Gateway Through Time Read online

  Gateway Through Time

  David Kernot

  Copyright © 2020 David Kernot

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Paul Mudie, 2014.

  [email protected]

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Act I - the Path of Gods and men

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Act 2 – the Lesser Path of Gods

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Act 3 –Gods of the Multiverse

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Acknowledgement

  About The Author

  Books By This Author

  Act I - the Path of Gods and men

  “That is not dead which can eternal lie,

  And with strange aeons even death may die.”

  H.P. LOVECRAFT The Nameless City, 1928

  (originally sourced from fragments of the Necronomicon).

  Chapter I

  Joint Defence Facility Pine Gap, Central Australia.

  A mile underground in a cavern hollowed out a millennium ago by tectonic forces and a giant underground river, General John Cobb stared at the silver elongated object suspended in a large glass container, and slightly longer than his palm. Rounded at each end. Cylindrical with depressions in it. John counted them. Just right if you had six fingers and a thumb in the middle of your hand for grasping. Alien, then. High above him, on the surface of the central Australian desert, temperatures soared upward of 50 degrees Celsius, hot enough apparently to fry eggs on the bonnet of a vehicle. You would know it, but down here in one of the NSA's most secret labs, the hum of the filtered white room was almost clinical. Men and women hovered around the object in white suits. Paper slippers covered their polished shoes, and they wore the same crisp paper head covers in distinct ways to express individuality. He wished he was up at the surface, frying like an egg. All he had been told was this was an alien object, and not from the earth. He leaned forward, closer to the object suspended in its glass confinement, and turned to his companion. "What do you think it is, Commander Brother John?"

  "General, the Knights Templar have been keepers of artefacts and relics since the ancient times, but few of us remain. This object is one from the early crusades in Mesopotamia."

  John Cobb frowned. "Mesopotamia?"

  "From what is now the Dhi Qar Province in Iraq, General."

  "From the crusades?"

  "Yes."

  "That was a long time ago." John Cobb thrust his hands deep into his military uniform trouser pockets and took a half step closer to the glass confinement cage. The metallic silver glistened. "Made from ancient titanium, you said?" He glanced over at the Knight Commander. "Impossible. Are you sure it's not made from silver or some other material more basic?"

  The Knight Commander stepped over beside him and pulled his thick cape closer. It highlighted the white patch with the Red Cross above his heart. "Impossible as you say, General, but true none the less."

  John Cobb frowned. "You haven't mentioned what it is, and how we have it suspended?" He searched for thin wires, fishing twine, but couldn't find any. "Is there a reason it isn't resting on anything?"

  "It is in a Faraday Cage, General so they contain it. It is suspended in mid-air, powered by some otherworld energy. Perhaps antimatter."

  John Cobb laughed. "Again, impossible," he said. "But I will ask. Antimatter? Does it even exist outside of some theoretical lab? I mean, in the actual world?"

  The Knight Commander shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps. But likely something from an alternate dimension. Another universe. A multiverse, likely."

  "A multiverse?" John laughed again, but this time it sounded strained.

  "We cannot disregard the idea, General."

  Cobb blew air from his cheeks. His heart raced, and he wanted to sit down, somewhere well away from the object that was worrying him. Antimatter and a Multiverse were not in the toolkit of an intelligence analyst. How was it the more he asked, the worse these impossible suggestions became? He leaned close to the Knight Commander and repeated himself. "All impossible."

  The Knight Commander, Brother John, placed two fingers to the white gold clasp at his throat, and they covered the embolden red cross in the center. It kept his large cape in place. The man nodded slowly. "So it would seem, General, but on my word, as one of the few surviving Knights Templar, it is so."

  John Cobb glanced over at the object. "It is contained in a bulletproof glass?"

  "Yes, stronger than a foot of reinforced concrete."

  John Cobb nodded, and his throat seemed suddenly dry. He stepped up close to the glass container and tapped it lightly. The sound seemed deadened. He rapped harder, expecting it to sound louder, but again it made no impact.

  But he got a reaction and stepped back away from the glass. The object spun about its center, slowly at first, and then it gathered speed. John Cobb frowned. "What is it doing?"

  The Knight Commander smiled silently and held up his hand.

  Bright light burst from the container, a flash of light so bright that John had to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the object had gone. He rubbed his eyes. "Where did it go?"

  "Out into the world, General. It's happening."

  Cobb frowned. "Happening? What is happening?"

  "The end of the world, General. The Gods will make their way through the gateway for all of time, and the world will be different now for humankind."

  "Different? And you know this how?"

  "The Prophesy says so."

  John tried not to sound as though he disbelieved any of what he was hearing. Far-fetched and impossible came to mind. "What Prophesy?"

  "It is written in the ancient scriptures, General. Handed down from one Knight to the next. All you need to do is wait for the signs, but I would prepare for the worst."

  John threw his hands into the air. "Specifics then, man. What do we do? Where do we look so we are not sitting on our hands hopelessly?"

  The man shrugged. "You could have some anthropologists or archaeologists scour the holy lands. Have them conduct a survey of the ancient sites and see if there are any unusual sightings. The Old Ones will release their minions. The Shoggoths will probably appear first. Yog-Sothoth will return. The earth will crack as their creatures reach out from that point until the Earth's energy is released, and it touches the heavens."

  John Cobb's lip curled. It didn't sound like anyone had any hope when the man spoke that
way. "You want me to send US soldiers deep into the heart of Iraq, and Iran, Syria, and Afghanistan looking for ancient technology that will otherwise wipe out humankind?"

  "It is better than sitting on your hands and waiting."

  "Brother John, I might be a two-star general in the United States Army, but my authority does not extend to anything on a scale like this."

  "Then use your Canadian and British allies. Call on your Australian colleagues here. Look for capable people that think differently. Send them to Mesopotamia. I would start there. I will alert the Templars, and we will see if we can uncover some missing artefacts before they awaken."

  "Awaken like this one just did?"

  "Yes, General."

  "And if we don't?"

  "If we don't act soon, life on the Earth will transform. These could be mankind's last few months."

  "Months? I thought you said we had years."

  "A re-evaluation, General. Some signs..."

  "The signs?"

  "Unexplained alien technology appears across the world."

  "How can you say it is alien?"

  "Where have you seen this level of tech before? What would you call it, General?"

  Cobb shrugged. He would call it the devil's work, but that didn't explain it. He shuddered and hoped the man was wrong. "And all this is based on some ancient scriptures?"

  "Yes." The man beamed.

  John Cobb frowned. "We can't act out based on a set of ancient scriptures."

  "Why not, General? Most of the civilised world follows one scripture or another? Who is to say that our discovery isn't the genuine one?"

  John Cobb shook his head. "But, it's not."

  "But yes, it is. I can't brush off the accuracy of the document's translation. That is what it is."

  John Cobb shuddered as a chill took him. "I deal in knowns. Bombs, guns, armed UAVs like the Pred. You can't weaponize a person. They overthink, they are too unreliable. We're not in the business of creating suicide attackers."

  The Knight Commander opened his arms wide. "Al-Qaeda did."

  "Yes, and look where that got them. People are too complex."

  "I beg to differ, General. People can surprise you. AI. Tech, The Internet of Things… these are merely a passing phase in the timeline of mankind… there have always been people, putting the machines and the AI aside, there is a shift of power. The Old Ones are returning. They will change this world. This one and others across the multiverse. The scriptures say so."

  Cobb held up his hand. "Stop. This is too much. People have been here for an eternity, and they will be here for an eternity. With the AI. With the Tech. That's the way it's always been."

  The man bowed, and Cobb could see the crown of his bald head. "As you wish, General, but make plans for the end of the world, all the same."

  Cobb laughed, a thin laugh empty of any mirth or frivolity. The end of the world would not come before he'd served three more years and got a fat pension cheque in his retirement. He'd earned it, and nothing would get in the way.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter II

  The Gorgon’s Stare, Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan

  Sergeant Emerson James Ash parked the lone car in the visitor’s spot and stepped out onto the sandy road. Near to him, across the military runway, was the Kandahar International Airport terminal. The building in front by the car was a concrete stucco building pocked with gunfire. The name on it said TLS. He strode inside, glanced at the location board and walked in the room's direction he’d been told to attend. A large wooden door barred the way with a sign that said OED J2X. Knock and Wait.

  He knocked and waited. Behind the door, he could hear a chair groan.

  “Come,” said a voice.

  Emerson pushed open the door and an Australian officer dressed in multi-cams stood.

  Emerson braced with both arms by his side. The prosthetic left arm hung limp. “Sir, I’m Sergeant Ash. I was told to report for a briefing.”

  The man smiled. “A briefing? Is that what they said?”

  Emerson nodded. And watched the man glance at his prosthetic arm.

  “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Stew MacMahon. I’m the J2X.” He grinned proudly. “I’m one of a handful on embeds here at KAF supporting the US Operation Enduring Freedom. You’re a SIGINT analyst, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Supporting the remotely piloted Heron?”

  Emerson nodded. “I work out of the Ground Control Element cabins, across the other side of the runway.”

  “Yes. I heard you contributed to a US Reaper mission last week, and you did that exceptional analysis with their Gorgon Stare ISR feed to triangulate an interesting cache find.”

  Emerson frowned. “I heard it was just the usual. Heroin, Improvised Explosive Device triggers, and explosives. The IED’s were the normal inferior quality stuff coming in through Pakistan.”

  “They found an Old One’s device—ancient technology—and uranium, possibly from when the soviets were here.”

  “An old one’s ancient tech? I don’t understand.”

  “Call me Stewie.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me Emerson. Come. I wanted to show you something.” The man laughed. “Follow me….”

  Lieutenant Colonel Stewie MacMahon strode out of his office. He held the large wooden door open. “Coming?”

  Emerson nodded. He wondered if Stewie was ‘all there.’

  Emerson followed the man through a myriad of shell impregnated and grey shrapnel-pocked stucco corridors. At one point, an enormous dome open to the outside above and daylight poured in.

  “GBU 500 bomb,” said the man. “Special Forces action.”

  Emerson stared at the rows of red-painted figures on the remaining roof. Kill counts! At least that was what it looked like. He shuddered. What was this building?

  Outside they climbed a series of ladders onto wooden platforms to an enormous deck looking over the runway.

  “Welcome to the Taliban’s Last Stand. It survived a US special forces attack on it when it was once a Taliban stronghold.” He walked over to an army trunk filled with ice and pulled out a brown glass bottle. “Beer, Emerson… well, a near beer?”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Stewie, remember. Want a stogie?”

  Emerson laughed. “Please.” He grabbed the cigar container, a Churchill. Expensive and removed the fat cigar. He followed Stewie and cut off the end, picked up a faux zippo with an Afghanistan etching on it and lit the cigar.

  They walked to the edge of the wooden platform. Across the vast flatness, the sky was a blue vista.

  Stewie held up his beer. “Cheers. Look at that view.”

  Emerson wiped his brow and stared at a 65 million dollar MQ-9 Reaper roll off the ramp and taxi along the Kandahar Airfield runway. The unmanned aerial surveillance vehicle, was laden with GPS guided JDAMS, a Joint Direct Attack Munition and was going to examine the road between Kandahar and the Multinational base out at Tarin Kowt to the north-west where IEDs, Improvised Explosive Devices were likely laid to harm coalition convoys.

  “It’s an amazing vantage point from up here.”

  “It’s our version of St Paul’s Cathedral without the influence of Sir Christopher Wren.”

  Emerson chuckled. Stewie was a scholar. He sipped on the non-alcoholic beer and puffed on the cigar.

  Stewie said, “Can I ask you a personal question, Emerson?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Stewie MacMahon stared at Emerson’s left prosthetic arm again.

  “It’s not in the file. How did you lose your arm?”

  So there was a file. Emerson closed his eyes and swayed his head. He took a deep breath. “After I joined up, on my first leave period I went home, out to Stirling North, out near the Flinders Ranges in South Australia. I was helping my… I was farming and showing off to my girl. I fell from her tractor. A wheat harvester attached to it… It didn’t like my arm. But the army were good to me. They k
ept me employed. He raised his left arm. They gave me this one. It doesn’t do much, but I don’t stand out so much in a crowd. And I have a modified Steyr rifle so I can still protect myself and my colleagues if I need to fire it.”

  Stewie’s head rocked from side to side. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. Completely understand, Emerson. What about the girl? Did you win her heart?” His eyes widened. “Importantly, is she waiting for you?”

  “Amye. That’s her name. She is waiting for me, but I left her… I walked out on her because.. well, if truth be known…” Emerson bit down on his teeth for a moment, and then he sighed. “I don’t think I’m good enough for her now. She needs to find someone better.”

  “And has she?”

  “No. I don’t think she has. Stirling North isn’t a very popular location. And I still love her more than life! I just can’t tell her. I’m only half the man she needs.”

  “I’m sure she knows how you feel? Maybe give her time? After what I am going to ask, you could see her on your return?”

  Emerson frowned. On my return? “Sure.”

  “Time to get official.”

  “The reason I’m here, sir?”

  “Yep. Emerson, consider this being briefed into a highly classified five eyes program. What you’re going to hear is highly classified. It’s part of a very limited Special Access Program. Ask as many questions as you need, but do not share this with anyone. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Out here in the open?”

  He laughed. “Look about. You think at the busiest single runway in the world, with these assets around us, anyone will hear what we say? It’s not the barber’s shop out on the Boardwalk.”

  Emerson nodded. “It’s not.”

  “Out here in the open, we are more secure than we could be in my office. This is part of the Codeword IRIDIUM compartment. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “The US have a small team of experts, historians, anthropologists, intelligence analysts, archeologists. You name it, they have it. They have the lead on this hunt for the Old Ones’ tech.”