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Fifth Column
Fifth Column
Fifth Column
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Fifth Column

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An ancestor of a Council member dies and Jennifer is ordered to investigate, to find out who is targeting one of their own and set the Slipstream back on track. Encountering technology more advanced than their own, she is severely injured and arrives at home barely clinging to life. While she recovers, eighteen others are murdered, each connected to a member of Skylark, and making it clear that someone out there is trying to take them out, to erase them from history completely. Heading back into the Slipstream, it soon becomes apparent that they are facing a foe from their future, with intimate knowledge of everything they've ever done, and with a relentless drive to see their insidious plans come to fruition.Will she be able to save her coworkers, her own family, or will the forces from without as well as within, succeed and end Skylark's involvement in protecting the Slipstream forever?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherTimothy Ray
Release dateMay 16, 2019
ISBN9780463511404
Fifth Column
Author

Timothy Ray

Timothy Ray (1978-) was born in Tucson, Arizona, where he resides to this day. His family is from eastern Arizona, from Safford to Morenci, and he enjoys camping on Mt. Graham during the summer months. He attended Desert View High School, where he was inspired by an English teacher to explore his creative writing skills and work on his first novel; the Acquisition of Swords. He joined the Writer's Group under Mrs. Wakamatsu, and finished the rough draft of his first book in 1995.

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    Fifth Column - Timothy Ray

    Chapter 1

    I

    Jennifer stood next to the wooden fence on the edge of their property, fingers gripping the wood casually as her eyes roamed the bluish-red Martian sky. Phobos was lightly silhouetted and moving swiftly for the horizon, while Deimos had just begun his slower passage to her rear. Phobos, ever the runner, would likely lap her brother twice before Deimos finished his trek across the sky; the endless race of the Tortoise and the Hare. They weren’t spheres like the Earth’s moon, but they were what she’d been born to, and a clear reminder that she was home.

    Home.

    It had been taken from her more than once, altered by her enemies in a push for greed or power, it’s landscape changed so often that she had questioned which was truly the right one, but she knew that like a heart, its core had remained the same. She had sworn vows to protect the Slipstream, to preserve her world the best she could, and while she was confident that she’d done her best, she couldn’t help but feel weary to the bone by the amount of energy and time that it had consumed. It had swallowed most of her life, this crusade of hers, and she knew it was not done with her yet; the work unending.

    Their land stood on the edge of a plateau and she could see the lush valley below in its entirety. It stretched towards the city of Roddenberry on the north-western horizon, the already twinkling stars adding to the city’s beauty. They were far enough from the bustle of the major city to make her feel isolated, yet it was only a day’s travel if the situation called for it. Not that it mattered, she could Drift there instantly if she needed to. Yet, she liked the old-fashioned modes of travel, as it gave her time to think, to contemplate her life, and give her some much-needed peace and quiet.

    She had promised Blake she wouldn’t disappear to any more islands unless she took him with; her previous self-imposed exile taking a toll on her body that had taken more than a few months to recover from; all while carrying their daughter through the last months of pregnancy. To say that stressed him out was an overstatement. Not that seeing his eyes pop out of his head upon her return with her stomach starting to show hadn’t been a pleasing spectacle to behold though.

    After the attack two years before, Skylark had insisted on finding a remote part of the planet in which to establish a new facility and had disregarded her suggestions to do it beneath Mars’ ocean. They had argued that they wanted fresh air available, and not the claustrophobic bulkheads holding back certain death upon structural failure. Sounded like bullshit to her, they were probably just scared of the water, but she wasn’t in charge, so there really wasn’t anything she could do about it.

    Instead, they had found a remote spot east of the major cities and established a small community for those that worked there. Only those employed by Skylark were allowed within fifty miles of their new base, security measures having become so stringent that they were likened to religious cults of the past, rather than a scientific research facility. Which suited their needs just as well; the less anyone knew about what they were doing here, the better.

    A light breeze blew her raven-colored hair in her face, and she brushed it back behind her ears, as her ice blue eyes focused on the darkening sky and the setting sun. Her face had filled out some in the last couple of years, mostly due to Blake’s cooking; which forced her to spend an increased amount of time working out to keep in shape. She had her black trench coat on over a black shirt and jeans, her well insulated shoes pressing lightly into the soil beneath her.

    Her horse knickered on her right, but she didn’t glance at the mare. She was restless and didn’t like to be tied to the fence, but Jenn didn’t feel like having to chase her down if she got her dander up either; she could just suffer.

    Blake has arrived home, Kathryn told her, the A.I.’s stern voice sounding proper and to the point.

    Thank you, she answered, but stayed where she was, not ready to head back just yet.

    Since the community had been constructed from scratch, and finances were not really an issue, the employees had been given free reign over how they wanted their homes constructed. She was simplistic by nature and didn’t really care about those kinds of things, but Blake had insisted that their home be modeled after a ranch, symbolic of the home he’d been forced to leave behind. Though, she knew it had a lot more to do with the romantic dreams of the Wild West that he’d nurtured through his childhood; the center of Tucson where she’d found him were filled with rowhouses near the university campus, not a ranch on the fringes of the city. Blake was still trying to get her to go back to Tombstone, to finish what they’d started there, but they never seemed to get the time.

    She knew how ironic that sounded, even as she thought it.

    The only home she’d ever had before this was a virtual pocket of space in-between dimensions, and there hadn’t been an exterior to her old bunker. So, she hadn’t argued when he told the builders what to construct; eventually coming to enjoy the peacefulness that came with the wide-open spaces and open air.

    Blake has requested an open comm channel, Kathryn informed her.

    Before she could answer, his rough voice spilled forth through her inner ear canals and she winced. Jenn, the Council would like to speak with you. They wanted to buzz you directly, but I advised against it. I know how you can get.

    Didn’t stop you, though, did it? And next time, care to wait for me to answer you first?

    That’s so thoughtful of you. What would I ever do without you watching my back? she snarked out loud. Kat, lower the volume two decibels.

    Still too loud, huh? Or is it just the sound of my voice? Are you tired of hearing me already? I thought it would take a few more years of marriage for you to reach that point.

    She sighed, these upgraded nanites aren’t all that Pris made them out to be. And don’t be ridiculous. If I didn’t want to hear your voice, I would just hang up.

    Or find a deserted island three-thousand years in the past?

    Wow, we are never going to let that go, are we? she groaned, thinking how odd it was that he had said that after her recent musings and decided to shrug it off. That’s just how things were with them these days; the anticipation of each other’s thoughts and actions to the point of synchronicity.

    Nope.

    Figures.

    Pris had spent the last two years working with their tech guys to modify and upgrade their systems from the ground up. While some had been hits, others lacked feasibility outside the testing phase, the Vibbult constantly thinking outside the box but not really considering the practicality of what she created. Nor the ramifications if things didn’t go as planned, like with the usage of the nanites that had been injected into their bodies upon their employment. The things were useful, they made the toughest job bearable, but they also weren’t so easily discarded if they malfunctioned and could cause some serious havoc if they went haywire. Inside a living being wasn’t the best place to test out upgraded versions of them; one cadet had nearly died from the hiccups.

    She’s got another version of that armor for you to try out, Blake told her, and it sounded like he was grinning. Just another thing he was never going to let go of. Wants you to drop by after meeting with the Council.

    Stop smiling, you bastard.

    Well, if she hasn’t figured out how to get it to not fuse with a bulkhead when Drifted into, then I’m still not interested. Going into the battle at the Twin Towers, she had left the armor Pris had made her behind, only to find Blake waiting with it in hand when she Drifted into the North Tower. He had force it upon her, completely ignoring her disgruntled remarks, fearing that without it, she would succumb to a destiny foretold in an ancient video archive. It had all been for naught, as her fight on an airliner heading for one of the towers left it in pieces in the cargo hold, having lasted all of five minutes before becoming useless junk.

    He started chuckling. I’m going to feed Julie, she’s being fussy.

    She’s fussy because the rest of her teeth are coming in. Go with something soft, she advised, grabbing up her reins and moving to her saddle. Hitching her foot in her stirrup, she pulled herself up and looked at the glowing purple sunset wistfully. Then she slowly pulled her reins to the side, guided her mare around, and began riding towards the two-story house a mile to the east.

    They had gotten married shortly after their reunion two years before, her belly having already started to show, and his convictions firm that they do so before the baby was born; some old stigma or tradition spurring him forward. She had argued that this wasn’t the 20th Century, that those customs were outdated and no longer practiced; being a bastard was no longer a thing to be ridiculed over. Yet, he didn’t care for any of the reasonings behind her arguments, and in the end, she had given in simply because of how much it meant to him.

    She loved him, and if being married made him happy, so be it. She had never been in a relationship before, never had the time or inclination to pursue one, and still found herself fumbling around at times for the right things to do or say; something that she was sure would be a consistent part of their relationship, no matter how long they were together.

    Her simplistic views translated to her decorating habits as well. She had a room full of memorabilia she’d collected from the past, just as she did in her bunker, but had no real desire to decorate any other part of their house. She preferred grays, blacks, and whites instead of a more colorful pallet, which had more of an official or sterile environmental feel instead of the warmth of a home. Clinical, functional, organized; that was just how she liked things, and Blake had made more than one comment over the years that she was not a typical woman. She didn’t know what that meant, what these typical women did, but if that’s what he wanted, he had definitely hitched his wagon to the wrong horse.

    She heard a buzzing noise on her left and turned to see a hover bike zeroing in on her location, dust kicking up and creating a large cloud in its wake. Someone was in a hurry to get to her, and she suddenly wondered what the Council had wanted to talk to her about; if it were somehow connected. Didn’t they trust that Blake would pass on the message? How pressing was this, anyhow? If it was bad enough to send someone else personally, you’d think they’d chance opening a comm and talking to her directly.

    Kathryn, are my communications down? she asked needlessly, knowing that Blake wouldn’t have been able to contact her if they were, but still feeling the need to check.

    No.

    Okay then, she snarked in her head, fully aware that Kathryn could hear her retort. The nanites allowed communication between her and the A.I., which proved valuable in combat, but not in giving her any sense of privacy.

    She was about to ask if Kathryn knew who was in such a hurry to find her when she realized she didn’t really need to ask. The bike was quickly coming into focus and she recognized the design as something Pris had built for their resident synthetic. Her emotions simultaneously warred with each other, joy and irritation swelling together and fighting for dominance. The speed in which Weena was approaching would not be taken well by her horse, and as if to illustrate the point, Trae veered right and shook her head violently in protest and fear.

    Pulling up on her reins, she had her leg up and over the saddle as quickly as possible, and slid back onto solid ground, the horse pulling at her reins to be let go. Go home, she ordered the mare, then patted her on the rear, letting loose the reins. Trae immediately took her advice and sped off, leaving Jennifer there to wave the dirt out of her face and experiencing a brief coughing fit. The grass needed to come in a bit faster, it would lessen the amount of dirt she had to breathe in every time a storm came through.

    Weena had been impressed with the twentieth century motorcycles, and had wanted a Harley, but Pris refused to build one without putting her own touches on it, including a gravitational drive that let it float two feet off the ground rather than requiring wheels. The engine still ran, but it was more for effect and annoyance, as the growing roar announced Weena’s arrival with more fanfare than necessary.

    The motorbike came to a swift halt, dirt continuing past and striking her in a wave, which still assaulted her lungs despite her held breath. She coughed sporadically once more and scowled at the grinning synthetic, Weena’s eyes sparkling. This was the second body her former A.I. companion had taken, the first having sustained too much damage on that September day back in 2001 and requiring a replacement when her power systems began to fail. That she was alive at all was a miracle, and one that Jennifer tried to remind herself of as she walked towards the humming bike.

    Crimson hair drifted into Weena’s face, obscuring her bright green eyes and her round cheeks and face, giving her more of a child-like look rather than an adult. Which was appropriate, when you realized she’d only had a body for two years. Though, the overly large breasts protruding beneath the black shirt and biker jacket ruined that image instantly; she’d insisted Pris give her the most exaggerated proportions possible.

    Weena had always been annoying interested in sex, long before she had a body to explore it, and constantly complained about Jennifer’s lack of sex life. Ever since she’d been given the freedom to pursue it on her own, she’d tirelessly worked her way through the company roster, much to the dismay of the Council and almost getting Weena deactivated as a result. Still didn’t seem to deter the feisty woman though, and only the love and respect they engendered had probably kept Weena from seeking out Blake as another notch on her belt.

    Weena’s black boot hit a gear, making the bike idle even quieter, the blue jeans dispersing bits of dirt with the sudden movement. Hey girl! her higher voice trilled, and Jennifer couldn’t help but smile.

    What the hell are you doing out here? Couldn’t wait for me to get back to the house? You nearly got me bucked off my horse! she jeered. She was trying to sound light, but she was completely serious, it had happened more than once, and she did not want a repeat performance; she’d nearly shattered her tailbone the last time.

    That’s what you get for riding one of those things instead of Lucy here.

    You named your bike Lucy? she returned with a raised eyebrow. Really? It’s just a bike.

    Don’t listen to her, baby, Weena whispered in a comforting tone, her hand rubbing on where the gas tank should have been and was probably nothing but an empty shell of metal there for cosmetic affect and nothing more.

    I’m not, the bike’s speakers suddenly blurted, giving Jennifer a start and causing her companion to cackle with laughter.

    That’s just wrong, she swore, shaking her head. And I’ve yet to hear an answer to my original question.

    Weena brushed her hair out of her face and cocked her head. The Council is looking for you, it’s apparently urgent. I thought I’d come out and collect you myself.

    No, you wanted to take your bike for a spin and used this as an excuse to do it, just so you could show off. You, or they, could have easily gotten ahold of me at any time, and I would have Drifted there instantly. And just to be clear, I’m not riding that thing back to base.

    Weena’s grin widened. Where’s the fun in that?

    She rolled her eyes. It’s just not happening. I’ll Drift my way there, and you can catch up on your own time.

    No need, Weena responded, hopping off her bike. Lucy, head on back. I’ll catch up with you later.

    Your loss, the bike responded, immediately cycling up and taking off, kicking up more dirt in the process.

    That’s great, more of a smartass than you. Wonderful. Thanks for that. You and Pris sure know how to write them.

    We do, don’t we? Weena responded playfully, then patted her on the shoulder. Shall we?

    She sighed heavily, Kathryn, Drift to my office in five.

    Yes Ma’am.

    What’s with this Ma’am shit?

    She didn’t get the chance for an answer as her world shifted around her, doubling her vision as one world disappeared, and another came into existence around her, Weena right at her side.

    II

    Her office was as sparsely decorated as her house, with only one framed poster on the wall behind her, the UFO hovering in the sky and the words I want to believe scrawled across the bottom. She had always been partial to the poster, despite the inaccuracy of the craft itself, and couldn’t help but put one in her office. Blake chuckled whenever he looked at it, shaking his head; the inside joke not lost on him.

    Her desk was covered in folders, which was hilarious when considering the node overhead could pull up her computer interface with but a wave of a hand, everything she ever needed available with the touch of a fingertip. Unfortunately, some of the old-timers were still partial to paperwork, and it was not something she was comfortable doing, hence the incomplete mounds of thin papyrus before her. Paranoia about lost records, in the world of time travel, was beyond ridiculous.

    Weena put her hand on the desk and scowled at the mess. I could take care of this for you in an hour. I was there for half of these and already filed my reports.

    Yeah, no, she shook her head. I can handle it myself. I may not have a processor that will instantaneously do the work for me, but I’m also not a shirker of my responsibilities—I’ll take care of it.

    Okay, sheesh. I was only offering to help. I know my goddaughter can be a bit of a handful, I thought I’d try to alleviate part of the load, Weena grinned. She had done her share of babysitting over the last year, as both Jennifer and Blake had been busy training a new crop of recruits and had very little of down time between shifts. If Jennifer had any doubts over the woman’s self-awareness, it had been dispelled by the show of love the synthetic showed their daughter.

    She walked to the corner and slid her trench coat off, then hung it on one of the silver handles with a bit of regret. Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to having to split in an instant, to have everything she needed on her at all times, and it went against the grain to hang her coat up. Yet, she couldn’t just take off like that anymore. She had roots, and they’d firmly grounded her in place, clipping her wings like nothing in her life ever had.

    So, what’s so important? she asked, adjusting the neckline of her black polo shirt as she walked back to her desk. With a touch of a button on her tablet, the polarized windows became transparent, allowing the rest of the office to come into view, and announcing her presence to the rest of the staff should they care to look in her direction.

    The circular platform that formed the heart of this portion of the complex was three feet lower than the outer ring, with two steps leading down from the four points of a compass. Two desks were stationed in the center, which controlled the three-hundred and sixty-degree video display eight-feet off the floor, displaying mission statuses in real time. The video monitor ran the last seven feet to the smooth gray colored roof, with no hint of how it was supported in sight. She was glad she had been on mission the day they had to put that thing in, and never asked for specifics of how it’d gotten done.

    There were seven other offices on the outer ring, as well as four hallways leading to various portions of the complex, dark-gray walls and charcoal trim contrasting greatly with the pale-white flooring; making it obvious that Blake hadn’t been the one to choose the color scheme. He’d probably have made it dark red, some beige tone, and snowy white; colors she had never really been fond of herself.

    The other offices were dark, the desks in the command center abandoned, and it looked like whatever meeting was being held was not intended for anyone else.

    That was disconcerting.

    I can’t tell you.

    You can’t, or you won’t? she returned quickly, then shook her head, never mind. I’ll just find out myself. Taking her tablet in hand, she walked to the door, pulled it open quickly, then gave Weena one last glance, maybe best you stay behind. Rylos is still a little sore over that incident last week, and I really don’t need you riling him up any more than you already have.

    Weena gave her a wide-eyed incredulous look, what are you talking about? I hardly touched the man!

    On the crotch? You somehow thought it was okay to grab him and ask him how it was hanging? What came over you? Wait, forget I asked. Point is, you should stay here. You probably know what’s going on anyways, and if I need you, I’ll come find you after.

    With that, she shut the door on the blanching synthetic, pretending to be shocked, and went to find out what was going on. She rarely got a day off, her work never finished, so this had better be pretty damned important if they were about to take that away from her as well.

    Chapter 2

    I

    She let the door drift open slowly, kept her hand on the frame, and peered into the Council chambers, eyes gauging the seriousness of the situation. She was hoping to get the temperature of the room before stepping in, in order to better prepare herself, and felt a cold breeze brush past her cheeks; it was going to be one of those meetings. She felt like she’d been called to the Principal’s office, and quietly stepped in and shut the door behind her.

    Rylos was sitting stiffly in his chair and as he turned to look at her, she couldn’t help but feel his hardened eyes run up and down her body, criticizing everything he saw. Judging by the glare she was getting from his frigid amber eyes, something was definitely up. The older man was in his forties, had streaks of gray in his jet-black hair, a short-trimmed moustache, and a black suit, freshly cleaned and pressed. Their eyes locked and she felt a slight pang of guilt, despite having done nothing wrong. Took you long enough, he growled at her in his typical nasty fashion.

    If you wanted me here faster, you should have contacted me directly, she returned, taking her place before the circular table, the other four members of the Council breaking off from their own conversations to glance her way.

    Randy was sitting on the right next to Kuse, his wide shoulders angled, the white t-shirt stretched against his muscled frame. He had dark skin, green eyes, and short black hair. His hand had been stroking his goatee as he spoke to the fair-skinned Asian woman on his left, her own raven hair long about her shoulders and nearly hiding her thin face. Blue assessing eyes fixed on her, the navy suit the woman was wearing complimenting their depths.

    Sitting to the right of Rylos were Sven and Veronica, the older man’s blonde hair nearly as white as the woman sitting next to him, his beard neatly trimmed and eyebrows bushy. He had on a brown vest over a lighter brown shirt, and a large mug was gripped firmly in his ring covered hands. Veronica’s white blouse was slightly wrinkled, though pure as snow, and the wrinkles smoothed out as the woman’s smile beamed up at her briefly, then faltered back to grim. She had short blond hair, pulled back behind her ears, and green eyes looked at her with compassion; one of the only true friends she had on the Council.

    Didn’t want to take a chance our communications would be intercepted, Randy told her, cutting Rylos off before he could snap back.

    She couldn’t think of a response. Intercepted? By whom? I’ve never heard of our network being compromised, she managed after a brief pause. If they have access to that, would that not also give them full access to our thoughts? I’m not a techie, so I may be way off the mark here, but judging by your faces, I don’t think that I am.

    Rylos folded his hands and leaned forward, taking the lead in the conversation and giving Randy a dirty look for breaking his momentum. We don’t know anything at this point. It’s pure conjecture. I’m satisfied that our network is secure, but after Signex, we don’t leave much to chance, now do we?

    Formal response cutting off any serious inquiry. Fine. Why am I here? If this has to do with Weena—, she broke off. She knew it had nothing to do with her best friend. It was a shot at wiping that look of satisfaction off Rylos’s face, and it worked perfectly. His smirk slipped slightly, and his brow began drawing inward.

    Veronica coughed, trying to hide a smile of her own. The recent debacle between our synthetic agent and Councilman Rylos is not why you’ve been called here. Though, that will be a topic in the future. She tapped the display on the tabletop before her and the fourth-dimensional interface came into existence, the node overhead projecting it in a sphere around them. We detected a small Rift in 2032, location: Kansas City, Missouri. The waves were very slight, almost not enough to be picked up, and we wouldn’t have known about it if the aforementioned synthetic hadn’t been monitoring the system at that particular moment.

    "I’m familiar

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