Fugitive from Time

by Philip E. High

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

He thought he knew himself, his strength, weaknesses and limitations. A frightening encounter with two muggers, however, changed everything. He had knowledge which he had no conscious memory of learning. He had faculties which he had never known he possessed. He had memories beyond those of normal life. A life in which he had a different name. He could not remember everything but he knew some dreadful alien creatures were hunting him. With his wakening memory, he knew also that the aliens would be able to detect him once more. There was nothing left but flight. In this fast-moving science fiction novel, follow the fugitive across the universe to final confrontation with the aliens.

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 185

Sample

There comes a time in a man’s life when he faces the inevitable. A time when all prior experience must be put aside and new decisions taken.

I knew, as soon as I saw the two men that my time had come now. I instantly regretted that it was late, that I had chosen the subway and that they effectively barred the exit.

I am of average height but small-boned and lightly built. I have always deplored violence, feared physical pain and have developed a variety of techniques for avoiding both. I suppose I have a certain charm and a quick wit, for, until this moment, I had always succeeded in talking my way out of tough situations.

I was not going to talk my way out of this one. The two men, as far as I was concerned, could well have carried large notices bearing the word “MUGGERS.” One was tall, thin, sneery and unshaven, the other, squat, broad-shouldered and pimply. His straw-coloured hair looked as if someone had gone over it with a lawn mower – I suppose you could call it a rugged crew-cut.

They were conferring in low voices and, every so often, they glanced sideways and furtively in my direction. I suppose they were figuring how much I carried.

They finally appeared to come to a decision. The tall one produced a cigarette which he lit with an elaborate flourish and they both turned in my direction.

I was aware of a ball of tightness in my stomach and that my entire body was shivering, but I did not look for a way of escape. I had already looked and there wasn’t one.

I knew it was no good praying for a train, the next was not due for twenty minutes.

As they walked towards me, I knew that these two were real muggers. It would be no good throwing my watch, wallet and loose change on the platform before them. Giving me a ‘going over’ was going to be part of the fun for them both.

The tall one had lowered his eyelids slightly to give a hooded effect. He must have seen it in a film some place and had, no doubt, practised assiduously. The overall effect, however, was a pronounced squint.

‘Crew-cut’ looked blandly vacant but his clenched hands were huge and red and bedecked with metal rings.

I suppose I was on the point of screaming but my lungs seemed frozen and I couldn’t get enough air. My heart, for its own part, seemed to be making desperate efforts to get out of my chest before anything happened. It was so damn loud that, later, I wondered if it had taken a run up to my ears to see if there was a way out there.

The tall mugger jetted blue smoke through his nostrils and stopped in front of me.

“No trouble, mister, eh?” His eyes were as hard and cold as polished black buttons.

It was then that something odd happened inside my head. I can’t quite describe it but it was just as if sheer terror had overloaded a circuit in my mind. A fuse blew and all my terror ran out through the hole it left. I can’t put it any other way, something went phut inside me and that was it.

I had always been an arrant physical coward but now I was calm, cool and quite without fear.

Stranger still, I knew nothing about fighting – aside from mayhem on television – but now I knew exactly how to take these two punks.

The tall one extended a large grubby hand.

“Give,” he said, harshly.

I took his hand and pulled – there’s a knack in this. One has to pull, snap down and twist at the same time.

There was a couple of muffled snapping sounds, he screamed hoarsely and began to fall forward. I brought my knee up as he fell and there was another snap.

He fell on his face and didn’t move.

‘Crew-cut’ looked stupidly startled but his reflexes took over before his brain. The be-ringed hand came up towards me like an armoured ham.

Something else seemed to have happened to me in my sudden change. It appeared that ‘Crew-cut’ had been taking lessons in slow-motion attack or my own senses had been speeded up far above normal.

The fist seemed to come up at me with ludicrous slowness. It came so slowly that I had time to set myself without undue haste.

I caught the wrist, and utilising the force of the intended blow, simply pulled.

‘Crew-cut’s’ feet came off the ground and he rose in the air, arms outstretched, as if flying. He may have been a supreme mugger but no one had taught him how to break a fall. Despite his outstretched hands, his face hit the platform first. He slithered perhaps three feet on it, leaving a red smear, before the rest of his body landed heavily and awkwardly.

He let out a wheezing sort of gasp and rolled over twice. He didn’t exactly spring to his feet. He staggered up wheezing as if bearing a huge unseen weight on his shoulders.

He lisped; “You bathard!” exhaling a faint haze of red vapour.

I noticed that his nose was flattened and two upper front teeth were broken.

He hunched his shoulders as if to charge but I was close to him and hit him before he had time to co-ordinate.

I knew – without knowing how I knew – exactly where to hit him and at what angle.

He sighed in an oddly surprised way, then crumpled as if suddenly boneless. Again I knew, without knowing how, that he would be out for at least four hours. Further, he wouldn’t be much good for sustained exertion for at least three months.

I turned towards the exit and, as I did so, I thought I saw someone disappear into it ahead of me. I sprinted, I didn’t want the police in on this with a lot of questions which I was in no position to answer. Maybe I could stop a possible witness and by charm, logic, bribery or force, shut him up.

When I reached the exit, however, and looked up the long escalator, there was no one in sight.

I figured it must have been a trick of the light. No one could go up an escalator that fast except, perhaps, myself. Where the hell had I found that sudden unnatural speed?

I let the escalator carry me upwards, my mind in a turmoil. At the top, I sat down on one of the public seats provided and tried to think. As far as my feelings went, I still deplored violence and I could think of no source for my fighting knowledge. Stranger still, there was no feeling of triumph or achievement and I knew there should be. After all – I have always tried to be honest with myself. – I was a coward. I had been a natural target for bullies ever since my school days. Hence my adroitness in talking my way out of trouble in later life.

I probed myself mentally again. After all I had stood up to, and defeated, two hard cases single handed. My mental probe shocked me. The only reaction was faint shame. It had been a push-over, the two guys might have been set up for me. Somehow it had all been too easy.

A question arose in my mind. Too easy for the man I had been or the man I became when something blew in my mind?

Suddenly the hundred and one unanswered questions which the thought brought up seemed too much for me. I thought ‘to hell with it.’ Almost I began to wish they had beaten me up, at least, on regaining consciousness, it would be in the same comforting world.

I should be the same, feel normal and have only physical pain to deal with. I thought angrily that it was a hell of a world. Briefly and with uncharacteristic force, I wished myself elsewhere. After all, who the hell wanted to live the rest of life under a burden of heavy, frightening question marks?

I swore for a long time under my breath. I swore in English, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian and finally in German.

German is an excellent language to swear in and, somehow, the final words seemed to relieve my tension. My natural tendency to push away the unpleasant took over and I rose and lit a cigarette. To hell with it, worry was no answer.

I strolled out of the station, determined to let things work themselves out in their own way. There was, of course, no guarantee that they would, but, as far as I could see, there was damn all I could do about it.

I glanced at my watch, it was three in the morning and, like all big cities, there were still people around. Traffic still flowed through the streets and lights blazed from the windows of the big stores.

I was used to late hours; I was a cook in a restaurant which closed its door around midnight. I must confess here I was also a semi-drop-out. I had acquired various degrees at university but I detested the rat race. The dangling carrot of an executive position with its subsequent decoration of ulcers was just not for me. I hated working under pressure and even more under supervision.

I realised I had walked a fair distance while lost in thought and turned to go back. I paused to light a cigarette, then stopped, puzzled.

Parked under a street lamp just in front of me was a large white car. I must explain here that car-spotting is one of my hobbies and I eat motor magazines for breakfast. I pride myself I can spot any car on the road, local or foreign and identify it. In many cases, I can quote price, maximum speed and average fuel consumption.

This car was obviously a Mercedes, the price of which would have placed it among the day dreams of the average wage-earner. One thing about the vehicle worried me, there was a four pointed star on the back. I am quite sure there is not a car-spotter living who is not familiar with the three pointed star of the German manufacturers.

As I was thinking about it a policeman strolled past, alert but outwardly at ease and I got another shock. The man’s uniform had green piping and the shoulders sprouted small scarlet epaulettes.

I stared after him, suddenly uneasy and vaguely frightened. I knew there was no change in the official uniform. I had exchanged pleasantries with our local cop outside the restaurant barely three hours ago.

I decided I had better get back and get some sleep, perhaps I was over-tired or something.

I quickened my pace but before I had covered half a mile, I became uneasily aware that someone was following me. Every so often, I caught reflections in shop windows of a tall man in a shabby raincoat close behind me. When I turned quickly, however, there was no sign of him.

I turned into an all-night coffee bar on impulse. If he was on my tail, he would have to follow me in or watch through the window. In any case, there might be another way out.

“Black or white?” The sour-face man behind the counter sounded aggressive from habit.

“White, please.”

He sloshed it into the cup. “That’ll be nine.”

I gave him a ten and he scowled.

“What do you think I am – stupid or something?” He pushed the coin aside. “That’s foreign money.”

I stared at him blankly, totally at a loss; the coin looked perfectly good to me.

“Some trouble?” enquired a slightly hoarse but cultured voice.

I turned. I recognised the shabby raincoat instantly. The man was tall and had a scarred face. The eyes were blue, highly intelligent but the nose was bent as if it had been broken some time.

He repeated his question.

“This character tried to feed me a foreign coin,” said Sour Face. “Not that it’s any damn business of yours,” he added ungraciously.

The tall man smiled. “Take care of it?” He tossed another coin on the counter beside my own.

I looked at it and felt a chill inside me. This coin was not only square, it was bright green.

The man held out his hand. “The name is Endersen, Paul Endersen.”

I shook the proffered hand warily and without enthusiasm.

“You’ve been following me.”

“Correct.” He grinned. “No hostile intent I assure you. Given time, I can explain a great deal.” He glanced at his watch. “We have three hours, ample time for a meal. If you’ll be kind enough to find us an empty table, I’ll lay on some sandwiches.”

A few moments later, he joined me at a corner table with a mountain of sandwiches.

He saw my expression and grinned. “Force yourself, where we’re going, food is in short supply.”

“Who said I was going anywhere?”

His face sobered. “No-one will force you but circumstances might.” He helped himself to a sandwich and began to eat it.

“Mind turning out some of your loose change?”

I felt in my pocket and spread some coins on the table. “Yes, what the hell was the matter with that ten?”

He looked at me intently. “Frankly, nothing. Right coins, wrong time-track.”

I said; “Eh?” stupidly.

“Stop and think, Mr –”

“Lancing, David Lancing.”

“Right, David. You stopped and looked at the Mercedes. Your eyes nearly popped when you noticed the cop and the money is not the same. Look around for a minute before you say anything.”

I did so. At a nearby table a man was reading a paper but the print instead of being black was bright green. On the table beside him was a bottle of winiger – winiger? I began to feel distinctly uneasy.

Endersen seemed to sense my unease. “Yes, almost the same world but not quite. An adjacent time-track almost similar yet distinctive from your own. If you went to your place of employment now, you would be unable to find it nor any of your friends. As far as you are concerned at this moment, you are in different although parallel civilization. Here, history is different, achievement in some fields ahead or behind your own, and nothing is quite the same.”

“How the hell did I get here?” I asked belligerently although inside me. . .