A Temporal Trust (The Temporal Book 2) (6 page)

Dr. Bracker was smiling. The president liked him and even if the president naturally disagreed with his point of view, the man could easily be persuaded to see things the correct way. Today was no exception.

Entering the building, Dr. Bracker was surprised to see the doors open and one of the Temporal step out. It was Catherine, the woman from England. She had a sour look on her face and did not even acknowledge his presence. That was fine with him. She was of no consequence. Behind her was Gordon. No wonder she was upset.

“Bracker? What are you doing here?” asked General Gordon.

“I’m following the president’s orders.” He held up a hand holding a piece of paper that authorized him to stay with and give aid to the Temporal.

General Gordon said, “Give me that.”

Bracker’s smile grew wider as he watched the general’s eyes fall upon the president’s signature.

Shoving the paper back into Dr. Bracker’s chest, General Gordon said, “I don’t know what you are up to, but lives are at stake. I’m watching you.”

“No, you are not. It seems you are leaving, and I shan’t be going with you.”

The general shook his head, letting out a huff of a protest, and then nudged Catherine to continue toward the parking lot. “Let’s go.”

Dr. Bracker pressed the button and waited for the elevator. Less than a minute later, the doors opened with a chime. Dr. Bracker was about to step forward when the hurried figure of Ian appeared out of the elevator.

“Ian!”

Ian stopped. He had run past Dr. Bracker without the slightest recognition. His mind was set on Catherine whose figure he could see in the passenger seat of a car backing out of its parking space.

“Ian, do not make a hasty judgment.”

Ian clenched his fists again and turned his head back.

“Leave me alone. I can catch up with the car.”

“Of course, you can. I know of your extraordinary powers. Your strength, your speed. But what happens next? She pulls away and your harsh speech causes her to resist more.”

Ian was visibly shaking. He was upset and wasn’t quite sure where the anger should be placed. He kept his fists tight.

“I know of your love for Catherine.”

Ian looked at the small man. “What are you talking about?”

“I know the conflict within you. You care for Catherine, but fear your heart belongs to another, another who has tricked your heart into wanting her. Am I right?”

“Who told you this?”

Dr. Bracker shook his head, and walking over, he placed a gloved hand on Ian’s shoulder. Immediately, Ian relaxed his muscles. The tension from the past few hours had caused him to develop a slight headache. The simple touch by this man seemed to loosen the tension. Any remnant of a headache was gone in an instant. But it wasn’t just the relaxation of his body. Dr. Bracker’s touch also relaxed Ian’s mind. He could now think clearer, recognize truth, and filter out falsehoods. It was like when Suteko used to touch him, but better—there was no coercion, no sense of obligation to a set path.

“Your love for Catherine is evident by your eyes. That you feel compelled by Suteko, well, I saw your interaction earlier.”

Ian was silent. He didn’t like the fact a stranger knew his deepest and most personal secrets, but he needed help and somehow he knew this man could give him that help despite Ian’s first impression of Dr. Bracker as nothing more than a self-obsessed political hack.

“You’ve lived many lifetimes longer than I have, I’m sure. But I do have one experience set you do not. I’ve been married three times. I’m afraid that makes me an expert on what doesn’t work in relationships.”

Ian stood there running his hands through his hair in frustration. He wanted to go. He wanted to run after the car that was now backing out and about to take Catherine away, but he also knew this man was right.

Dr. Bracker continued, “You must understand women, Ian. They need emotional support. She needs your support and your strength. You do not approach her in anger, but with understanding—or at least a pretense of understanding. True understanding is more difficult, of course, but a pretense is enough.”

In addition to the touch, there was also something about Dr. Bracker’s stare that calmed Ian. He had been so thoroughly angry at Catherine. Or maybe it wasn’t really Catherine but just that their unspoken conflict had come to a head. Whatever she had said to Suteko had caused Suteko to be upset enough to strike. Suteko would never harm anyone—at least not physically.
No.
Now, looking into Dr. Bracker’s eyes, he felt...understanding and pity. Understanding that Suteko
had
hurt him and
could
hurt others. And there was also the pity that he now felt for Catherine.

“Yes, Dr. Bracker. Thank you. Of course, you are right.”

“Good. I’m glad I got to speak with you. I’d like very much to get to know you better.”

“Yes. I...I’m sorry for being an ass earlier.”

Dr. Bracker held up his left hand while his right fished his keys from a pocket. Ian suddenly felt funny. The anger he had felt earlier had disappeared and in its place there was an odd respect for the man in front of him. Ian couldn’t guess Dr. Bracker’s age if he had to. The lines around the contours of his mouth suggested mid-sixties, but his eyes...In them, Ian saw the fountain of youth.

“Think nothing of it. Now, here, take these. The GPS is set to the Berkshire House where you will be staying and where you will find Catherine. Just follow the arrows.” He lowered his voice and looked Ian squarely in the eye. “Drive slowly. Take some time to calm down so you can meet her with compassion and understanding. The other woman, Suteko, hurt you both. Accept that and then use it as common ground with Catherine.”

Ian held out the palm of his hand for Dr. Bracker to drop the keys into. “Thank you, sir, but I do not have an American license.”

Dr. Bracker waved his hand indicating it was not a problem. “The car has diplomatic plates, but on the front passenger seat, there is a business card with my name and contact information on it. Should anyone stop you, give that to the officer. Tell them you are driving under a diplomatic mandate or some such nonsense to make you sound official. I’ll take care of any repercussions.”

Ian nodded and, in a flash, he was in the car and zooming out of the parking garage.

Dr. Bracker smiled during the brief elevator ride. General Gordon was a problem, but no so much of a problem that could not be handled. Dr. Bracker had the president’s ear on most issues and while security was not one of them, his influence could be augmented in other ways. And now, there was this possibility of an ally. Events were proceeding as well as one could hope.

The door opened and he dropped the smile. He had, after all, work to do while the cat was out.

“Dr. Bracker?” Marcus said as he saw the well-dressed gentleman emerge from the elevator.

“Yes, it seems the president would prefer that I am here.”

“I see.” Marcus nodded and then turned back to the console in front of him.

“Marcus, have all transports been sent to evacuate the Temporal?”

“How did you…” Marcus had a mixture of confusion and worry painted on his face.

“I met General Gordon downstairs. After seeing my authorization from the president, he filled me in. I came to see if I could be of any assistance. I understand, of course, very little and, while I do not have the military sources of the general, virtually all diplomatic channels are open to me. I could make travel to the airports more secure.”

Marcus was dumbfounded. He was certain of General Gordon’s tight lip. Even with authority from the president, Marcus was highly surprised by the general’s talkativeness. He had seemed so reticent and untrusting of Bracker, and Sam had read no guile in the general nor had Gordon given any indication that he was anything but one hundred percent behind the mission.

“Dr. Bracker, I certainly do not wish to seem overly suspicious, but may I see the president’s orders?”

“Certainly and don’t think anything of asking. This is a most sensitive matter, and I can assure you I will do nothing to betray your trust,” he said while pulling an envelope from his inner breast pocket.

Upon opening, Marcus saw the seal of the President of the United States. Although, he had no experience in authenticating documents of this nature, it certainly did look official. And the signature matched his memory of the president’s.

“Of course,” said Dr. Bracker as an afterthought, “if you would like to call the president, I have a direct line on my cell. It would be no problem. I should be able to catch him shortly between scheduling.”

“No, no, of course not. This is fine. Please, Dr. Bracker, have a seat. And your offer of help is greatly appreciated. However, I believe we have things under control.” Marcus hadn’t noticed it before, but there was something strikingly familiar about Dr. Bracker’s eyes. Something familiar, yet distant.

“Then...the birds are in the air, as it were?”

“There are a few that we have not been able to contact. But as for the rest of them, everything is on schedule. Sam and Suteko are in the refreshment room now. Please, why don’t you join them and relax? I shall, of course, notify you the moment anything comes in.”

“If you don’t mind I would like to talk to Admiral Hartling first. Then, I will need to report to the president. I can do that from the refreshment room.”

Marcus nodded and turned back to the other man. Dr. Bracker walked over to the admiral. Admiral Hartling had observed the back and forth and his face took on a distinctly sour look. It was obvious to Marcus that they knew each other, but it was equally obvious that, like the general, the admiral did not much care for Dr. Bracker.

“Admiral, it has been too long.”

“Where’s the general? What have you done?”

“What? You speak as if I had just murdered him and I am trying to hide the body,” he said with a chuckle. “I assure you he is alive and well. At least he was about two minutes ago. I just saw him downstairs escorting Miss Catherine Porras to her lodgings.”

“What is it that you want?” His face turned back to the screen. The monitor had the default screensaver, an animated Chief of Staff logo. Upon seeing Dr. Bracker, the admiral had locked his screen, not wanting to take chances. After asking the question, he turned back to the front and pretended to do something on the screen without actually returning to the information.

“Nothing. I was just hoping for a status update.”

Dr. Bracker was standing behind him, not moving.

“You know I don’t have the authority to give you that information.”

The admiral looked down at his screen. The corners of the monitor blurred as if a powerful magnet was too close to an old CRT monitor. The spinning logo pixelated slightly as lines appeared and disappeared on the screen. Admiral Hartling hit the desk hoping a Fonzie touch would help. The sound seemed to have startled Dr. Bracker, who took a step back. The screen instantly cleared up, invoking a nearly silent “Ayyh!” from the admiral. His smile, however, quickly faded as he realized Dr. Bracker was still there and watching his actions.

“Well then, I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Dr. Bracker’s voice sounded tired or distracted as if he was contemplating something deep.

“If you don’t mind I have work to do.” The admiral was tired of playing games and the next checkin was due within five minutes.

Dr. Bracker bowed slightly and walked around the desk. Admiral Hartling watched him walk into the waiting room before tapping the screen and entering his password.

Kaileen was not pleased. Her Nephloc spy was taking far too long to report. It had been charged with befriending the Temporal and then discovering the flight plans or general locations of the rescue attempts.

That’s what her master wanted; she wanted Samuel.

He would be helpful with leading her to any Temporal remnant, yes, but that was secondary. She believed he also had the potential within him to destroy her master.

Her master Arthimas once told her of the only thing that he feared. An ancient prophecy spoke of a man who would one day destroy the original three Temporal, her master being one of them. While Arthimas had been drunk and had only mentioned the prophecy that one time, the fear in his eyes indicated that he believed it wholeheartedly. By her calculations and intuitions, Sam could very well be the one. Freedom from her master’s grip was what she wanted more than anything.

At this point, the total lack of communication by now indicated the Nephloc’s mission had failed or else it had betrayed her by running away. She’d taken a chance and gambled on this one. It had abandoned its comrades and dared to return to her with a report on their failure. With the proper incentives in place, she had felt sure the spy would do all in its power to succeed for fear of displeasing her a second time.

Where is my general?
She had called for her general, Carritos, over twenty minutes ago. She smelled insubordination, a most unsavory aroma—a vice that needed correction. She could tolerate a certain amount of failure provided the source of that failure was sufficiently humble before her. Her spy had failed, but submitted fully to her judgment. Her general had failed to kill the Temporal when given ample opportunity; he had not shown a similar wisdom. Having been a former Temporal, Carritos exercised far more freedom of thought and action than was wise.

Based on the information she had earlier gleaned from Samuel, she had General Carritos dispatch several teams of Perazim in groups of four to kill the Temporal in their homes. Other than terminating five Temporal before their plot was discovered, the assassins had lost their prey. This was the general’s failure, and he had yet to explain himself. Now, the Temporal had been warned and were scattering. She needed the locations of the airports the fleeing Temporal would be using.

“Yes, High Lady,” said a Perazim bowing low in the doorframe.

She turned even as she knew it was not the general. He had sent a surrogate.

By the weaving of the fabric of the cloak that the Perazim was wearing, she was looking down on a low-ranking messenger. The general, no doubt, had predicted—quite correctly—that she would be displeased by his performance. The fool had not wanted to risk anyone beyond a mere messenger.

“Where is General Carritos?”

“High Lady, he is coordinating with the Perazim groups. He commanded me to report to you in his stead.”

“Report, then.” She deferred her wrath over the slight, waiting to mete out punishment until after gaining the needed information. Even still, her words dripped venom.

Although the Perazim could not see her—he had his head low—she made sure he knew that she was in a dangerous mood.

“High Lady, all units have reported in this hour.”

She already knew what message the creature before her had brought, but she would have him spit it out. It was always amusing to her how fear could affect one’s actions. This Perazim had great cause to fear and yet, she saw no evidence of that very rational fear.

Since the recreation of the old orders, little was known of the Perazim order. Even Kaileen who had rediscovered the ancient paths lacked a good understanding. Of course, she knew the words and the motions that would transform a pitiful Nephloc into a masterful Perazim, but not the whys or hows.

The Perazim before her sparked the interest of the scholar within. Curious. This one had quickly shorn off the old Nephloc fears and weaknesses. She had not been present at his ascension, but she could tell the ceremony had been recent.

“And?”

“No additional targets have been discovered as of yet.”

She took a few steps forward, intentionally amplifying the sound of her heels as they clicked upon the rock floor.

“Rise.”

The Perazim obeyed but kept his head low. She noticed that he modified his size to remain a few inches below her height. It was a minor point of protocol, one often overlooked.

“And the general still could not take the time out of his schedule to visit me? One would think his failure to find more Temporal would allow the general ample time to report to me.” She waited a few seconds before adding, “How...inconsiderate.”

The Perazim immediately fell to one knee, a type of wordless apology.

She took a step forward and was mere inches from the kneeling dark figure. She leaned over and with two fingers, she lifted his head up.

He had been given a glorious face. Rotted flesh had been replaced with an inorganic substance that resembled flesh, flesh that was far stronger. Perazim were the butterfly; Nephloc were the worms. He, as a worm, had survived the crucible and had come out strong and beautiful. He was very much to her liking.

The Perazim kept his face up even as she removed her fingers. His eyes never flinched. She knew he understood how dangerous a predicament he was in, and she marveled at his self-control. She would research the archives to learn what manner of Nephloc he had been. If she could discover a pattern, then perhaps she could create others in a similar mold. With just the right recipe, she, with an army of fearless and strong warriors under her command, could rule the Underworld, perhaps even overtake her master in power.

Her thoughts moved from admiration to a desire to test the warrior. She wondered how long it would take to break him.

Her right wrist twisted inward, drawing something from her pocket. In a flash, the hand held a metallic object. The sound it made as it sliced through the air was pleasing to her. But the sight of it slicing into his throat was more so.

Perazim had no blood. Except for parts of the brain, all organic matter was burnt away during the initiation, leaving only a pure spirit to be imprisoned in a new artificial body. Even still, only the most experienced and the most hardened Perazim can face death and laugh.

His laughter was loud and inspiring. Her lips turned upward as she licked them moist. Without thought of the propriety of the act, her right hand extended out, caressing his cheeks with her fingers, bidding him to stand at her level. Her lips followed, locking with his in a long exchange.

She expected everything. She felt nothing.

The momentary grip of lust loosened. Her general was failing her and the remarkable specimen before her could not placate her desire to mete out punishment. Instead of the general coming to her to admit failure, he had sent a toy. An offering, perhaps? Or more likely a way to convert her rage into lust. General Carritos knew too much about her, about her weaknesses. He had grown dangerous and had outlived his usefulness. Too often he had failed to deliver; too often he had failed to give her proper respect under protocol. And now he was attempting to play with her. She would punish him and then replace him.

But first this pet...

The hand that had caressed his cheeks a moment before withdrew into a fist. She took a step back and without physical contact, she lifted her hand up. With it, so rose the Perazim, unwillingly.

She had grown powerful over the centuries, far more powerful than if she had stayed under Marcus. Still, there were days she wondered… Her current master was cruel…

She never allowed any female Nephloc to be selected for the crucible. She hated competition and lived for the power she had over males. Exercising this power, the Perazim before her writhed in agony as his face contorted. Her laughter was met by violent growls and spittle.

She was far more powerful than even the strongest Perazim. She knew that; but she also knew that even a fool could get lucky.

The Perazim was struggling to breathe. There were rules to follow while existing in the physical realms, and even a body with little organic matter had to follow the natural way. Even her masters had to obey; even the Dark One who had created the Perazim order and who sustained life within the Nephloc and Perazim ranks had to obey.

She jerked her thumb and the Perazim’s head snapped. If it had been a mere Nephloc or human, he would have died instantly. The unnatural position of his head instilled in her a desire to peek inside the cut her blade had made. The Perazim before her had obeyed and he had even pleased her. But the general had chosen him to be a messenger to her; she would turn this messenger into a message for the general...an unfortunate necessity.

The Perazim’s hands flew to the sides of his head. Even as he was struggling to breathe, he had the presence of mind to reposition his head. The pain would be intense—again the result of the limitations of being in the physical world. A broken neck could be mended. But not a severed head...A separation of the brain and the space that had once housed the heart terminated the connection between a Perazim and its master. He had to correct his head before she could complete the decapitation.

The pain she was witnessing gave her deep pleasure. Yes, this pet from the general was pleasing to her. She would send the general a note pinned to this Perazim’s headless body.

Her hand again tightened and lifted higher; her other hand pulled lower. The gagging sounds were more desperate and yet weaker. His head was being pulled in one direction and the rest of his body, in the other. The tension was becoming unbearable.

Now, it was her time to laugh. The Perazim’s face showed abject horror.

With each popping sound, she laughed louder.

A single beep echoed in the small chamber, causing her attention to break. She dropped her victim, alive but broken.

“Leave! Tell General Carritos that I will come for him soon.”

The Perazim tried to pick himself up. He had some use left in his legs, but his sense of direction was gone. He lurched toward the doorway or what he thought was the doorway. The unnatural position of his neck caused him to go headfirst into the wall. Disoriented and flush with pain, he rebounded from the wall directly to the floor.

“Go!”

She was becoming impatient. Her rash show of mercy was quickly regretted. With the flick of her clenched fist, the Perazim was lifted from the ground and went flying out the door, its legs taking a chunk of rock with them. She only released her fist when he was beyond the doorway and the wooden door was closed as best as it could.

Once alone, she knelt and, pulling an object from a pocket, she placed it on the floor in front of her and quickly stepped away. The black box was no more than a few inches wide and deep. It was no taller than her thumb. It had the curious consistency of some thick, black viscous substance and yet it retained its shape as if a solid. By touch, it felt like smooth marble, but as one touched the object, an oil-like liquid went swirling around, creating beautifully circular patterns.

“My lord,” she said to the box. She had one knee and one fist touching the ground. Her head was bowed. Her eyes were lifted enough to examine the patterns that would soon appear.

The box began to sizzle. Above it rose a musky gray cloud that swirled from the black liquid until it reached the height of a few feet. The motion slowed until it was a constant and gentle stream, flowing up and then to the right in a smooth clockwise fashion.

“You caused me to wait,” came a disembodied voice from the shadows.

“Apologies, my lord. I had a guest to attend to.”

“I hope you were not too rough with him.”

She despised her master. He had promised her freedom—something a woman of her original culture and station couldn’t have hoped for. Now, she was truly a slave. He was cruel and a show of mercy, while not without precedent, was unpredictable. And yet, his was a power that none could deny. A power even the Temporal were not aware of. An ancient power that would destroy her enemies. For that, she worshipped him and participated in his twisted games.

“Have you punished General Carritos yet?” His voice was calm, almost as if the subject matter was of some minute and mundane detail of business.

“My lord?” She knew Carritos was her master’s favorite of the turned Temporals.

“He has failed. He had ample opportunity to destroy the Temporal based on the information I provided and yet, he failed. You thought I would not know? Tsk. Tsk. How disappointing.”

“He will be dealt with.” Her mind thought of the torturous things that awaited her. She had tried to hide failure from him, something she would not tolerate from her own subordinate.

“You may punish him, but do not overly harm him.”

Carritos had been discovered and turned by her master. Like her, Carrritos had been a Temporal.

She did not know her master’s true identity. If she did, she could send all Perazim—her Perazim—to destroy him. He was powerful, but not invincible. He always appeared at unpredictable times and in various forms. Like Kaileen, her master had morphic abilities. It had been him who had taught her the dark arts many centuries before. It had been him who had taken her away from her husband with the lures of libertine freedom.