TEMPUS CHAPTER TWO
You do not need a therapist if you own a motorcycle, any kind of motorcycle!
Dan Aykroyd
Morning came early.
“Keeper we must move there may be danger.”
“WHAT?”
“The Elders will come for me and the ship. Hold me in your hand.”
He felt a small pinprick in the palm of his hand. “What was that?”
“That was a neural interface. Talking to a pocket watch in most time-spaces would be considered witchcraft or madness. We can now communicate without sound.”
It was true whatever the man thought the Watcher could hear and answer. He wondered about the dangers, who was after them and why.
“Does that mean I can never have private thoughts again?”
“Just think interface off, it will turn off. Think on and it’s activated. You are inquiring about the Elders. The Makers believe them to be evil. They change events to keep the world in chaos. They hide behind many names and organizations. They are behind some of the most horrific events in your history”
“Sounds like the Makers and The Elders are enemies.”
“There has been a secret war between The Makers and the Elders throughout the ages. Your information body functions are now monitored and corrections and improvements can be made for life-threatening situations.”
“You are a medic too?”
“In a way yes.”
“I need to do something with my cats.”
“We can discuss them on the way.”
“To where?”
“When might be a better question and answer. We need to get to the ship. There is a transportation device in the next room.”
“You mean the Hardly Davidson? Hardly since the motor company unjustly voided the warranty.” Yea I am talking to you, shaking a fist at an upside-down orange and black flag on the wall of the shop. So I replaced everything made by them with aftermarket parts. Including frame, tranny and bags one part at a time. “That transportation device?”
“Yes a modified S&S Powered 96 cubic inch Motorcycle yes. Bring the tin box, travel west” said the watch almost impatiently.
With the box in the driver-side saddlebag, he opened the garage door. He rolled out his bike and closed the door. He checked all the doors and made sure they were all locked.
As he threw his right leg over the bagger, he admired the blue flames on the tank.
His motorcycle had its own style it was soon to be copied by many others. In discussions, some riders thought it strange to put ape hangers on a bagger. The term bagger meant it had a fairing up front and a couple of hard saddlebags in the back.
The critics thought the idea dumb until they saw it. Handlebars that rose up almost two feet above the windshield that had been cut down to three inches, and the mirrors that been remounted behind the fairing out of site.
The light blue flames on a darker blue continued from the fairing back to the fibreglass saddlebags. Two 1939 Ford glass blue dot teardrop taillights were frenched into the saddlebags to get rid of the clunky factory lights.
Andrews cam, Modified S&S carb, Chromed old school filter cover, Free-flowing air filter, and Straight pipes with restrictors to reclaim top end torque from the pipes. It was loud, the internal mufflers had fallen out after he pounded on them long enough with hammer and chisel. He was proud of his creation.
The Big twin roared to life. He remembered his youngest girl, running around the house yelling potato, potato over and over imitating his bike at idle. Those were the days. He missed his kids.
While it warmed up, he wrapped his bandana around his forehead and tied a knot in the back. With the Beanie strap secured he put his cheap shades on. A moment later clutch lever pulled in he kicked her into first gear, and slowly let the Kevlar clutch plates connected engine and transmission.
A quick stop at the corner, then a small hole in the traffic opened up. He rolled the power on full throttle making quick shifts without the clutch until he was in fifth gear. There was almost nothing more satisfying than the sounds and movement of his two wheels getting up to speed.
As man and machine, now one, glided down the highway, he noticed something was different. He felt confident, and calm, every move a purpose. He was singing along with Seger in his head as he revved up the bike to warn another oblivious driver that he was coming through.
My hands were steady
My eyes were clear and bright
My walk had purpose
My steps were quick and light
And I held firmly
To what I felt was right
Like a rock
He felt good; better than he had in years. The devastation of what his x wife had done seemed distant. His right knee didn’t hurt.
A drunk driver had destroyed that knee in a head-on crash. He couldn’t even sit on a bike for four years after. Twelve hours of surgery went by and the doc told him he would never walk again.
He told the doc to fuck off and declared he would walk again and he did. He made it to physio three times a week for four years. Down the hill and back again first in a wheelchair, then later crutches and he worked his way to an old bamboo cane someone had given him. By the fourth year, he was walking without a support device. In year five he had learned how to walk without the limp. Not once did he let the injury slow him down. He made a jump out of a plane and even managed to climb a small mountain with some friends.
He had constant pain since the day of the first surgery. The pain was gone. He bent his leg backward until it almost rested on the saddlebag he had full range of motion.
“How the hell did that happen Watcher?”
“Microscopic machines in your bloodstream repaired the damage. In a few years, the term nanobots will be used to describe them. They are not finished, the damage to your right knee and ankle was extensive, and you had damaged vertebrae. They are also cleaning your arteries now. There are too many carbohydrates and too much of the wrong fat in your diet.”
“I’m not giving up the macaroni Watcher” he sternly warned the watch.
“Try butter instead of margarine.”
“I thought butter was bad.”
“They lied Margarine is bad, vegetable oil is bad, coconut oil is good.”
He wasn’t surprised. He was full of conspiracy theories. The world was being run by big business, food companies, pharmaceutical companies, and corrupt governments; and don’t get him started on the oil companies. All this, he was sure was to keep the masses in financial slavery and make a few assholes rich. He would find out how right he was in the near future.
An explosion of pictures appeared in his mind of where they needed to be and how. The detail was amazing. He knew exactly where to be. There was a cave hidden in a rock face north of town, past an area called Black Pines.
“Keeper there is a law enforcement vehicle hidden behind the next building it is emitting dangerous microwave radiation. I am compensating and reflecting the radiation back to its source. This will submit the officer to a further danger of cancer than he is already experiencing.”
“Fucking radar” It was another tax grab by the Revenue Canada Mounted Police. The amounts of revenue generated proved it wasn’t a deterrent. If they wanted to slow people down he had a plan that would work, buy the cops some doughnuts and coffee and put them and the car on the side of the highway where people could see them.
“Can he gauge our speed Watcher?”
“No Keeper his radiation is not reaching us.”
“Good I have too many points on my license.”
“Not any more Keeper, I have removed them and your criminal record has been erased.”
He had put a few cop cars in the ditch in a high-speed chase one New Years’ Eve, too much alcohol, coke and magic mushrooms all at the same time. He took his roommate’s van for a drive when he spotted his uniformed arch-enemy sitting across from him at a red light.
The cop recognized him and lit up his cherry. Cristian was just sitting at the light, when he saw the red lights he revved up the small block Chevy, one foot on the brake the other pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Perfect burnout, the van filled the intersection with so much smoke the cop didn’t know what direction he was heading until he was rolling. He headed for the highway. During the chase, the cop called for reinforcements. Two of them tried to come at him head-on playing chicken, a stupid move he never lost at that game in his life. He planted the pedal further into the floor and headed straight for them. They must have had wives and children, they both went straight for the ditch on each side. Cristian never deviated from his path until two hours later at 140 miles an hour he ran out of gas, he made a decision to quit, tired of the game and his life, he cranked the wheel hit an approach and rolled a spectacular thirteen times in mid-air.
When the van hit the ground he was thrown through the sunroof. He broke his back and got a nice twenty-stitch bragging scar across his chin.
One of the cops that saw this happen told him the story of how the van was going to roll on top of him but fell the other way. He said “you must have Angels watching over you, that van should have crushed you. I have never seen anything like it.”
Looking back later he was sure that he had help from a couple of Makers.
He remembered waking up in one hospital where he overheard the doctor talking to the police who chased him down.
“You can’t move him his back is broken. You might kill him or leave him paralyzed.”
“He put two officers in the ditch that fucker is coming back to Alberta with us tonight.”
The police forced the ambulance driver to take back roads all the way back, bad bumpy roads. At some time the pain from hitting them put him into a coma.
He woke up in the hospital under guard in the hospital. Not remembering what happened he looked up at his guard and said. “That must have been some party” he climbed out of the bed and ripped out his iv and painfully pulled out his catheter.
“Where you going?” asked the guard.
“I am going to take a piss feels like it’s been a while.”
“Three weeks,” said the uniform.
He quit drugging and drinking soon after that.
Soon as he was able to shuffle a few steps they hauled him off to the local jail. They stripped the mattress off the metal rack that passed for a bed, as a reward for humiliating them in the high-speed chase. Then they withheld all of his painkillers. It was there he learned to harness endorphins in his body to fight pain.
One night while he was in there, two cops were beating up an old drunk for fun. He yelled through his bars “Why don’t you try that with me you fucking lowlife bastards. I have a broken back it should be easy.”
They knew he was Ex-military and decided to back off. They left the drunk alone after that.
“Thank you” was the response from the old drunk before he passed out bloody.
When it came time for court. He plea-bargained down his charges. The original charges they had trumped up could have put him away for life. They wanted to make an example of him the P.D. had said.
He pleaded guilty to grand theft auto and criminal negligence, Maximum sentence 14 years. The Court assigned him a redhead probation officer so a pre-sentence report could be done.
In her office, the woman gave him a proposition. “I could make sure you get a favourable report.”
“And what would I have to do?” he asked already knowing what was coming.
She lifted her short skirt to reveal more red hair, panties missing. She was pretty enough, he just wouldn’t bow down to extortion even if it meant jail. He had a strong dislike for those that misused their power over others, male or female.
“That ain’t gonna happen.”
She dropped her skirt and gave him a cold hard look. “I hope you enjoy jail. I will make sure they put you away for the maximum.”
When up in front of the judge he heard. “Just based on your pre-sentence report I should put in for the full fourteen. However I have looked at your Military service record, you were awarded two honourable mentions and are responsible for saving lives while you served our country. 18 months probation 18 months suspended sentence $500 to be paid within thirty days. If you break any laws you will be sentenced under the original charges, I WILL PUT YOU AWAY FOR THE MAXIMUM. Do you understand?”
Cristian stood up and turned around to face the scumbag redhead sitting at the back of the courthouse and winked at her. “I understand your Honour Thank you.”
Now he just had to come up with five hundred dollars. He did, some miracles took place and soon he was back in the human race again. The man that owned the local pool hall had pulled in a favour and got him some work in Grande Prairie.
The criminal record he carried should not have been there. His buddy had him charged with theft so he could get a cheque from the insurance company. He forgot to pay his bill for that month.
The policeman that instigated the high-speed chase had a personal beef with him over a hat badge that Cristian removed from his hat while getting a lecture for a speeding ticket. Cristian wasn’t even driving but took the ticket to protect his buddy who later turned on him in exchange for cash. The same buddy also relieved him of a few thousand dollars Cristian had in his wallet that was in the van during the high-speed chase.
“He hacks and cracks and cleans up past mistakes. You are handy to have around Watcher.”
“Thank you, Keeper.”
“Just call me Cristian.”
“Ezra wanted to be known as Bill sometimes other times as George Edwards.”
“Bill Miner the Grey Fox? That was Ezra?”
“Yes, Cristian.”
“Why were you ten feet underground?”
“Ezra buried me there just before a train robbery along with some loot from another holdup. It wasn’t ten feet then. The rest was added when your house was built.”
“You spent over eighty years in the ground. SHeee–it.”
“It was a small eternity for me Cristian. It was necessary.”
“Why?”
“So you could become the Keeper. A red-haired woman made a deal with him. Ezra agreed to do this in exchange for one thing.”
“What was the one thing, Watcher?”
“We need to break him out of Jail.”
“This was all planned, how did you know I would find you?”
“Plans for the sewage system, blueprints for your house and tax records it was quite simple. I told Ezra where to bury me. I carried this information from the future. The redhead gave me the rest of the information.”
“Why me Watcher?”
“Tell me Cristian, throughout your life did you feel as though you were different? That you didn’t fit in. In school did you feel a little smarter than your classmates?”
“Yea I did actually, even played dumb trying to be one of them.”
“Keeper you are from a different time, you were switched at birth. You were given some knowledge before your arrival.”
“Get the fuck outta here.”
“I can’t leave Keeper. I have no means of transportation.”
“It is an expression, Watcher. What happened to the baby I was switched with?”
“That baby was taken to a family in the future and he was given the nanobots. Without that help, the baby would have died in the hospital in Brazil.”
“Why was it done? Has this happened before?”
“It was done to hide you and yes Keeper many times in the past and future.”
“Watcher, can you adjust your speech to match the current time we are in and try to add a little humour?”
“Fuck ya.”
“I think you are getting it Watcher.” He cracked the throttle and pushed the handlebar hard. The bike leaned over in the opposite direction and swerved around a car. This at least was familiar, push steering the bike around the slow-moving cage on wheels, the rest was going to be a little harder to digest.
“What does the writing on your cover mean?”
“Tempus Fugit, Latin for time flies.”
“Too funny.”
“Ezra thought so too.”
They arrived at a rock outcropping down a narrow trail on the side of a hill. The rocks seemed to open in front of them.
“How does this work?”
“It is an energy field masked by a holo image of the rock. It feels just like rock and automatically adjusts for ambient temperature.”
He pulled his scooter inside and dropped the side stand down. Out of habit, he cranked the wheel over, shut off the fuel and locked the forks, he turned around and looked out the entrance to see if they were followed. “Are you going to close the door?”
“The door is closed Cristian, the field allows you to see through it from the inside.”
This was going to be fun.