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Frank Harris acquired title to the property after investigating it for a possible NID safe house four years after Bill Templeton bought the Reed Estate to the southeast. A flat clearing was built just inside the stone corridor walls at the northeast
corner. Frank had an indoor swimming pool installed in 1967. Using that as a covering screen; he brought in the boys burrowing equipment by land and heavy helicopter. A radio and lighting tower close to Great Fork Falls, marks this as
the coastal regions
highest ground, above the dense old growth forest to the north and southwest.
The southern edge of Misty Hob is fronted by a modest portico with a cobblestone drive. On either side of the broad entrance’s three granite stairs, twenty foot deep verandas stretch out to the natural boundaries of the house, stopping at the edge of
the winter garden northward and the southeast corner below the tower closest to
the harbor. Beyond the hollow walls, in the forested descending hills; Frank Harris had the old gravel track lane to Route-17 paved for safer traveling on winter nights. The
inlet has two stone pillars holding spring loaded gates opened with a bump.
Waiting for the slow clock at The Octagon to advance; Alex is catching the Old Chief up on events outside. Frank is walking the grounds with Artrex. They stop in the western garden by the bird bath, above the concealed five disk set.
Harris shows
Artrex the old disk one. He removes it from its three sleeve protective womb. Artrex uses sign language to tell Harris the new disks don’t know how or can’t destroy the old disks. Harris slides the disk into its protections. Artrex is willing to let
Harris inspect the disks: but he solemnly declines. Artrex takes his hand leading him to the kitchen for lemonade and iced teas; returning to the porch, Harris and The Player smoke, while listening to Alex and Lucian as they try to generate fresh
thoughts on strategy.
“Militarily the battlefield is a no brainer. They fight, we fight, and whole mountains of soldier warriors die. No innovations of strategy or tactics are likely to arise from massive conflicts of horde verses horde.” Lucian postulating, is
reclining in a padded wicker rocking chair, his feet on the veranda’s wide railing cap. “We need to efficiently secure massive amounts of intelligence.”
Alex aiming for the crux, “Getting McBain to help forge the disks is one matter. Learning how to program and initialize them may be a task that can’t be accomplished in one human lifetime.”
Lucian proffers: probing. “Once the new disks arrive we’ll learn as much as we can from then?”
“I’m not looking to get into that loop. I take care of loose ends; their status is not my concern.”
Devoid of vulgarity the Crystal Spring brings a metamorphosis to Grigori transforming him back into a strong handsome eight year old lad. Doffing his bell hop uniform he leaps into one of the deeper pools of pure essence, turning
boyish underwater
cartwheels of joyous youth. His ever loyal Morbiditus is restored to form as Dr. Ivan Vulchario, Drone 0001; who dons a set of trunks and plunges headfirst into the welcoming embrace of eternity. The smallest glimmer of light bounces and divides into a
thousand scattering rays, in these caverns worn from tremendous blocks of emerald, sapphire and moonstone. The neighboring hollows are sheeted diamond, ruby and jade striped stratifications. This is the most holy and sacred of the human races slag heaps.
The sanctum sanctorum of the power of eternity to purify even the most tangled of humanities abominations. Dr. Vulchario pushes a couple of light blue
opal chairs and footstools close to the two wide ponds of essence-presence Grigori and Morbiditus are
blissfully cavorting in.
“Come Artrex, come; ply your diligent industrious bones to a chair.” The Doctor calls merrily.
“Ivan The Seventh, a courtesy please; liquid and solid refreshment, we’re
ravaged by undue time spent at the surface.” The seventh version of his self-rescued from a broken gate fifty years hence tries to delight Vulchario by
appearing in a
butler’s outfit, but the Doctor feels the ingress occasion’s ambiance is too formal. Ivan Seven cuffs out into a trench coat; patting Vulchario on the shoulder. “Enjoy the pleasure of your company.” He departs to fret and fuss
in the kitchen.
“A hum has reached the bag a dispatch is present.” Artrex holds the satchel aloft the snaps up.
“A revelation of great import, of that I am sure, if it encroaches on this holy ground.” Vulchario enchanted by a real genuine guest, a new message delivery system and the delightful prospect of correspondence with persons and parts unknown. “
Today is a landmark day. Bless you Artrex.”
“I notate your courteous gentlemanly deportment during my invasion.” Artrex replies cordially.
McBain and Daniels walk Bitterman out of the disputed time gates kill zone, ignoring several groups of bodies falling noisily west of the pond, beyond the chain link fence, in the overgrowth.
“I think Gretchen infected me with some kind of coolness vibe like a songwriting poetry thing.”
Bitterman looks at McBain, “Is he always like this?” Trevor agrees, “When he’s healthy Bob.”
Getting a small wooden box and suitcase projector out of his trunk and passing the handles to McBain, Bob ventures, “Your shadows are trailing you. Not hard to spot if you know the drill.”
“What are we looking for on these tapes?” Pierce asks mildly suspicious.
Bitterman croaks hoarsely, “A reason not to care when you discover what is truly going on.”
They watch the aging mogul drive off in his battered pick-up, heading to the Trans Am, loading the equipment and information of unknown value, into the trunk. Trevor recognizes Ted Danes talking on the gas stations pay phone and walks over to say hello,
“What’s up Major Danes?”
Ted raises a finger asking for a minute and hangs up without speaking. “You two look good.”
Trevor briefly sizing up Ted’s sanity or lack thereof, “Creepy bit of business around here.”
Ted sputters stammers a bit, “Still not used to it, the gangs asking for you at group therapy.”
Pointing to Pierce who extends his hand to Danes, “Keeping this guy busy and preoccupied.”
Ted offers, “Let me jump in with you guys and run something by you worth learning about.”
Danes jogs over to his car trunk extracting the map tube from within and jogs
quickly back.
“Maybe you should follow us in your car?” Mac asks and The Major answers,
“I’ll walk back.”
In the elevator headed to the Harland Buildings top floor Ted taps the map, “I copied this map.”
Pierce nods, “What do you know about the books?”
Ted takes out his pistol: points at the hatch overhead. “I’ll kill anyone
who tries to steal them.”
Pierce is not sure he wants to spend the night brainstorming with another trigger happy spook.
The door to Alex Mathias’s old apartment occupied by the two young captains
is open.
Azrok Steppe is enjoying his new identity as Aaron Shepherd. He has made a dozen or so overtures during the summer to engage in conversations with Pierce and Trevor. Having finished the construction of the escape hatch in the spare bedroom he would like
to complete the task by acquainting them with its basic operations. Several times he’s been ready to knock on the door, but retreated; when overhearing discussions of the strange and preternatural sense of doom that had overtaken Daniels, after July’
s acquisition of supplies from The Origin of The Mystery.
Juzya and Azrok admire Pierce’s agile adventurous mind from all they have learned about him. Both young intraphase captains enjoy being attached to two zero’s simultaneously; reaping the benefits of unlimited time, and zero aging
or degeneration of
capacity. Welcome at the Reed Estate and Aurian’s arena, they’ve been engaged in non-stop recreation, except for the few hours spent assembling the escape hatch. Hearing Trevor, Pierce and Ted exit the elevator Azrok approaches. “I have the hatch
Lucian wanted set up finished. Maybe when you get a moment…”
Trevor shakes his hand and asks him to come into Pierces apartment. Azrok calls into Juzya who joins them. Pierce sets up the projector facing away from the living room windows. Trevor gets everyone refreshments and Doc lowers the lights; seconds after
the film starts Ted begins.
“I’ve seen this reel before. Bitterman and LeMond in the limousine ride. NID went over this with a fine tooth comb. How did you get him so worried?” Ted asks relaxing with iced tea.
Pierce pensively; “McBain was poking and prodding and Bitterman basically popped a cork.”
“It’s a lot of nonsense but at one point he mentions McBain by name towards the end.” Ted flicks the light back on and advances the film rapidly,
then slowly, having studied the film.
“You’re not going to like this Trevor. It’s important to remember they are sidelined players.”
Ted sips his drink, dousing the light, rolling his index finger in front of his eyes and sits.
Pierce restarts the projector. The title screen briefly shows the date May 27, 1966. A young Robert Bitterman and John LeMond, at the height of their popular
music success and creative powers, engage in a capricious eccentric bit of amateur film making;
documenting a lengthy conversation that occurs during a drive through town in a
hired luxury sedan.
Bitterman inquires, “So, tell me John, how long have you had a partnership with McBains?”
Johnny LeMond answers, “Ah… McBains, Ah, McBain’s brothers themselves, Ah we’ve had a partnership about thirteen fourteen years I guess.”
Bitterman continues, “Ah you’re just a new cat, Ah new youngster?”
Ted flicks the light back on. “Watching anything before or after that is haphazard ostentation. Without staking out his own position he tricks LeMond into articulating his. He says partnership with McBain exists for the duration of thirteen or
fourteen years. In reverse that is 1952, forward 1980. In either direction it is not an act of prescient reflection. Mac is seven years old when these two boy geniuses engage in this pretentious act of gravity. Like I said Trevor they’re amateurs.”
McBain has a modest rapport of trust with Danes from Doctor Ruhig’s weekly two hour group therapy sessions, dedicated to patients who feel violently agitated by visionary dreams.
McBain asks, “What pressing necessity would compel such preposterous assertions. More importantly, why would they immortalize it on film, as a visible embarrassment to themselves?”
Danes replies, “The other bit on the video cartridge is more of the same except Lemond uses your first name during an interview show, speaking directly to the camera while having a bit of a momentary psychotic lapse.” Ted takes a
drink of tea. “
The thirteen or fourteen years is over.”
Pierce has a nauseous expression on his face, remembering Bob’s approaching
the giant red eyes in the reflecting pool. The vexatious circumstances of finding he is slow to understand all this, deepen his concern of finding potential data artifacts
exist in the past, implicating McBain in some sort of timestar conspiracy. “I
understand the old geezer’s paranoia a little better now.”
Pierce looks at Trevor totally befuddled, “How did you know he was Enoch?”
Trevor replies, “I didn’t, I never said he was. I was improvising. But, judging by this bit of silliness we just watched: I think he laid a trap for Johnny LeMond. Dragging us into that weird pop music shrine was his way of springing it.” Trevor
chews his gum staring at Pierce.
“Locusts gather to a stream before a fire.” Azrok chimes in hoping to complete his next chore.
Pierce boxes up the projector and tapes putting them in the hallway garbage shoot wondering if a door has been suddenly left ajar into some world unseen before. He spits into the garbage shoot as the projector clanks and clangs falling downward exposed
to derision: doomed to destruction.
Daniels back from his purgative mission says like a blast from the suddenly opened door of a furnace, “So what is the nature of your out of the blue proposal Major Danes?”
“First some housecleaning for context; the dead books were Bitterman’s long ago and somehow Augustus got his hands on them. The original owner is unknown and lost to antiquity. Secondly
I want my map verified by the amber wells. Thirdly I want the three of us to consider finding transportation to Dr. Vulchario and getting whatever information we can gleam from him.”
Captain Juzya Kydd silent and thoughtful during the amateur player’s self-immolation offers:
“I’ll take you to Vulchario barring strenuous objections from Mr. Eight or The Old Chief.”
“We could use Vulchario as a trial destination for the new hatch. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.” Azrok enthusiastically suggests wondering
if The Construct allows it.
Major Danes gives Pierce a large, folded paper copy of his map; and Doc deposits it in the more technical of the two amber books with an index card. “Assess Accuracy And Date Diagram.”
The folded map copy and double set of three index cards returns:
“Owner Operated Enterprise S.X. Artrex Vs. 2085.”
“Transit Sub System Ridership 1,794,093,614 Ongoing.”
“537,691 Natural Years Fore And Aft Trajectory Computation.”
Danes scrunching his eyebrows and puckering his lips snorts, “I’ll try again some other time.”
Azrok and Juzya show Ted, Mac, and Doc the closet sized two curtain transit. It
is two metal frame boxes, one inside the other: the interior one, six inches above the lower, with a four by four foot glass floor; the transparent curtains
forming two
distinct chambers. Juzya opens a case, giving the three men gold S.X Signet rings: with a small black onyx stone that has three small diamonds on the side.
Juzya explains, “The rings are forged and taken into the core so four computation points can be
embedded; one per stone. The fifth point circles around inside the ring: that is the point that moves. In the No Time all five points aren't in the ring, then in the ring, then not in the ring; and back in the stones. The curtains define a transfer zone
for The Signet.”
Danes is watching projections of locations he knows well, being slowly shuffled through on the curtain to his left. “What’s the failsafe for emergencies or injured riders?”
Juzya responds, “Last best known accessible survivable location or a command input to 2085.”
Ted nods his head impressed and approvingly, “Pretty good. Should we intersect Vulchario?”
The men glance back and forth registering each other’s assent and Juzya attempts to gain 2085’s compliance with a transfer presuming Mr. Eight passes. “2085 – All Transit – The Dove”
Trevor almost doesn’t perceive the final syllable of Juzya’s command. Artrex Alliant turns in his chair still waiting to deliver the incoming dispatch to Dr. Vulchario. He rises and announces his station. “All Transit 64 Prime Junction – The
Dove.”

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