It started as soon as the ship left port and more than one crew member was for turning back.  It was not just that a passenger had been murdered, it was the fact that they were half eaten and left in the kitchen, in the walk-in cooler, like they were being preserved for a late night snack.

            Glen, of course, knew none of this.  He was nine and liked the roll of the ship. 

            Big ships, like the SS Rotterdam did not have stabilizers in 1963 and plenty of people still got seasick, but Glen liked the waves and the smell of the sea.  They filled his senses day and night and that was good because there certainly was not much else to do.  About the only things this ship had for kids was some craft room where Glen could spend seven to ten days making a wallet worth throwing out as soon as he got home and the afternoon cartoon and Roy Rogers screamfest.  At supper where the men changed their afternoon suits for evening suits and the women changed their sun dresses for evening gowns, they played the Peppermint Twist and had a twist contests, but that was for the older folks, like all that Sinatra music.  Glen’s brother once asked them to play Neil Sedaka, but the crew did not know who that was.

            The SS Rotterdam left Amsterdam to cross the Atlantic in a week or so, and back then that was pretty good time.  Still, that meant Glen and his family and a couple hundred other families would be stuck together somewhere in the middle of the ocean with no possible means of escape.  True, Glen’s family could have flown, but flying was still rather exotic thinking back in 1963—there were no 747s.  So the family crossed the ocean (it was not a pond then) on a ship even as they crossed to Spain twelve months earlier on the SS Independence.

            That first evening at sea when a member of the crew went to wake up a passenger under a blanket on a lido deck lounger, he found another half-eaten body.  The Captain still did not turn back and no one quite understood why. 

            In the morning, Glen had breakfast and resigned himself to the bleak days and nights ahead.  His brother was eleven and a reader, so it wasn’t so bad for him.  His little sister was five which was young enough to be more easily entertained.  Besides, she did not leave mom and dad’s side whereas Glen was allowed some run of the ship.  After all, as long as he stayed away from the railing, where could a nine-year-old go?

            Glen despised shuffle board, not that he had anyone to play with.  He liked Roy Rogers well enough, but it seemed to him the ship was hardly the wide open plains.  At last he decided to play pirate, or rather he played the officer charged with finding and stopping the pirates from taking over the ship and stealing everyone’s money.  Back in those days, the movies that Glen got to watch still had white hats and black hats.  They did not confuse the good guys and the bad guys back in 1963.

            That morning, the crew found another body—this one was in the meat locker where the butchered beef for the trip was scrupulously untouched.  They were looking for the body, and one sailor even said whatever it was, it appeared to like breakfast and supper.  A second sailor said it appeared to like its meat fresh, but he did not say it too loud.

            That afternoon, just before Glen was due to return to the room to dress for dinner, he was chasing some invisible pirate down the deck and heard a scream.  There were several screams so he swerved to look into the lounge room.  He was in time to see a snake as thick as his body and some six or eight feet long slither into a round hole in the vent.  He also saw a man was missing his leg from the knee down and bleeding all over the carpet, but then some members of the crew showed up.  Three went running in and one blocked the lounge door and turned to speak.

            “Nothing to worry about, people.  The poor man is just having some heart trouble, that’s all.  The ship’s doctor is fully qualified and I am sure he will be back on his feet in no time.”  That was some quick thinking if a bit ironic.

            Glen looked up and the man looked down.  “You got worms,” Glen said softly.

            “Go on, kid.  Your parents want you.  Nothing to see here.”  The crowd headed off, no doubt to get ready for dinner and the evening festivities.

            Glen turned but walked off slowly while the voices talked in his head.  A few minutes later a man dressed in a white silk shirt with puffy sleeves, a tan leather vest that was almost a tunic, black pants and tan leather knee boots that matched the vest walked up to the lounge.  He had a wicked looking knife sheathed on his hip, but he left the cutlass home.  When he entered the room, he found two crewmen examining the hole in the vent.  The bartender was looking, but stood back for safety sake.

            “You have worms,” the newcomer said.  He bent down to join the two at the hole.  Both men looked, but did not say anything at first because of how the newcomer was dressed and the fact that he said “You got worms” in Dutch and in English.  “Peter VanDyke, Captain of the Golden Hawk out of Amsterdam.”  The stranger introduced himself.  “And I said you’ve got worms.  I’ve seen this before and these are very hard to get rid of.”

            “Worms?”

            “Aye, six or eight feet long and able to chew through steel.”  He tapped the vent.  “So how many dead, chewed-up bodies so far?”  He asked.

            Alice stepped up beside Glen to watch the fighter touch the clouds.  “I feel like part of me is up there now.  That was not fair, you know.”  Glen said nothing.  “I must say, he did not seem so scary this time, even before you transferred the language and all.”

            “He wasn’t shooting at you.”  This time Alice simply nodded.  “So what were you going to say about Althea?” he asked.

            “I revised my estimate.”

            “Spit it out.”

            “Okay.”  Alice appeared to choose her words carefully.  “It is the first time I have seen you as a woman who is not drop dead gorgeous.  She seemed so normal.”

            Glen laughed a little.  “She used to hang out with a fellow named Herakles.  Some of the gods worried about him so they gave her all sorts of gifts to help protect him.”  That was all Glen was going to say at first, but then he changed his mind and added, “She also went sailing with a fellow named Jason.”  Alice did not get the reference.  “The Golden fleece?”  Alice frowned.  “Hey, it was my ship, or my father’s anyway.”

            “Why is everything with you so hard to believe?”

            Glen shrugged.  “It isn’t, really.  I’m the one who is hard to swallow.  I know because all sorts of monsters, creatures and things have tried.”  He paused to look for a reaction but Alice was serious.  “Really, though, after you meet me, the rest sort of falls into place.  I mean, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and you have already been introduced to a secret international organization, you have not only seen a real-live space alien, but you just got his language and culture implanted in your brain, and by magic no less.  You have had contact with a real-live fairy, and an elf and have at least heard about the gods and such things.”

            “I know all that.  You’re not helping.”

            Glen understood.  “It is a lot to process.  Just imagine how much I have to process.”  He rolled his eyes and looked up.

            “I’m beginning to understand that.”  Alice sounded sympathetic.

            “Think of it this way.”  Fyodor interrupted.  He had stepped up to one side while Sergeant Thomas took the other.  “Everything that you once imagined might be possible, like life on other planets is true.”  Alice nodded.  “Then everything you always thought of as an impossible fantasy is probably also true.”

            “What do you mean probably?”

            “There are some things I haven’t asked about.”

            Alice nodded again as they all turned to go back up to the main building.  The limos were already there and waiting.  Poor Bobbi had to ride with Colonel Veber, but Fyodor volunteered to join her, he said, to deflect the worst of it.  Miriam went to keep her company as well.  Doctor Roberts and Mirowen snuck back down to the barn with the escape pod.  That left Glen, Lockhart, Alice, Boston, Pumpkin and Sergeant Thomas to ride together but there was an argument first.

            “Get big,” Glen said to Pumpkin.

            “No.  Not yet.  Please.”  Pumpkin sounded more like a teenager than she did someone who was more than five hundred years old.

            “If you want to go with us to the White House, you have to get big and you have to stay big the whole time.”  Glen was firm.  The fairy fretted and clicked her tongue as she flitted back and forth.  She flew up to face Boston and Lockhart, then Alice, then Bobbi and Fyodor and then flew back to Glen where she continued to flit back and forth like a pendulum. 

            Finally, Pumpkin came to rest and with a surprisingly pleasant voice she said, “Okay, that should be fun.”  She seemed to vanish for a second and reappeared as a full grown woman without the least sign of wings.  She looked remarkably human except for her beauty, which Alice noted.  She was not a beauty like Alice’s namesake, Alice of Avalon who had a look that belonged on magazine covers and where designers might come to physical blows to get her on their runway.  She was also not a beauty like the Princess who had an attractive quality that exuded her sexuality.  Alice imagined the Princess would draw men to her like flies to flypaper.  No.  Pumpkin big was beautiful in a way that could only be called inhuman.  It was a little hard to focus and take it all in.

            “Shall we go?”  Pumpkin asked.  At least her voice sounded the same.

            As soon as they were rolling, Glen pulled the red ball out of his pocket—the one he took from the escape pod and briefly plugged into the Vordan communicator.  He had made everyone wait while he got himself a laptop and now he plugged the ball into the computer.

            “Internet card.”  Glen stuck out his hand and Lockhart handed him what looked like a credit card.

            “Free world-wide internet.”  Lockhart explained for Alice.

            “Why do you need the internet?”  Alice asked.

            “Google Galaxy.”

            “Google Earth?  Look, what is that thing, some way to pinpoint the Vordan location?  I saw you take it from the Humanoid ship.”

            “No.  I already got the location of the Vordan by a different bit of Humanoid technology.  This is caller I. D.  Same principle anyway.  I figure the Vordan will have a decision to make.  I am hoping they will call whoever brought them here to get instructions before they attack.”

            “Attack?”  It was Boston who reacted out loud.

            Glen looked up and was a bit surprised by the strength of the reaction.  “Oh, I’m not worried about the Vordan.  I want to know how they got here.  Someone helped them and it is a bit disturbing having no idea who that someone might be.”  As Alice said earlier, that did not help.  “Maybe a story would be in order,” he decided.  They had a journey to get to the White House.

            The Vordan was cuffed but did not look uncooperative.  Alice, Mirowen, Emile and Fyodor pushed up close to see.  Sergeant Thomas fingered his holster.  Finally, Glen had to tell everyone to take two giant steps back.

            “Not you Miss Summers.”  He took Alice’s hand to keep her at his side.  “Time to change,”  He simply said it and went away from there.  A woman appeared.  She was no looker, with ordinary brown hair and light brown eyes.  She stood about five-five and in every way looked like just any normal woman.  Alice gasped.

            “What is it?” The woman asked.  Her words were colored by some kind of heavy accent.

            Alice wanted to say something, but shook her head.  “Nothing.  No, nothing.”

            The woman turned to the Vordan, adjusted something on the choker she wore around her neck, and spoke.  “My name is  Althea.  Are you understanding me?  The Vordan nodded.  “Good.  I am the Traveler, the Kairos, the god of history and defender of this world.  Do you understand this?”  The Vordan certainly understood something because it dropped its eyes.  “I have three things I must do at present, and the first is I must have your hand.”  Althea made a bit of a show by waving her hand and snapping her finger.  The cuffs popped off the Vordan and fell to the grass.  Althea held her hand out.  The Vordan obviously considered its options before it slowly put its hand in hers.

            “Alice.”  Althea asked for a hand from her as well and when she gave it Althea lit up with a bright golden light like a woman on fire.  She glowed while the light passed from her or through her up and down both Alice’s and the Vordan’s arms.  When Althea let go, the light vanished and Alice and the Vordan both collapsed.

            “They are fine,” Althea insisted.  “Fyodor and Sergeant Thomas, would you be good enough to fetch the table and chair from the corner of the hut?”   Even as they left, both Alice and the Vordan began to come around.

            “I feel funny.”  The Vordan said.  It was a deep voice and still very gravely, but understandably English. 

            Alice could only say “Gluk, gurk, rock” and similar things until she tossed her hair back and looked up.  “What am I saying?”

            “Very good words.”  Althea made the pronouncement.  She lifted her hand and a box of stationary, envelopes and a fine cross pen appeared.  “Miss Summers, would you take a letter in your best handwriting?”

            “My handwriting isn’t very good.”  Alice got to her feet, but was wobbly.  The Vordan stayed on the ground and touched its lips.

            “Come, come.  You are a lawyer, not a doctor.”  Althea nudged the woman before she turned to the alien.  “May I help you up?”  Althea put a hand out to the Vordan.  It shook its head and scooted back on its rear a good yard.  Taking that hand was suddenly a very scary idea.  “Now I need your help so it was only a fair offer.”  Althea turned around while they brought out the table and chair for Alice.  She smiled for her elf, Mirowen.  “Later.”

            Mirowen curtsied as well as she could in her overalls—and it was remarkably graceful.  She mouthed the words, “My Lady,” while Althea went away and Glen came home.

            “So do your best,” Glen said, referring to the writing.  “Besides, I need this in Vordan.”

            “But I can’t write in Vordan—“  Alice paused and her eyes got big.  “Yes I can.  My God!  Do you know anyone who is French?  I could have used the help back in college.”

            “Ahem.”  Glen framed his thoughts.  “To his Imperial Admiral Gukky the Right Honorable Commander of the Seventh Spear Point Squadron of the Magnificent Vordan Empire.  From the Traveler in Time.  Peace to you.”

            “Glucky, not Gukky, and how did you know it was the Seventh Spear Point.”

            “A lucky guess,” Glen said in a way that made it clear there were some things he was not going to explain.  “In the future, the Vordan and Human races form an alliance of mutual support and mutual respect.  This alliance does much for the mutual benefit of both peoples.  Thus in this present crisis and in order to insure the good relations to come, it would be in both of our best interests to cease hostilities in a truce.  I will send you home, alive and with honor, but I ask that you wait patiently until I can arrive to discuss the matter in person.  Please accept the return of this valiant and now talented young soldier as a sign of good faith.  He did his duty well and told us nothing of your military disposition.  Until tomorrow afternoon, live well.”

            “The Vordan don’t tell time by the sun.”  Alice interjected and paused to focus on her thoughts.  “They are weird, but I have expressed it in a way so they will understand your timing.  Also, the traditional salutation is live well and die well.”  She paused before she answered her own thought.  “I guess you left the die well part off on purpose.”

            Glen took the letter with one comment.  “You have until tomorrow afternoon to find what we need in the treaty and get it translated into Vordan.” 

            Glen stepped over to the Vordan and signaled for the soldier to stand.  “The third thing I have to do is give this to you.  You need to take this to your commander.”  He pointed to the waiting Vordan fighter.

            “Why?”  The soldier asked in his guttural English.                      

            “Because I have made you too valuable to kill.  Because I mean what I say about wanting peace and sending you home.  Because suicide is for cowards.”

            The Vordan went to the ship, carefully.  He expected to be stopped at any moment.  He appeared surprised when he was actually allowed to get into the cockpit.

            “The weapons have been disabled.”  Glen shouted up to the cockpit.  “The self-destruct also.”  He waited for the Vordan to look in his direction before continuing.  “The coordinates have been programmed into the ship, and remember, I haven’t told you anything about our military disposition either.”

            The Vordan shook its head, whatever that meant.  “I will be courier,” it said and started the engine.  The cockpit closed, the ship lifted straight up before it headed off into the west.

            When Glen finished telling his story he stared at his plate and pushed around his pancakes with fake maple syrup.  He lost his appetite.  No one said a word until Pumpkin piped up.

            “That was Sooooo Scaaaary.”  The fairy covered her little eyes and looked terribly cute, but Glen was not in the mood for cute.

            “Act your age, Pumpkin,” he said.

            “I think you had to be there.”  Boston did not get it.  “What?”

            “I’ll be five hundred and fifty in a few weeks,” Pumpkin said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

            “Yeah, right.”  The word came from the other side of the table.  Colonel Weber did not believe a word the fairy said.  Sometimes that was the safest position to take with the Little Ones, but they resented being prejudged so Glen had to interject quickly.

            “Leave him alone,” he commanded.  He also pointed at Mirowen.  “You too.”

            “I’ll just have a sip from my bucket of milk instead,”  Pumpkin said.  She lifted the little juice glass and drank, but spilled some milk down her front. 

            “You Okay?”  Bobbi also sat across the table and got a good look at Glen’s face.

            “Do you have any idea how many people I have killed over the centuries—the millennia?”

            “It was a Wolv.”  Lockhart spoke softly because he really knew better.

            “Just because it is not human that doesn’t make it less of a person.”  Glen used his standard line.

            “Okay, so it was a bad person,” Bobbi suggested.

            “Still counts.”  Glen got up and walked to the window.

            Alice immediately started with the questions.  “So what happened to Miss Watson and the Calveris?”

            Bobbi took up the answer.  “Debbie Watson became Mrs. Wilson.  You met Willie on the plane.  Her grandson.”

            “But he’s…”  Alice caught her tongue.   

            “What?  Black like me?”  Bobbi teased.  “Debbie is white.  Mixed marriage.  Anyway, she retired last year and lives in Florida.  I talked to her last night when I took a much needed break.”

            “How’s Ben?”  Lockhart asked, but Alice wasn’t finished.

            “What do you mean retired?  You mean you made her come to work for you?”

            “We are strictly a voluntary organization,” Bobbi insisted.

            “It was cheaper than paying for years of therapy,” Lockhart interjected with a grin.

            Bobbi explained a little.  “She worked in Ancient cultures and Elder races.  She went to a bunch of archeological sites in her day.  Not to dig with the staff, mind you—“

            “—But to be sure what they dug up was safe for human consumption.”  Alice interrupted.  “I get it.”

            “But what about the Calveris?”  Boston was curious now.

            “Before my time.”  Bobbi looked at Lockhart.

            “Just months but before my time, too,” Lockhart said.  “I bet Mister Calveri still has the hole in his wall.  He probably has a frame around it and sells tickets.”

            “Ha, ha.”  Boston wasn’t laughing.

            “Will you two stop whispering!”  Colonel Weber interrupted.  He yelled at Emile and Mirowen like they were giving him indigestion.  They looked like they wanted to say something in response, but the big marine, Sergeant Thomas was between them and the Colonel and he was an intimidating sight even when he was just observing.

            Glen quickly stepped back to the table.  “So when will the limos get here?”  He changed the subject.

            “Noon.”  Boston answered.  “They were due at two but we pushed it up as far as we could.”

            “It’s ten forty-five now.  Doctor Roberts, Mirowen, let’s go look at the Vordan fighter they captured.”  Sergeant Thomas got up with them but signaled for the other marine, Miriam to stay with Lockhart. 

            “Wait up.”  Alice gulped her coffee while she grabbed her laptop and steno pad.  “Don’t you ever rest?”

            “No.”  Lockhart and Bobbi spoke together.

            “Take good notes.”  Boston hollered as Alice ran to catch up, and Alice waved without turning.

            Glen walked beside the marine.  There was something he needed to know.

            “Eating next to a full bird Colonel give you indigestion?”

            Sergeant Thomas nodded.  “Big time.”         

###

            The Vordan fighter-bomber was in a Quonset hut by the helipad.  There were several huts and Glen was glad Alice did not ask what was in them.

            “Sorry people.”  There were guards outside the bay doors—not marines.  “No one is allowed in until the Traveler gets here.  You especially Doctor Roberts.” 

            “Bobbi, er, Ms Brooks set this up?”  Glen asked while Alice spoke over his shoulder.

            “But that’s you, isn’t it?”

            “Lockhart, not that it matters.”  The other guard spoke.  He eyed the Sergeant Thomas and gave off very unwelcoming vibes.

            “You’re the traveler?”  The first man caught what Alice said.  “Prove it.”

            “Well, Far-quan-ned-ed.  How do you pronounce that?”

            “Far-canned.”

            “OH?”  Glen looked pleased.  “I knew a Far-canned once.  ‘Course he did not spell it the same.”

            “What?”  Alice did not follow.

            “Yeah.  Akkadian sticks.  He didn’t even use the same letters.”  He smiled for Alice.  “So how do I prove it?”

            “No idea.”  The second man stepped forward.  “I think you folks need to go back up to the big house.”

            “Pumpkin!”  Glen called and the fairy was obliged to appear, even as she had the night before when she first appeared.  It took her a second to get her bearings before she zoomed up to Glen’s face and pouted.

            “I was in the middle of saying something.”

            “What were you saying?”  Emile Roberts asked.  Glen, Mirowen and especially Pumpkin who threw her hands to her hips as she hovered in mid air looked at the man like he was plain stupid.

            “Gone with the wind,” Mirowen said.  “She probably can’t even remember what they were talking about.”

            “I can’t,” Pumpkin said, grumpily.

            “Pumpkin.”  Glen regained the fairy’s attention and that got her to smile again.  “I need you to tell Lockhart to call down here to the hut.  Can you do that?”

            “Easy,” Pumpkin said, and she left so fast it appeared as if she vanished.  The only telltale sign was the little breeze of her passing.  The phone rang a few seconds later, about as long it would take the man to call up the number and get his cell to dial it.

            “Yes, sir.”  Farquanded answered the phone.  “Bill is already unlocking the door.”  He spoke clearly enough but he couldn’t seem to get his eyes off Glen.

            Glen stepped up.  Everyone followed him into the hut where Glen breathed.  He was afraid the Vordan ship might have been in pieces like the Humanoid escape pod.  It looked untouched, apart from the scars it got from the shots that brought it down.

            “Fyodor!”  Glen spied the man in the corner.

            “Traveler.”  Fyodor came over to join the crowd.

            “You missed Brunch.

            “I had breakfast.”

            “Can it still fly?” 

            Fyodor shrugged and Glen stepped in to take a closer look at the systems.  He was right, the Vordan were honestly not much more advanced than the human race.  Doctor Roberts edged up to one side and Mirowen edged up to the other.  They were being curious but Glen was going to need them to help fix the thing.

            Alice decided she had to play hostess.  “Fyodor pilots the company plane and he was a cosmonaut, I guess.  This is Sergeant Thomas and I think he has assigned himself to be the Traveler’s bodyguard.”

            Fyodor started to laugh at that thought.  For the next fifteen minutes he couldn’t look at the marine without laughing.

            A half hour later, Fyodor sat in the pilot’s seat.  He had to keep his legs straight to reach the controls and said that would get very uncomfortable on a long flight.  But for now, the hut doors were open and everyone else was well out of the way.

            The engine started right up and Fyodor gave it a minute to let the pressure stabilize before he lifted the ship off the ground.  He bumped the ceiling, but he slowly coaxed it back down and through the Quonset hut doors and only took off a cross beam at the top of the doorway.  He set it down on the grass outside and shut it down.

            Everyone ran up when Fyodor opened the cockpit, but it was Alice who spoke first.  “Remind me not to let you park my car–”  Her eyes got big and her hand went to her mouth as she looked at Glen.  “My God, I’m starting to sound like you and Lockhart.”

            Glen smiled.  “I only get glib when I am nervous.”  With that he turned to Farquanded.  “You and Bill need to gather the troops.  You need to bring the prisoner here, alive and in one piece.”  Glen knew that was not an easy assignment, but now that the ship was out in the open there were a few more systems Fyodor, Emile and Mirowen needed to check, and Glen needed to plug the ball he took from the Humanoid escape pod into the Vordan communicator.

######

NOTE: To read this story from the beginning or to read any of the stories of the Traveler please click the tab “Traveler Tales.”  You can read the stories on the right independently, or just the Vordan story on the left, or the whole work in order as written.  Your choice.  –Michael.

            The chase was not very long.  She found the Wolv with its back to a big oak.  She snarled and growled at the beast as the hair on her back bristled with anticipation of a fight.  The Wolv growled a much deeper and more frightening growl in return and the claws popped out of its right hand like little daggers.  Its left hand, though, stayed pressed against the wound in its belly and what is more, the creature did not rise.  Valencia quickly realized that it could not rise.  That first shot must have been a lucky one that severed the spinal cord.  It was amazing the Wolv could get this far before collapsing.  The will to survive in order to kill another day, she decided

            Valencia took her human form and her armor returned to cover her automatically.  The Wolv stopped growling at the sight and then its big eyes got bigger when Valencia spoke in the ancient Humanoid tongue.  “It is time for you to die.”  The Wolv’s eyes could not get any bigger when Valencia went away and Diogenes came to stand in her place.  It was not that Valencia could not or would not do what was necessary, but Diogenes was the warrior and his cut would be swift, clean and sure.  He drew his sword.

            The Wolv struggled a bit but managed to put its head out to expose its neck.  Curiously, the Wolv had no fear of death at all.  It is not that they possess great courage.  It is likely they do not fully understand the concept of death.  In any case, the Wolv let one word escape its lips before the end.  It said, “Kairos,” so it knew its executioner.

            When it was finished, Diogenes went to one knee and asked the Wolv’s forgiveness as was his custom.  He cleaned his sword and put it where it belonged against his back.  Then he went away once again and let Valencia return because there was one more thing to do and after Glen, of course, this adventure belonged to the woman of Rome.  Besides, flying was easier than walking.

            When Valencia landed on the grounds of the dig, she tried not to look around.  She was glad the sun was not ready to rise.  She did not really want to see the bits and pieces of bodies scattered all over the place. 

            Valencia opened the door to the escape pod and stood back just in case.  It was likely the pod was programmed on landfall to trigger the one chamber first.  The others would be triggered automatically within a day or so unless the first one opened them early or decided they should not be opened at all.  When no Wolv came bursting out of the open door, Valencia went in. 

            Even with her werewolf eyes it took a bit to touch the right spots on the wall and turn on the internal lights.  Then she had to stop and think.  At last she determined that Dimitri had to come to this time and place once again.  He was from the far future and understood the systems and what made them work or not work far better than a girl from before Rome was even built.  A Woman from before Rome, Valencia corrected herself and then she went away and Dimitri went straight to the open chamber.

            He put his finger into a bit of the amnionic-cryogenic goop.  He sniffed like a wolf or a dog, but he knew what he was looking for.  As he suspected, it had degraded over two thousand years.  The Wolv was probably half-mad when it came out of its long sleep, like anyone could tell.  He felt that might explain why it had not bothered to open the other chambers.

            Dimitri looked in the other chambers.  Three were empty.  The fourth had a female in it, but he could tell just from looking at the syrup she rested in that it had degraded worse than the other.  The readout showed that there were still signs of life, but surely this one would be a blithering idiot if she was not brain dead already.  The last chamber had an infant in it.  The fluid looked good.  The signs of life looked strong.  Dimitri felt sorry for that because he knew what Valencia had in mind.  The reason was because it was what he had in mind, too.  It was the only option.

            Before that, Dimitri spent a good hour examining the ships systems to find out exactly how things worked.  There was no telling how important that might be in the future.  Then it also gave him a chance to remove certain bits and pieces—not enough to make the pod useless, but enough to make it unusable without their return.  Those pieces went on file in Avalon.

            He also figured out what happened two thousand years ago.  He saw the burnt out relays, relays which the Wolv would not know how to fix.  The main computer must have stalled at that point and without a return signal it must have decided there were no sleepers to resuscitate.  As a safety precaution, the chambers were designed to function independently of the mainframe in case there was a complete computer shutdown.  So the sleepers slept for all of those years. When Glen turned the power and the lights back on, the sequence went straight to resuscitation and did not go through the relays.  It was like an intruder alert system or something.

            Glen felt terrible about that.  He felt like he was personally responsible for getting all of those people killed even though every other life in time told him it was not his fault and he could not have known.

            “I can do it if you like.”  Dimitri offered.

            “No.  It is my job.”  Valencia answered, and Glen had no objection. 

            Valencia spent a long time looking at the Wolv baby.  She thought about her own babies—the orphan twins Saturn brought for her to raise.  In the end, one killed the other and poor Valencia never really got over that.  In this case she wondered what it might be like to suckle a baby again.  But here she knew this baby would suckle for about sixty seconds before it tried to eat her.  She had no choice, and with that thought she drained the fluid from both chambers. 

            The mother Wolv gave up her life immediately and Valencia decided that indeed she had already been brain dead.  The baby struggled as it drowned on pure air without the resuscitation procedure to make the necessary adjustments.  It struggled for nearly ten minutes, and Valencia thought of Papa Wolv, how it dragged its paralyzed hind quarters for half a mile before the paralysis and loss of blood forced it to stop.

            Once it was over, Valencia shut down all power in the pod, sealed the door and flew back to the Calveri house.  The sun was ready to rise by then but she had no trouble landing unnoticed.   She was a bit upset to realize her friends from Washington still had not arrived, but she was less upset when Miss Watson saw her and came running.  Valencia waited and hugged the woman before she went away.  Glen came back, not dressed in the armor of the Kairos but in the same clothes he wore when he left the house that evening.

            “It’s over,” he said.  “And there won’t be a repeat.”

            “Oh my God.”  Miss Watson put her hand to her mouth.  “You said six chambers.  I never thought of that.”

            Glen nodded.  “Now I have to go.  When my friends get here, I would appreciate if you did not tell them my name.  Just say the Traveler said not to give a name.  Tell them they will find the Wolv about half a mile that way and warn them of the grisly scene at the digs.  Tell them to put the pod in a shack out behind the new building, when they build it.  Tell them I’ll be by some day to pick it up so don’t mess with it.”  Glen got in the driver’s seat of the little Triumph.

            “Will I see you again?”

            Glen smiled.  “Tell them they need to take good care of you and the Calveris.  It has been a long night.”

            “But–” 

            “Who knows if we will meet again.  I have this memory problem, you see.  By the time I get home I probably won’t remember anything about what happened here except I will probably have nightmares for a while.”  Glen shrugged and backed out of the long drive.  About a half hour later he saw a van in the early morning light.  He thought the driver looked familiar but he was not sure.  He did notice the empty flatbed that was following. 

            By the time he got home, he was right.  He did not remember anything about what happened and he could give no answer to his parents about why he had gone off in the middle of the night or where he had gone or what he had been doing.  He was not allowed to use the car for a while, and while his gut said that was not fair, his mind could not say why.

            The thing came first to the front door.  They heard the growl, but at least this time the children kept quiet.  They heard it scratch along the side of the house toward the kitchen door and heard a different, whining sound when it caught a whiff of the gas. 

            There was a stone wall on that side of the house that lined the driveway, and between the stone wall and the wall of the house there was a great stack of cut wood for the fireplace.  Glen knew the Wolv could not break through that wall without moving all the lumber first.  He felt safe in that direction until he heard the Wolv use the lumber to get up on the roof.

            “The chimney.”  The boy said before his mother quieted him.  Glen knew the chimney was much too small.

            They listened to the click, click of the Wolv claws across the roof and Glen chided himself for his oversight.  If the beast broke into the upper floor, there was nothing to prevent it coming through the ceiling at any point.  He breathed again when he heard the Wolv jump down on the other side of the house.

            There was a terrific crash and the wall buckled on that side of the house, but it did not break.  Then there was silence.

            “Is it gone?”  Mrs. Calveri dared to hope.

            “Did it hurt itself?”  Mister Calveri was also hopeful.

            Glen shook his head, though they could not see well since the lights in the sitting room were off and only a flashlight was burning behind the couch for the children.  “With their size and strength the Wolv can break through any wooden stockade, no matter how well built.  Stone, or bricks can be a bit of a problem, but they have explosives for that.”

            “Explosives?”  Miss Watson sounded surprised.  “I thought they did not understand such things.”

            “They understand explosives.  They know all about electricity, too.  It could smell the ozone which is why it did not try to break through the doors or come down the stairs.  They understand weapons and even how to fly spaceships as long as the navigation is mostly computerized.  It is sophisticated electronics they don’t understand, like how to short out a personal screen, or how to repair it once destroyed.”

            The young girl screamed.  She had been sticking her head above the couch.  The Wolv face was in the front picture window, lit up by the few red and green Christmas lights they left in the string.  It began to growl and drool and turned its head so like a bird it could watch them with one big yellow and red eye.

            “No!”  Glen pushed up Mister Calveri’s shotgun and the slug went into the ceiling.  “You shatter the glass and it will get in.  Now, reload.  The Wolv won’t risk the glass.  The screen it wears can deflect bullets, but glass shards would cut it up despite the screen.”

            Mister Calveri nodded and tried to reload with his shaky hands.

            There was a second crash against that same spot in the side wall and this time the wall collapsed.  Everyone screamed except Glen, and Miss Watson who got on her belly and brushed the plaster and wallboard off the copper plate.

            The Wolv did not show its face at first.  No doubt it wanted to be sure there were no sophisticated weapons.  When no shot came through the hole in the wall, it stuck its head around the corner.  Then it stepped into the room, stepped squarely on to the copper plate in that corner and Glen turned the knob on the transformer to full blast. 

            The beast roared and howled and shook like jelly as the electricity coursed through its body.  It appeared glued to the plate for the moment and Glen kept yelling “Shoot!  Fire!”  Poor Mister Calveri was frozen in absolute fear and panic.  “Shoot, damn it!  Fire that gun!”

            Glen had to keep the transformer knob turned, but he managed to wedge the thing with his knee and use his left hand on the knob.  That left his right hand free to scramble across the small of his back in search of his long knife—which did not want to cooperate.  He was just about to trade places through time with Diogenes when he heard, Bang!  Bang!  The shotgun fired both barrels in quick succession.  Miss Watson had grabbed it out of the man’s hands.

            One bullet hit the Wolv in the belly and the second hit the shoulder as the recoil caused the gun to rise up.  It also pushed the creature free of the metal plate where the beast let out a great, mournful howl.  It bounded back out into the dark and left a wet trail of purplish-red blood all across the carpet and splattered on the walls.

            Mrs. Calveri and the children were behind the couch, sobbing.  Mister Calveri came out of his shock enough to drop his face into his hands and sob as well.  Apparently his bowels had let loose.  Glen grabbed Miss Watson by the hand and dragged her to the hole.  He noted where the beast had torn through a bush in its escape so he felt it was safe for the moment to step out on the grass.  There he went away and Valencia came to stand in his place.

            “This is not good.”  Valencia spoke right up.  “A wounded beast is always more dangerous.”  She turned to Miss Watson.  “Debbie.  You must call Newton and let the police know there is a wounded wolf on the prowl and it would be best to get everyone off the streets until it is subdued.  Then you must call my friends and tell them what happened.  Do you remember the number?”  Miss Watson nodded.  “Then if it circles back, you must try to kill it if you can.  The screen is shorted out now so the shotgun should do the job.”

            “But where will you be?”

            “I have to track it and try to finish the job myself.”

            “Of course, you can fly.”

            Valencia shook her head exactly like Glen.  “I have been able to fly in several lifetimes.  No, I think Glen thought of me earlier because I have another virtue.  It was subconscious, if that is the right word.  I have a rather big subconscious.”

            “A virtue?”

            “Yes.  Saturn gave me the gift of flight so I could escape the men who wanted to rape me, but when I got away from my brother and his friends Saturn gave me a more permanent solution.”  Valencia turned toward the broken bush and took in a deep whiff of air.  “He gave me the were of the wolf.  Not like in the movies, but like the Were People, the shape shifters of old.”  Valencia turned back to face the woman.  “I was the wolf who suckled the two orphan boys Saturn brought me just before the founding of Rome.  You might read about me in the history books, though I guess it has become no more than a myth these days.”

            With that Valencia smiled and fell to her knees.  “If I don’t see you again, don’t look for me.”  She spoke as her armor vanished and she very quickly changed from a woman to a wolf.  She was bigger than any normal sized wolf, too, though not nearly as big as the Wolv.  With a wag of her tail and her nose to the ground she bounded through that same broken bush.

            After some twenty minutes of winding through trees, they came out in farm country and Glen turned into the long driveway of the first house where he saw some lights.  He screeched to a halt and made Miss Watson get out.  “Come on,” he said.  “We have to let people know what is happening.”

            “You’re mad,” she said.  “I wouldn’t stop between here and the city.”  But as much as she thought he was crazy, she was not about to be left alone outside in the car.  He took the keys.

            Bang, Bang!  Glen knocked and rang the bell until finally a man in his t-shirt and boxers came to the door.  “We need to use your phone.  There’s been a murder at the archeological dig up the road.”

            “Murder?”  They heard the woman’s voice before the face peered around the corner.

            “Please?”  Miss Watson begged and the woman responded.

            “Move.”  The woman punched the man in his fat belly.  He took a step back so the woman could unlock the screen door.  “Phone’s in the kitchen,” she said before they all paused.  There was a howl in the distance.  It was still far away but Glen and Miss Watson had no doubt it was on their trail.

            “What the Hell is that?”  The man asked.

            “Wolv,” Glen responded. 

            “The murderer,” Miss Watson corrected.

            “And on its way here next,”  Glen concluded as they went inside.

            “What the Hell is that thing?”  The man repeated himself while Miss Watson went to the kitchen.  “What the Hell is this all about?”

            “Hell is coming,” Glen said before he turned to shout to Miss Watson.  “You have the number I gave you?”

            “No.”

            He shouted the number and added a few words.  “Tell them the Wolv is loose.  W-O-L-V.”  He spelled it for her.  “They may have something in the database, but tell them they are going to need a bazooka if we can’t stop it.”  He turned to the man.  “What’s your name?”

            “Calveri.”  The man said.  To give him credit, the man was honestly trying to understand what was happening. 

            “Well, Mister Calveri, what is the nearest town of size?”

            “Newton, I suppose.”  Mrs. Calveri was the one who answered.

            “Lunch and dinner.”  Glen said, and Miss Watson returned even as there was a sound on the stairs.

            “Mama?”  The girl was maybe eleven and the boy behind her was perhaps seven.

            “Come here.”  The mother corralled her children even as Glen began to pace.

            “Garlic.  Have you got any garlic Mister Calveri?”

            “Eh?  Calveri.”  The man smiled.  “Werewolf?”  The man asked in all seriousness.  Glen shook his head.

            “Worse,” he said.  “This one is about eight feet tall and almost guaranteed to be wearing a personal shield—a belt or wristband or something.  It isn’t a very good shield but enough to deflect a bullet, lots of bullets.  Got a gun Mister Calveri?”

            “Shotgun,” the man answered.  “It’s in the barn.”

            “Better get it.  And any lime or fertilizer.  As much as you can carry.”

            “Garlic.”  Mrs. Calveri came back from the kitchen with a whole string of natural garlic, and everyone paused again as they heard the howl in the distance.  It was closer than before.

            Mister Calveri ran out the back door toward the barn.  Glen got the women to spread garlic all around the front door frame, the kitchen door, and especially the big picture window while he paced.  Suddenly he stopped pacing and threw his hands to the overhead light.

            “Oh!”  He shouted.  “Electricity!”  He turned to the boy.  “Has your dad got any wire, electrical wire somewhere?”

            “The basement.”  Mrs. Calveri answered for her son.

            “Come on.  Let’s get it.”

            The boy shook his head.  “It’s spooky down there.”

            “I’ll show you,” Mrs. Calveri said and she handed her garlic to her son and told him to spread it everywhere on the window.

            In the basement, Glen found a whole spool of electrical wire, two lamps that were taken apart and he yanked out the electrical cords from them because they had plugs.  He kissed the plugs.  He found two thin copper 4X4 plates.  He had no idea what they were from, but he handed them to Mrs. Calveri to carry.  Then he found something that made him shout.

            “Christmas lights!”  They were the old kind with big bulbs and hot sockets, and they were parallel so when one burnt out the whole string would not shut down.

            “My husband is a bit lazy.  He doesn’t like to change bulbs all the time,” Mrs. Calveri shifted the copper plates in her arms before she spoke again.  “Look, what is this all about, really?”  Her poor house was being ruined.

            Glen was still looking around the workbench and getting frustrated.  “If I told you, you would call me mad and make me stop and get us all killed.”

            “I wouldn’t do that.  I won’t do that,” she insisted.

            Glen whipped around “The creature is an alien, clever, cunning and hungry and it is coming here and probably to every farm around until it finds its way to Newton.”

            Mrs. Calveri let her jaw drop for a second before she scrunched up her face and shook her head.  “That isn’t true.  You’re crazy.”

            “Can I trust you?”

            “What?  Why?”  Mrs. Calveri was clearly skeptical.

            “Because what I am about to show you is top secret.  You are not allowed to scream or yell or anything of the sort, and you are not allowed to talk about it to anyone, ever, do you understand?”

            Mrs. Calveri nodded but said nothing.

            Glen returned the nod and then he called out to the ancient armor of the Kairos.  That armor and weapons escaped the second heavens and replaced Glen’s clothes faster than Mrs. Calveri could blink.  She almost screamed.  Then Glen went one further and left that place altogether.  He let Dimitri fill the armored boots with strict instructions to act more mature this time.  Mrs. Calveri dropped the copper sheets to clatter on the ground and she took a step back.

            “A train set!”  Dimitri shouted as he yanked out the transformer.  “I’ll buy your son a brand new set, I promise,” he said as he took a hammer from the workbench and cracked open the control box.  “I’m sorry for the shock.  I’ll let Glen come back now, but please believe me when I say all of our lives are in terrible danger.”  Having said that, Dimitri did go away again and Glen returned, but he kept the armor and weapons where they were.  The sword and long knife were made by his Little Ones and endowed with the strength of the god Hephaestus himself.  No simple particle screen would stop them, not to say that Glen knew what to do with them, but there were others that did.

            With the spool of wire, the two lamp cords, the Christmas lights and the broken transformer, Glen started back up the stairs.  Mrs. Calveri shut her mouth, scooped up the copper plates and followed.

            “Gum.”  Glen yelled as soon as he got back to the top of the stairs.  “Duct tape.”  That was his other option.  Mrs. Calveri juggled the plates and pulled a roll of masking tape out of a kitchen drawer.

            “I got gum!”  The young boy shouted from the other room and they heard him run up the stairs even as Mrs. Calveri spoke.

            “Will this do?”

            Glen nodded and they went back into the front sitting room even as Mister Calveri returned with a wheelbarrow full of fertilizer and a double barreled shotgun.  He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Glen in his armor, but Mrs. Calveri put him off with her words.

            “I’ll explain later.”

            “Nice outfit.”  Miss Watson noticed.

            “Where do you want the fertilizer?”

            “Here’s the gum.  I got yours, Missy.”  The young boy raced down the stairs.

            “Thanks, creep,” Missy said before they heard the howl, much closer than before.

            Everyone got gum to chew.  Glen took out most of the Christmas bulbs and had Miss Watson cut and strip little bits of electrical wire.  They attached the wire to the hot, open sockets in the Christmas string while Mrs. Calveri taped it across the picture window.

            “If it tries to come in that way it will get tangled and sting worse than a school of jellyfish,” Glen said.

            Meanwhile, Mister Calveri was busy spreading the fertilizer just this side of every door and window in the house.  It made the whole house smell bad, but that was what they wanted.

            Glen reminded Miss Watson.  “It didn’t find you in the outhouse.”  The Calveris did not exactly understand, but Miss Watson did.

            When Mister Calveri put some fertilizer in the fireplace so the smell would waft up the chimney, the young boy spoke up.  “That’s not right.  We need a fire and a big pot of water for when the wolf comes down the chimney.”

            “Sorry,” Glen responded.  “You live in a wood house, not a brick house.”

            The boy swallowed.  “Does that mean we are going to get eaten?  Will the wolf puff our house down?”

            “You won’t get eaten.”  Glen assured the boy.  “You have one thing the pigs did not have.”

            “What’s that?” 

            “You have a mom and dad who will protect you and keep you safe.”

            The Calveris heard that, and it helped a little when in the next minute they heard the howl outside.  Everyone went to the front window.  It was by Glen’s car, sniffing around.  It was hard to tell in the dark, except it looked big and agile and stood up on two feet like a bear.  Whatever doubts the Calveris may have had up to that point vanished with the sight.  When the Wolv roared and turned its head to face the house, everyone backed up and the children screamed. 

            Mama Calveri took the children behind the couch which had been pushed back toward the fireplace.  Mister Calveri took his seat and picked up his shotgun which was loaded with slugs, not buckshot.  Miss Watson, who had a place behind the couch, nevertheless chose to stay close to Glen.  Glen sat on the living room floor and waited.

            He had hot-wired the front door and the kitchen door frames with the lamp wire and gum and tape.  They were plugged in and getting hot.  He had also blown out the pilot light in the oven so the kitchen was slowly filling with gas.  It would be a while before the gas seeped into the living room.  They were safe for the present provided the kitchen door did not get hot enough to set off the gas. 

            One copper plate was shoved up the stairs like a makeshift door.  It was also hot-wired with a long line of electrical wire gummed into a table lamp.  It almost blew out the fuse when Glen first turned it on, but the fuse held.  The other plate was also wired and set in the corner of the room where there were no doors or windows.  That plate was currently not hot as Glen had turned the electric train transformer into a kind of dimmer switch.  Everyone asked why Glen put that plate in the one corner of the room where the creature could not get in.  Glen said nothing.  He just poured water on the plate.

            “Now what do we do?”  Mister Calveri was the one who asked.

            “Nothing,” Glen answered.  “It’s Wolvy’s turn.”