face tautened. He stood on tiptoe and said: „A few minutes more – and he would have been able to see Dawson."

The others were silent. Hellman took on the job of dividing up Cody’s property. Gorsky got two of his dogs, as he had lost one on the way and another of his animals was lame. Devereaux got two as well: his team had always been too weak to pull the loads the North-West Police imposed on all gold-seekers wishing to enter the Klondike territory.

Hellman, whose soft heart had too often talked him into giving away his own supplies to men who had run short of food on the trail, received the lion’s share. Nobody raised any objection.

Nick got a sled dog, Cody’s cooking gear and the rest of his equipment.

During the whole procedure he said not a word. He just stood there, looked at his boot caps and asked himself if it had not been a mistake to head north.

In contrast to the other men, the gold finds made up here left him strangely cold. What am I doing here? he asked himself. What devil has got into me, for me to cut and run like this? He had not the slightest motive for being here.

While the other men dealt out Cody’s goods, he watched passively. Devereaux, struck by Nick’s strange indifference, doubtless shared his puzzlement. Nick was no great talker. Although he obviously had an American accent, he sometimes came up with words which made it sound as if he had been brought up in another language. Devereaux had seen that he kept a diary, on the evenings when he didn’t fall straight onto his bed exhausted. And now and again, when he thought himself alone, he talked to himself and used expressions which neither he nor the others were familiar with. Nick for him was somebody out of the ordinary; he was a journalist, writing for a paper. He was often absent-minded, and when spoken to he always seemed to be coming out of a deep daydream.

Hellman, the only one of them to have benefited from a certain degree of education, was of the opinion that one could tell Nick’s occupation just from his language: „He talks like a book."

At that, Gorsky had only nodded. Such concepts meant nothing to him, for he could neither read nor write. Anyway, he could think of nothing more desirable than speaking the English language as fluently as the taciturn stranger who had joined them outside Fort Selkirk.

Eleven miles separated Cody’s grave from Dawson City, a town pulsing with life which had brought together from all corners of the world men who were getting ready to strike it rich in the northern cold. The narrow streets of the town were overflowing with life; from the bars and amusement halls which had shot up like mushrooms rang laughter and raucous voices. In the gambling dens the roulette wheels turned incessantly.

Prices had risen to astronomical heights. Anyone with enough supplies of food to last out the long Arctic winter could make them worth their weight in gold dust on the spot. The first finds had made a few dozen men into multimillionaires and turned a few hundred others into wealthy individuals.

Once in town, Gorsky was the first to leave the group. He wanted to meet a fellow-countryman who had crossed the pass a good half year earlier and had written to tell him that there were good pickings for him too. Despite his poor command of the language, Gorsky planned to keep a look-out for his acquaintance among the over twenty thousand gold diggers thronging the town. As he went, he shook the others’ hands, slapped Nick on the shoulder and said to Hellman: „Good luck, you people. Was much happy, travel with you. Good comrade, all."

Hellman waved after him. Devereaux gave a friendly grin. Nick gazed at the departing Russian with a pensive look in his eyes.

„A penny for your thoughts", said Devereaux.

Nick smiled.

„I’ve just remembered a song", he said.

„A song? Devereaux raised his eyebrows quizzically. „In these surroundings you think of a song? He shook his head, baffled. „Look at this town! Look at the lights, the life, the present! We have made it, Nick, and hundreds of others have fallen out along the way."

„I was surprised myself", said Nick.

„What’s it called?" asked Hellman. He looked tired, with his red-rimmed eyes and a beard which had put ten years on him.

Nick shrugged his shoulders. „I don’t know." He dropped his gaze as if he had been caught red-handed.

„Then sing it to us, said Devereaux. „I like songs.

Nick pursed his tips, as if to whistle the song. Then he looked round, gave an embarrassing grin, pulled his mittens off and lit a cigarette.

Devereaux looked at Hellman gleefully.

„Let’s find somewhere to put the dogs", said Hellman, intervening. And turning to Nick, he added: „Dumb idea. You wouldn’t find me standing in the middle of the main street singing a song, either."

The price charged by the kennel owner for looking after the huskies was almost as high as for a night in a San Francisco hotel. In a town like Dawson, which currently had more millionaires knocking about in it than anywhere else in the world, no-one seemed to be surprised at that.

Hellman, who had the least ready cash, saw no other way of getting solvent again but selling one of his animals.

Fortunately the hardy sled dogs seemed to be as keenly sought after as gold in these parts. The price obtained would certainly be enough to free him from all worries for weeks to come.

Night was already drawing on as they seated themselves in the taproom of the ‘Eldorado’ in the midst of all manner of adventurous-looking figures; ignoring the stinking cigar smoke, the infernal noise and the discords produced by a drunken pianist, they enjoyed the meal they had been looking forward to for weeks. Some joker had hung a notice by the piano, which said PLEASE DO NOT SHOOT THE PIANIST – HE IS DOING HIS BEST! On stage, an unmistakably American female trio were endeavouring to disguise their nasal Tennessee dialect with a thick layer of French accent.

The hungry men who had spent months on their claims before coming into town to have a good time, acclaimed them as if they had come straight from the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

The gold-diggers did not ask much. The months of hard work had ground them down and tired them out; that was the only reason why they abandoned themselves to cheap pleasures. Some of them drank so much on this evening that they fell down and took whole tables with them. But so long as they paid their date and the bags of gold dust in front of them were not empty, no-one would take them by the collar and turn them out into the cold. They might be ragged, with unkempt beards, but between them they had more gold at their disposal than the owner of the ‘Eldorado’ kept in his safe.

Around midnight, as the crescendo of noise reached its climax, Devereaux laid aside his eating irons, lit his Meerschaum pipe and leant back. He fixed his ice-gray eyes on Nick. After looking at him for a long while he said: „You were going to sing us a song, weren’t you?"

Hellman pushed back his chair, gestured with evident unease at the screeching can-can dancers doing their stuff on the stage and said: „I’m tired. I’m going to hit the sack. Good night."

„Take care", said Devereaux. He blew out a thick cloud of smoke. Then his eyes fell upon Nick again.

„You’re not quite happy about me, are you?" asked Nick.

Before Devereaux could object, he went on: „I’ve noticed you watching me."

Devereaux raised a hand in protest.

„Listen, Nick..."

„All right, Frank, take it easy, said Nick. „It’s just that I...

„...I wouldn’t like you to think I..."

„It’s just, broke in Nick, „that I can quite understand you. I mean... You’ve got good reason to watch me. I can see that I...

Nick shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, searched for words. „I know I behave... strangely. But I can tell you the reason for that. He looked at Devereaux. „I seriously wonder what I’m doing here at all.

Devereaux looked up in surprise.

„You wonder what you’re doing here? He took his pipe out of his mouth. „Say, have I understood you correctly?

„Absolutely."

„Yes... well... I..." Devereaux seemed rather at a loss, and no wonder. He was here for the gold. So