Do the Time Warp
<center>Do the Time Warp</center>
Chapter 1
“Time Slot”
By
Brenna Dawkins
Mon*Star was in a dark mood. He leaned back in his multi- armed throne, contemplating current events. For every step forward he seemed to take, he was shoved two steps backward. The Silverhawks seemed to thwart him at every turn despite his best efforts. The frown deepened and his eye slid towards the corridor where the Mob’s personal quarters were. When he first escaped that god awful Penal Planet, he had thought he would dive on Limbo Galaxy like a huge, red bird of prey, hungry and ready to take on anything. But the Silverhawks proved to be more than he had ever bargained for and it rankled him that such puny beings from such a backwater planet like Earth could foil his best schemes. If only he could get them where it hurts.
“Oh, sorry, Boss. You probably want to be alone, huh?” Yes-man groveled at the base of the throne steps.
Jolted from his dark reverie, Mon*Star glared in annoyance at a quivering green, snake-like alien.
“What the hell do you want? Sometimes just the very sight of you makes me sick,” Mon*Star growled.
“Yes, Boss. Right as always. Um . . . I’ll come back later if you want . . . when you’re in a better mood.”
“The only thing that will brighten up my mood is the utter destruction of those annoying aluminum fleas that are lead by that frumpy old bastard who thinks he’s such the hero!”
Yes-man let Mon*Star rave on. He was long used to these tirades and he was quite prepared to listen to his master carry well on into the night. It was his best survival skill. He bowed and nodded.
“Old bald guy, yes, Boss. Why you’re much older than him and you still have all your hair!”
“Got that right!” Mon*Star ran a clawed hand through his unmanageable red and black mane, “So, come on, Yes-man, deliver what you got. I don’t shoot the messenger . . . usually.” He added menacingly and his eye patch glowed with red warning.
Yes-man gulped and relayed his message in a rush, “Hardware has finished the inventory on that space freighter we stole a couple days ago. Says he found something quite interesting and you might want to look at it.”
“I’ll decide what I’ll be interested in.” Mon*Star then sighed, “But I’ll go anyway.” This had better be good, he thought to himself as he rose and leapt to the floor from his throne.
“Paperwork, Hardware?” Melodia piped up worriedly, “You called Mon*Star down for paperwork? He’s not gonna be pleased.”
Hardware glanced up at the towering space punker and shrugged.
“You could have at least hacked into the Dolar flight schedules and stolen a freighter carrying something worthwhile, like the Silverhawk payroll or something.”
“This is better,” he grunted, offended that Melodia would second-guess him.
“Or a freighter hauling munitions,” she continued.
“I said this is better,” he insisted.
“It’s just a bunch of files from some dolts desk back on Earth!” Melodia shouted in frustration. “Who cares? Mon*Star certainly won’t!”
“It’s not the paper’s themselves, it’s what’s on them.”
“Besides, who keeps hardcopies anymore? This is just a bunch of antiquated toilet paper!”
Hardware gritted his teeth and praised himself for reigning in his anger. His temper was always stretched thin around Melodia. At one time they almost had become an item, but now he was relieved that the relationship had never seen the light of day.
Melodia strummed a woeful bar on her keyboard and said, “Well, I’m not going to hang around here and watch while Mon*Star cuts you up into little pieces and mails you C.O.D. to Stargazer. I get dibs on your room.” She turned and left, her high-heeled boots clacking down the hall.
Hardware looked after her. Too bad there were so few females around here. Three good, one bad, all were irritating as hell. Of course, this wasn’t exactly the kind of environment most females would thrive in, he supposed. He rifled through the important stack once more in preparation for Mon*Star’s arrival. Granted, this kind of thing wasn’t his forte, but if it could be pulled off . . . his eyes glittered at the mere prospect. Let Melodia scoff, he was sitting on a goldmine and he was certain Mon*Star wouldn’t shoot him before hearing him out. Not dead certain, but reasonably so.
A huge blundering bulk appeared in the doorway, blocking the light from that quarter.
“MMMgrwaaammffff!”
“Hello, Mumbo-Jumbo.” Hardware said without even turning around.
The awkward bullish alien lumbered with clumsy strength into the room. He naturally tried to compensate for his size, long used to places not being built to suit his massive needs. But sometimes it just didn’t work. Something smashed to the floor behind Hardware, and he heaved a long-suffering sigh. He hoped that Mumbo hadn’t broken anything too important this time.
“Grrrroolfffff arrrggghhhaaa mmwwaaaa,” came the sorrowful response.
“Don’t worry about it, Mumbo, just take your seat.” Hardware gestured to the beast’s custom-made chair. It was the only thing in Hardware’s storeroom that could take Mumbo’s weight.
“Oi, what is this all about, eh?” complained a heavily accented and irritating voice Hardware knew too well.
“Time-stopper, you’ll find out when Mon*Star gets here.”
“Yah, well, I’m due to meet a contact of mine on Fence soon so you’d better be quick about it.”
Hardware was not intimidated. He had long ago built a companion piece that would create a null space around him whenever Time-stopper activated his namesake device. He had demonstrated this machine the last time he and Time-stopper had a fight. Hardware still grinned when he thought back at the surprised look on Time-stoppers face when he was totally unaffected by the frozen time and slammed his fist into Time-stopper’s groin. Being short and squat did have its disadvantages, one of the reasons his main skill was weapons and not grappling like Mumbo, but it did offer great fist placement in a fight.
Finally, Mon*Star entered, looking like a hungry lion. Everyone in the room became deathly quiet as the Planet Master strutted to the table.
“This had better be worth my while, Hardware.”
Hardware grimaced but continued on boldly. “Yes, sir. That freighter was carrying an ancient text bound for the Bedlaman archives pertaining to Earth’s history. As far as we know, it is the only source of history related to the era where there was a massive drop in population and technology.”
“What kind of screwball thing are you after, Hardware?” Time-stopper replied coldly.
“A disease?” Mon*Star offered, slightly curious.
“No, sir, a weapon. A powerful weapon, capable of such a wide range of destruction that it almost wiped out the entire population on Earth.”
“A single weapon did all that?” Time-stopper scoffed.
“No, my theory is that a lot of these weapons did all that,” retorted Hardware.
Again, silence filled the small room. Mon*Star skimmed the documents, dark thoughts roiled through his mind.
“If we could somehow get our hands on such a thing . . . we would need a time travel device.”
“Way ahead of you, Boss. I’ve already been working on some plans for manipulating the wormhole so we can get back to the time where this disaster occurred. Or rather, just before it occurred so we can bring several of these bombs back here.”
“You will, of course let me know when you have finished all of this?”
“Of course, Planet Master,” Hardware replied respectfully.
“Good, I want to look at those documents as soon as you’re finished with them, then I want them destroyed.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Tat’iana Kurchatovya gripped the familiar controls of her Po-2 and glanced at the darkened skyline of the German-occupied city Stalingrad. She heard the engines of her wingmates Ionna and Katarina close by as they neared their target, and grinned sardonically. It was only her third raid since she joined the squadron the Germans had fearfully dubbed The Night Witches. Joining the 288th NBAP, the all female night bomber unit, was the ultimate experience. She had passed the grueling 3-month training and now she was here, assisting Mother Russia, the Rodina, in the Great War effort. Her father, Igor Kurchatov was doing his part and she had felt it was her duty to do the same, despite his wishes.
She had always wanted to fly. She’d been given the opportunity to practice on an old YAK her friend had managed to acquire and had decided that flying was all she was ever going to do. It was freedom. It was heaven.
Though flying her wooden Po-2 was akin to flying a watering trough, it had much more maneuverability than anyone would originally have guessed by just looking at it. You had to see it in action to truly appreciate the plane. It was slow, slower than the enemies Messercherschmidts and therefore it could do things the enemy could not, like easily skim the tree line without any difficulty when the need to hide was most needed. They didn’t carry any defensive weaponry except for the occasional side arm, and no parachutes. It was a hit and run specialist, performing its raids under the cover of night. It was technically a trainer plane, but Tat’iana didn’t care. It was still her plane.
She’d dubbed her bomber the Invisible Hawk because the Germans never knew she was coming until it was too late. Tat’iana knew her craft inside and out, doing all the prep and repair work her self.
The one-way radio on her panel blared her instructions and she checked her course then the sky for any approaching enemy craft. Ionna pushed her Po-2 ahead and made wide S-maneuvers, making doubly sure they were all alone up there. The base was soon in site and Tat’iana and Ionna paired up, letting Katarina fall behind. They counted to ten and then all of them cut the engines off for silent approach. Heart thudding in her chest, Tat’iana and her partner dove for the base.
Tat’iana heard shots from the ground over the whine of the wind as their two planes were spotted. As she knew they would, the spotlights split through the darkness and flooded her cockpit with light. Anti-aircraft fire roared in an effort to fend off the intruders, her plane caught flak and she banked hard to the left. Both she and Ionna flew the wild evasive maneuvers they had been taught to escape the worst of the enemy fire. Any minute now, Katarina would glide in soundlessly and deliver her payload, two 150 kg bombs, weapons all three of them carried and all three would get a chance to drop.
Right on cue, unnoticed by the spotlight operators and frantic ground crew, Katarina dove down out of the sky and released her payload. Tat’iana’s plane bucked from the shockwave as the two bombs impacted squarely on the base. Tat’iana heard more shouting and imagined the amount of confusion and panic that now took control of the German camp. She wanted to shout with glee but reigned herself in. She would be the next one to give the Germans a present.
The three of them lost the spotlights and regrouped. This time, Tat’iana would be the one to release her bombs. She thrilled at the chance to payback the traitorous Germans. She’d had family in Petersburg and she wanted to make the invaders pay for killing her grandparents when they broke the truce Stalin had arranged.
She nervously adjusted her flight goggles again and fingered the bomb release trigger. Not long now . . . There go the spotlights and the familiar sound of machine gun fire as they tried to trace her friends’ movements. She was nearly there when she heard the sound she feared; a Messerschmidt roaring out of the sky above, its weapons blazing as it came straight at them. Heart in her throat, Tat’iana frantically swerved out of its path as it hissed by her. It would take it time to double back and strike at them again, another advantage of the Po-2 over the enemy craft. With renewed effort, Tat’iana regained her flight path and prayed that she could use her bombs before she was shot down.
Her plane swung back and she looked fearfully for her two wingmates. There they were, still illuminated by the spotlight. She could hear the Messerschmidt finally make its wide turn and by the sound of it as it dopplered back, it increased its speed. But she would make the German base before it would and she silently urged the Invisible Hawk forward.
The German base sat there right beneath her plane like a pig’s belly waiting to be cut. She let the bombs fall behind her, and the satisfying sound of detonation filled her ears and made her plane buck in earnest. More chaos on the ground was her reward and the anti-aircraft fire tried to track her. Her plane managed to catch some more flak but the spotlight did not pinpoint her. However, the Messerschmidt had caught up and had her in its sights and was firing a barrage of bullets at her tail. She felt the vibrations in the cockpit as the bullets thrashed her tail. The German attack plane roared loudly behind her and the ground fire ceased so they wouldn’t accidentally hit their own man.
From nowhere, Katarina’s Po-2 dived right before the enemy’s nose. Soon, both her friends were harrying the German plane, like two sparrows trying to thwart a hawk. Tat’iana smiled grimly. Perhaps she wouldn’t crash-land in enemy territory after all for her friends seemed to be confounding her harasser. She pushed her plane, it responded, but sluggishly. Her tail was full of holes and she could imagine the man-hours, or rather, woman-hours, it would take her to repair the thing. Of course, she had to make it home first.
They would have to bug out; A pity because Ionna hadn’t gotten her chance to deliver her payload. Tat’iana took the time to look back. Ionna was flying in and she attempted to use her handgun at the enemy’s cockpit. The shots were wild and Tat’iana shrugged. It was the thought that counted. Together, they switched their engines on and the headed out across the skyline, away from Stalingrad.
Tat’iana was tired and craved a shower. They had managed to escape with minimum damage to their Po’s. Hers was the most severely damaged out of all three, but it was too dark to do much repair work. And she had herself to look after as well.
“Ionna, you don’t have any other orders for us tonight, do you?” Tat’iana didn’t remember any.
Commander Ionna shook her head. “No, you can go take care of your business and try to get some sleep, all right?”
Tat’iana nodded, grateful for a night of reprieve. Usually, they had more than one target a night. Someone was doing them a favor. She suspected Mariana Raskova was behind it. She was a good friend and they had been planning a weekend retreat for three weeks, now. Mariana was the woman who opened up Russia’s skies for women, an influential person and excellent pilot who had trained most of the women in her regiment. She was in Stalin’s presence often and was able to acquire his support for the entire women’s fleet. Tat’iana had managed to meet Stalin as well, but only because her father, Igor Kurchatov was the man who was head of the nuclear weapons research project. Stalin at first didn’t believe in the intelligence reports he’d received but then had folded when it was insisted that the Americans Manhattan Project was not a fable. Her father, a brilliant physicist, had been asked to head the team of scientists to come up with something comparable. But Tat’iana had seen much of the plans and what was needed to make them; she doubted that there was money enough in her country to continue such an ambitious project.
She went to her quarters and gratefully stepped into the shower. They were going to go to Minsk this weekend, something she hadn’t done since the World War II started. It was one of her favorite places to visit and Tat’iana was anxious to go, she wanted to go to all the little out of the way shops and taste the marvelous food. Shower complete, she brushed her teeth and went to bed, tired and happy.
She woke by midafternoon. It had been close to five in the morning when she’d gone to bed. First things first, breakfast, then repairs to her Po. She dressed in haste, pulling on her very worn coveralls and then went to the mess hall obeying her stomach. Katarina was there as well as Mariana and some women from the 586 LAP regiment, the bold group that actually got into dogfights with enemy craft. They all shared that special camaraderie that people who lived and fought together all tended to have.
They all chatted and rehashed their previous battles. Ionna and Mariana had the most golden stars of all the women at the table. Being only 20, Tat’iana did not have the vast flying experience most of the others had even before the war and felt she lacked the actual courage needed to acquire the medal belonging to a hero. Tat’iana drank in the conversations with relish. It was one of the best parts of her day. Soon, she hoped that she’d be able to regale the table with stories of her own. So far, she had no story worth retelling. She stretched and yawned, still trying to get used to the odd hours. Tat’iana looked over to where Ionna and Mariana were sitting, just at the other end of her table, laughing and gossip flowing equally with ease of aging companions. She felt like such the outsider sometimes. Fighting back the twang of homesickness, she grinned at her nearest neighbor, Meesha, a battle hardened oldtimer who’d seen almost as many battles as Mariana, but never quite had the skill nor military mind of the older pilot. Her mind wandered during the lull in conversation and she thought of home. The old YAK plane sitting wisely in the yard, her father so very doting of his only daughter, except when danger was to be factored in. She sighed. How he had fought against her in this! She had to convince him that each person had his or her own way of fighting this blasted war. Joining the Night Witches was her way; creating Russia’s nuclear defense was his way.
Stargazer had noticed that things were rather quiet around Brim Star lately. This always made him anxious and he delayed filing the last of his day’s reports so he could decide what he should do about it. There wasn’t anything wrong about it, but silence in Limbo was something that got on his nerves, because it was so rare. And whenever it did occur, there was always something just short of a catastrophe that the Silverhawks had to clean up. Everyone had gone off somewhere on different missions leaving him alone, ensconced in a silent vigil within Hawk Haven which floated in a fixed orbit just out of reach of Bedlama’s atmosphere. How many centuries had he spent sitting in that exact spot? He’d since lost count. He knew Limbo like the back of his hand. Stargazer sighed. He needed a vacation. It’d been too long since he’d been back to Chicago. Not very long ago, he’d been planning to take some much-deserved leave. It had made him feel better to know that with him gone, there’d still be another Stargazer in charge of things at Haven. But, things had gotten stirred up by Mon*Star, surprise, surprise, and he never got his chance to leave. He’d been kind of grumpy afterwards. He admitted that he had been pretty harsh towards the Silverhawks at times ever since and he had never gotten around to apologizing. He felt old and tired.
Maybe he should retire. Hell, he’d deserved it! He needed some rest, a chance to get away from all of this. When was the last time he’d sat down and played poker . . . uninterrupted? When was the last time he’d finished a book within a year? There was never enough time to do anything but save the galaxy. At least he had job security with the likes of Mon*Star and his Mob out and about, several hundred years worth.
Brim*Star. He sighed again and was about to decide to send out Spy Hawk, which was probably just what Mon*Star would suspect him to do, when the proximity alarm sounded. Commander Stargazer punched up the view screen. A familiar shape appeared and a sly smile spread across the Commander’s face. The bright, cheerful yellow colored cab careened across the expanse of space, it’s engine spewing its signature, trailing cloud of black smoke. It plowed into the open mouth of the hanger and bounded to a halt where the Mirage usually rested. Stargazer was there to meet Seymour by the time the engines were cut off.
“Listen, Commander,” Seymour stepped out of his taxi and adjusted his blue hat. He then picked up a sealed container off of the seat and was holding the box as far away from him as his short arms allowed, “I don’t mind playing courier, but I can’t live off of these I.O.U.’s, you know what I mean?”
“Well, you can always go with Blue Grass and the twins the next time the Mob hijacks another payroll transport. When they wrestle it out of Mon*Star’s paws, you can pick up whatever we owe you plus tip.”
Seymour was not amused.
“Sorry. Bad joke.” Stargazer conceded. “I admit I’ve been a little on edge lately.”
Stargazer took the package from the alien hack and opened it up already suspecting what was inside. He’d been told about its existence but had never before believed in it. His eye widened and his monocle zoomed in on the object within.
“What is it?” Seymour asked boldly.
Stargazer slapped the box closed having almost forgotten there was a civilian beside him.
The Commander grunted. “Classified. Listen, Seymour, I’ve a proposition for you.”
Seymour eyed the Commander suspiciously, “I’m about to say no to whatever it is, so be careful, Commander.”
“It’s nothing terrible. It’s just a reconnaissance mission. We’ll pay you triple time if you go.” Stargazer replied.
“And where am I supposed to go to?”
Stargazer leveled his gaze at the cabby, “Brim*Star.”
“Ohhhh NO! NO WAY, Commander!” Seymour backed up a few paces towards his cab, waving his arms like he was fending off an attack dog, “I’m on Mon*Star’s black list ever since I helped you guys bring him back to the Penal Planet that one time, remember?”
“You should be okay, as long as you don’t do anything stupid, like give yourself away. Don’t you ever eavesdrop on your passengers? It’ll be just the same.”
“Except I’ll be on Mon*Star’s turf. One wrong step from me and I’ll be wearing cement shoes in Mirror Lake on Bedlama.” Seymour added stoically.
“Look. It’s not going to be too tough. Something’s going on over there and I want to know what. They’d never suspect you of spying on them. It would be the last thing they’d think of, not one of our usual methods.”
Seymour continued to back up unhappily, “No, sir. There’s nothing you could say that would make me want to do something as crazy as that.”
Stargazer replied, “So, when was the last time your cab had been inspected by the Space Hack Bureau? Overdue, last I heard. I’ve fielded several complaints about the condition of that cab of yours. I’m sure Inspector Daeveon would love to have an excuse to put you out of commission, Seymour. He has yet to receive the complaints, however . . .”
“However, he’ll never see them if I help you out.” Seymour finished. “Look, Commander, I live from pay check to pay check. I can barely afford the fuel for my tanks. Throw in a free tune up job from the twins and I’ll go to Brim*Star quietly.”
“The twins are at your service. Maybe now I’ll hear less about how your cab threatens to asphyxiate your passengers.”
Seymour mumbled, “If I get out of Brim*Star alive.”
Time-stopper felt naked. He’d been forced to take off his time-manipulator device and his jet pack. Now he wore black slacks and a Joe Blow button up shirt like that fool geezer who led the Silverhawks.
‘Incognito stinks,’ he thought sourly to himself.
Melodia had been taken, kicking and screaming, to have her hair redone so it would look normal. She’d put up a furious fight and had even bitten a now mad Windhammer who had been attempting to drag her to the salon chair for the treatment. It had taken Mumbo Jumbo to get her to the seat. The massive cyborg bull held her down at the wrists with ease even though she tried to kick him several times; none of her attempts were successful. Yes-Man was meekly waiting with scissors behind the chair.
“How can I cut your hair with you moving about like that, Melodia?” the snake asked exasperatedly.
“That’s the whole point, you stupid slug! Come near me with those scissors, and I’ll throttle you!” Melodia shouted.
“But Mon*Star said you had to look like an early twentieth century woman. That hair style isn’t going to go over well with the natives.” Yes-man tried to sound reasonable.
“Screw the natives! You aren’t touching my hair!” She screamed at him and tried to head butt Mumbo Jumbo who chuckled at her efforts against him. “Time-stopper and Molecular should be enough to get your precious scientist and dumb weapon. You don’t need me!”
“You want to argue with the Boss? Then fine, go ahead. Don’t mind the rash too much after the light star effect wears off. It goes away by itself eventually, though there’s no ointment that would give you relief in the mean time.” Yes-man said in a no nonsense manner that was fairly unusual for him.
Melodia hissed at him but stilled in her chair. The snip, snip, snip of the scissors from behind each time made her cringe.
‘This was cruel and unusual punishment. No one should be made to suffer this humiliation!’ The space punker thought and entertained herself by imagining just what she could do to Yes-man with those scissors of his.
Once the cut was done, her hair was dyed pitch black and her glasses were refitted and she now wore a calf length, slim fit dress made from synthetic cotton. She hated every bit of it.
“And just what are we supposed to fly? Not the space limos,” Melodia asked bitterly once her transformation was complete.
“Me,” Molecular said. “I will turn into something appropriate, but which will also have the ability to fly in space. A cargo plane, perhaps.”
They were standing outside on the landing, just at the entry way to Mon*Star’s fortress. Molecular clapped his ‘hands’ together, activating his matter manipulator. He bent and twisted, warped and swirled until he molded himself into the form of a B-29 bomber.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” Time-stopper growled.
To be continued in Part II.
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