From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 60, A Man Without A Planet

This is episode Sixty of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. 

If you would like to purchase, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

A Man Without A Planet

Brain informed Tom that Gordon was approaching in a darter. Instead of instaporting aboard, Gordon used the docking station and attached the darter to the pod.

Gordon walked up an aisle from the rear of the pod into the lounge. 

“How are you?” Tom smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m doing well,” Gordon said. “And I know all about you. I understand you kept Thomas Bales from a sword fight with Bouchard and arranged for Bouchard to meet his demise. Mission accomplished. The Bales’ family lineage lives on, and Bouchard’s comes to an abrupt finish, mission accomplished.”

“I see you don’t have a model,” Tom pretended to look for something that Gordon might have with him.

“I wanted to speak personally,” Gordon said.

“Sure,” Tom said, “let’s sit. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” Gordon said.

They sat in chairs across from each other.

“You have something troubling on your mind, don’t you?” Tom said. 

“I do,” Gordon said.

“Don’t tell me I have to return to 1137 and fix something,” Tom said. “Did I mess something up?”

“You did fine,” Gordon said. “You made decisions that only confirmed you were the right person to entrust this pod to and the mission you just completed.”

“In a way,” Tom joked, “I hoped you were here to fire me.”

Gordon paused and moved around on his chair as if he were uncomfortable. He forced a friendly grin.

“What is it, Gordon?”

“There is no easy way to put this,” Gordon said.

“Well, put it in anyway you like.”

“You can’t return to your home,” Gordon said and stared at Tom.

“Did something happen to the farm?”

Gordon glanced away as if the words he needed were etched on the wall.

“Oh no!” Tom said. “You mean Earth, something has happened. Is there still life there?”

“No,” Gordon said, “nothing that drastic.”

“Then what?”

“Our enemies,” Gordon said, “those who are after us, they were able to cast a cosmic barrier around Earth.”

“Exactly what does that mean?”

“If anything approaches the barrier, our enemies will know, and know what it is,” Gordon said. “They will come immediately. That could bring dire consequences for Earth.”

“Is there any way I can return to Earth?”

“No,” Gordon said.

“Tell me more about this.”

“We are not sure of the strength of the cosmic barrier,” Gordon said. “At the least, they are notified. Or, and this is something we can’t be certain, the moment the pod touches the barrier, the pod and everything in it will be reduced to cosmic dust in an instant.”

“Gordon, I have a life to return to,” Tom pleaded. “I think that was a part of the deal.”

“You have no idea how much this bothers me to tell you this,” Gordon said.

“I thought it was beyond the realm of possibility,” Tom said. “You assured me that the galaxy I’m from was like a blind spot in the universe. That they would never find it. They did not even know of its existence. How did this happen?”

“I’m not holding anything back from you,” Gordon said. “We made a mistake. That’s it!”

“Mistake! How is that possible? You’re supposed to be so much more advanced,” Tom mocked. “You have computers that know everything. This is more than a mistake; it’s colossal incompetence.”

Gordon remained calm. “You are right.”

“I have plans. I have friends. I have a brother marooned on an island in the middle of the Atlantic. I have someone who loves me. I promised I would return. I have property. I have a life that I gave up to stop something in a distant galaxy that may or may not happen. How could I have been so stupid?”

“If we had any idea at all that this was going to occur,” Gordon said, “we would not have approached you. I would have never sent you anywhere.”

“What do I do? Where do I go? What is next?”

“We are working on several solutions,” Gordon said.

“I didn’t ask what you are doing,” Tom said.

“You can visit another galaxy and establish a life there until a solution is found,” Gordon suggested. “There are several planets that would be suitable for you.”

“Let’s not go there quite yet. You see, I’m curious,” Tom said. “I know I’m a mere twentieth-century farmer, but dumb it down for me. What solutions are you working on, if any?”

“Everything is in the formative stages at this point,” Gordon said.

“Translation to a farmer,” Tom said sarcastically, “you ain’t got a clue.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Gordon said. “A proposal has been made that a hole in the barrier might be made without disturbing its integrity and sending out a signal or alarm. Another possibility is that in the past we have been able to develop a cosmic residue that would render such a barrier ineffective, yet still send a signal that it is still operational and effective.”

“As fulfilling and reliable as a politician’s promise,” Tom said sarcastically. “Let me guess, I get to be the test dummy.”

“I sympathize with your frustration,” Gordon said.

“You have not one clue,” Tom said and turned away from Gordon. Never had Tom felt such revulsion. It was not so much directed at Gordon as to what he assumed was the hidden pathology behind the web that he found himself hopelessly entangled.

“Tom,” Gordon said sincerely, “if I had any twinge that something like this would have come along, I would have never been a part of this. Things not even conceived cannot be avoided. None of us was prepared for this.”

 Tom turned back to face Gordon. His face seemed to melt into an everlasting sadness. “Gordon, what do I do? What does a man do when all his future is reduced to nothing and all purpose has been erased?”

“Tom,” Gordon said. “I know you. You will find all you need to get through this. Others are working beyond what you know.”

“I do believe you,” Tom said, “but that does little to change anything.”

“Find something to do,” Gordon said. “There are so many things to see that will enrich you.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Tom said, “I don’t need enrichment, power, advanced knowledge, all the things you worship and hold dear. I just don’t need them. I want to return to my farm, plant, cultivate, and harvest. I want to see Debbie, marry her, and have children. The next glitch in the universe, find another chump. Come to think about it, why don’t you stick your neck out? Find yourself a project that will take you back in time and see how you do.”

Gordon stood and motioned to the rear of the pod. “I’m going to go now. I think it’s best I leave you alone for a while. I’ll be in communication and keep you up to date on any progress that’s being made.”

“Come to think of it,” Tom said, “our situations are the same. You and your friends cannot return to your planet. And you had to come back to a time and place…” Tom paused. “I had to maneuver events in 1137 to save Thomas Bales from the death by the sword of Drake Bouchard. And you came to now to save me from being killed before having offspring. How close am I?”

Gordon’s nod affirmed what Tom said. “And Edgar also.”

“Both our lives were in danger?”

“Yes,” Gordon said.

“Do you still have surnames in your time?”

“Yes,” Gordon said.

“And it is Bales?”

“Yes,” Gordon said.

“And I am your grandfather by how many generations?” Tom asked.

“Too many to count,” Gordon gave a slanted smile.

Tom stood and gripped Gordon’s hand. 

“You track me, right?” Tom said.

“We do,” Gordon said. 

“Good, I don’t want to get lost.”

“You’ve got Brain,” Gordon smiled.

“How long do things like this take?” Tom asked.

“It could be a long time before we can come up with a viable solution,” Gordon said. “A year or more. But we could get lucky and have something in a week or two.”

“Gordon, have a safe trip.”

“You too.”

Gordon walked back down the hallway. In the docking station, he climbed back into the darter and was soon many light-years away.

“Brain,” Tom said, “a lot of things are going to change around here.”

“Do I detect a bit of humor in your tone?” Brain said.

“You do,” Tom affirmed. “The first order of business is that the name of this pod will be Hubble.”

“A fitting name,” Brain said. 

“Here’s a rather universal-like command,” Tom said. “For the time being, let’s make a sharp right turn and cruise for about ten days. We’ll see where we’re at then, and see what we can do.”

The Hubble streaked away into the distant cosmos at a speed greater than light. During the next twenty years, it traveled far. Tom had many experiences. He found no civilizations as advanced as the one that provided Hubble for him. 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 59, Back To Here

This is episode fifty-nine of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

Back To Here

The earl declared the royal court adjourned. The nobles were dismayed, and the peasants quietly gleeful.

Servants and guards immediately began to move tables and benches from the castle’s storage rooms into the great hall. They prepared for the nobles to enjoy a feast. It was customary after each monthly court session. 

The nobility, who remained for the feast, hoped that this might be the feast that the earl overindulged to the point of death. With Bouchard out of the way, perhaps one of their families might inherit the king’s favor and be granted the earldom. In previous feasts, nobles gazed at the earl’s every bite, hoping it might be the one that was the limit of his gluttony. Thus, this feast might hold special significance.

The peasants trickled down from the balcony with hidden smiles and made their way out of the castle. They slowly streamed back to their hamlets and peasant lives. They took with them a satisfactory memory of the dastardly Drake Bouchard’s public humiliation. 

None was more pleased than Lattice and Thomas. As they made their way back to their hamlet and home, friends and neighbors bid them good tidings. Their stain, which all knew did not exist, was now a matter of public acknowledgment. It can now be affirmed that Lattice was and always is an honorable woman. 

Without a word to anyone, Tom hurried back to the waiting room. The constable sat on the bench waiting for him. 

“I want you to sit there,” Tom ordered the constable. “I am going to step out of the room, and I will be back before you can count to one hundred.”

Tom stepped outside the room. He summoned Brain for the healing device. It was immediately instaported to Tom. 

Tom stepped back into the room with the device.

“I only counted to thirty-two,” the constable said.

“I had no idea I could do it so fast,” Tom said.

“What is that?” The constable asked, nodding toward the device in Tom’s hands.

“It will repair your wrist,” Tom said. “Lay your hand and wrist flat on the bench.”

The constable laid his hand and wrist flat on the bench. Tom removed the bandage and wood splints. Tom started to place the device on the constable's wrist. The constable jerked his hand away.

“Ahhh!” The constable howled in pain. “What are you going to do?”

“Trust me,” Tom said. 

The constable laid his hand and wrist back on the bench. Tom placed the device on top of the constable’s wrist. The constable kept a suspicious eye on Tom and the device.

“You will feel a sting, not nearly as bad as a bee, and a tingling that might even tickle,” Tom said, “but don’t move. It will be over before you can count to thirty-two.”

The constable continued to appear nervous and uncomfortable. 

“Let me count for you,” Tom said. He counted to thirty, and three beeps came from the device. “I need to improve.”

Tom removed the device. “There you go.”

The constable rubbed his wrist and moved it around. “It is healed. How did you do that?”

“It is called advanced medicine,” Tom said.

“I don’t know what that means,” the constable said. “Are you a sorcerer?”

“No, I am a friend,” Tom assured. “Now, can you show me a back way out of here so nobody will notice?”

“Follow me,” the constable said. 

And he led Tom to an underground passage leading to a small door at the rear of the castle.

“I will be on my way,” Tom grinned. “Take care of yourself, and as a favor for healing your arm, see that no harm comes to Thomas’s or Lattice’s way.”

“Be assured,” the constable said and asked, “You are leaving without some sort of celebration?”

“Yes, I should leave without notice,” Tom said, and gripped his wrist in a gesture of friendship.

“Not so tight?” The constable quipped.

Tom hurried away. At times, he jogged. He came upon a small gorge and carefully made his way down its slope to the bottom. He turned completely around and scanned the surrounding landscape. He saw no one.

“Brain, Instaport me back to the pod,” Tom said and commanded, “Ready.”

Tom experienced a slight quiver followed by an instant of darkness, and he was safely standing in the secure surroundings of the pod’s Instaport station.

“Brain,” Tom said,  “Coffee, black, Panama, Geisha, thick white diner’s cup.”

He walked to the food replicator and retrieved the coffee he ordered. He walked forward and sat in the captain’s chair. He exhaled and relaxed.

“Brain, it is so good to be back. But I know from time to time, Lattice and Tom will cross my thoughts. I never thought I’d ever become attached to them.”

He took a slow sip of coffee and smiled. “I’m not returning to England until the mid-seventeenth century—that’s when coffee was introduced. I will never crave twelfth-century mead and ale.”

Brain said, “If you are ever nostalgic…”

“No!” Tom interrupted and sipped. “Let’s go back to my galaxy and my Earth.” 

“Processing and ready,” Brain said.

“At anytime,” Tom responded.

During the next minute, a few slight jolts occurred that hardly brought a ripple to the surface of the coffee in his cup.

“I don’t suppose we have a good tailwind on the way back?” Tom quipped.

“We will arrive on the fifth day,” Brain advised.

“I should have stayed for the feast at the great hall,” Tom said. “Roast peacock, breast of swan, poached capon, pickled pig's ear, and my personal favorite, roasted hedgehog with lamprey cooked in its own blood.”

“I detect a hint of humor,” Brain replied. “If you really relish them, those items can be replicated.”

“Yeah, Brain,” Tom said, “a little levity to ease my tension. However, a pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms, and onions would hit the spot.”

“Any time you wish,” Brain said.

“Give me a couple of hours to wind down,” Tom said. “In the meantime, remove the MAS and get me some comfortable clothes. Lenin boxers don’t cut it.”

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 58, Trial By Combat

This is episode fifty-eight of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

Trial By Combat

The pattered echo of the squire’s steps grew louder until reaching the colonnade of the great hall. The squire entered the great hall holding a long wooden case.

“Marshal Constable,” the earl said to one of the men near the throne, “take charge of the battle by combat.”

A man in a black robe trimmed in fur walked to the center of the great hall. He motioned for Tom and Bouchard to approach and stand before him. 

As they slowly walked to the center of the great hall, Brian spoke telepathically to Tom. “The one challenged has the choice of swords. They are not equal. Bouchard knows which one is the better. One is well-made, sharp, light, and balanced. The other is shoddily made, dull, heavy, and not balanced.”

“Squire,” the marshal said, “bring the swords.” 

The marshal handed a white glove to Tom. Tom accepted it and dropped the glove at Bouchard’s feet. Bouchard picked it up and stuffed it into his belt.

“With the challenge offered and accepted, the rules will be given,” the marshal said. “This is battle by combat. You will fight until one of you concedes or is mortally wounded. If there is a concession with no mortal wound, the court will pass sentence. The winner may recommend what sentence will be passed. It will not be binding. Do you both understand and agree?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

The squire handed the wooden case to the marshal.

“Place your right hands on this case,” the marshal said.

Tom and Bouchard placed their hands on the case.

“Do you swear that you are not using any sort of trickery, witchcraft, or sorcery?”

“I do.”

“I do.”

The squire removed the lid from the case. Two identical ornate swords were inside.

“The one challenged may choose his sword,” the marshal said.

Grinning and with confidence, Bouchard laid his hand on the handle of the bottom sword and stepped back.

Tom stood motionless. The subjects in the galleries began to murmur. 

“You must take a sword,” the marshal said sternly. 

Tom removed the lid of the case from the squire. He placed it on top of the case.

“You must take a sword!” The marshals said.

“I know,” Tom said. He pointed at Bouchard’s sword. “I want that one.”

The marshal pulled out the sword. He extended it to Tom. Tom stared at Bouchard as if the sword was not there. The marshal, knowing that he held the sword in vain, dropped it at Tom’s feet.

Two long-stemmed pedestals holding one bowl each of fruit stood on each side of the throne. Tom walked to the one nearest him and removed an apple. He tossed it to Bouchard. 

And Bouchard, with a whisk of his sword, cleanly sliced the apple in half. He smirked. “Your throat will be next, peasant Bales.”

Tom removed another apple. He walked back to where his sword lay. He picked it up. He held the apple in his left hand and the sword in his right. He placed the blade of the sword against the apple. He pressed and sliced back and forth. The sword was not sharp enough to break through the skin of the apple. He rolled the apple across the floor and watched it come to a stop.

“Squire!” Tom called out. “Fetch me a hawking glove.”

The squire stood motionless.

“I beg Your Lordship this one small indulgence,” Tom said politely.

The earl flipped his hand, and the squire ran off, followed by his echo.

Bouchard strutted by the gallery of nobles who stood in the colonnade. They cheered and shouted encouragement to him as he passed. He held his head back and his chin high as if to guzzle in full the adulation of all. Everyone desired to curry his favor, for all knew he might be next in line to fill the role of the next earl. After all, the passing of the present obese, flabby, and aging count appeared near.

He moved away from the admiring nobles and continued to walk back and forth. As he did, he practiced slicing and thrusting moves with the sword. He added small hops and modified carole dance movements to entertain the crowd while mocking Tom. 

“Any time you are ready,” Bouchard said.

“I would like to wait for the hawking glove,” Tom said, smiling at his performance. “I assume we have disregarded the rules on trickery.” Tom stuck the handle of the sword on the stone floor, and it fell off. He then held the sword in both hands and snapped it in two. “Go ahead and amuse yourself, swine.”

With sword pointed, Bouchard slowly moved toward Tom. He quickly thrust forward. Tom moved quickly to avoid the tip of the sword.

“That was my slowest thrust,” Bouchard said.

“If I told you that was my quickest avoidance, I would be lying. However, correct me if I’m wrong, we did suspend the rules. And does that not include things beyond trickery?”

“Indeed,” Bouchard said. And next, he tried a draw cut maneuver, but Tom backed away, past the sharp edge of the sword. 

“I know what you are thinking,” Tom said, “How does he do that? The answer is, I know what you are thinking. Thus, I can anticipate your next move.” And Tom smirked.

Bouchard turned his back to Tom. He started to take a step away, but quickly whirled around and made a thrust and a draw cut move that sounded like a harsh wind passing through a barren tree. Tom avoided each maneuver easily. 

“Where is that hawking glove?” Tom feigned impatience, digging his fists into his sides. 

Bouchard moved around like a stalking beast, taking deep breaths. 

“Remember the days of your youth,” Tom said. “When you were so much more agile and quicker. And now it seems to have escaped you.”

“I am as quick and agile as I have ever been,” Bouchard said.

“Then why am I not bleeding?” Tom said.

“You cannot avoid the cold steel of my sword indefinitely,” Bouchard said. “You will tire, and I shall prevail. I will lick your blood from my sword.”

“What’s that I hear?” Tom said. “You best be about it, because I hear the squire’s return.”

Bouchard’s head jerked at hearing the echo of the squire’s feet patter against the stone floor.

The squire entered the great hall with the hawking glove.

“Quick, lad,” Tom said, “toss it.”

The squire tossed the hawking glove, and Tom caught it. He slipped it on his left hand as Bouchard advanced.

Next, Bouchard thrusted and attempted as many as two dozen draw cuts, hoping to slice Tom’s flesh. With the assistance of MAS, Tom was able to avoid some and others he parried with the hawking glove.

Indeed, there was entertainment, but not what was expected. The gallery of nobles applauded Bouchard’s attempts. The gallery of peasants restrained their approval, although it became noticeably troubling for the nobility. 

Bouchard backed away. He walked to the far end of the great hall. He stared up at the light piercing through the cathedral openings above the balcony of the peasants. Faces mocked and sneered at him, yet they remained silent in fear of the earl and the other nobility. 

He let out a primal growl. No one had ever heard a sound like that before. The great hall fell silent. Only the breeze beyond the cathedral openings was heard. 

Bouchard heard an eerie, rapid thumping. His eyes darted, searching the great hall for that ghostly sound. His eyes settled when he realized it was his own heartbeat that he was hearing.

With heavy breathing, he addressed Tom. “I will prevail. And when I do, I will slice you open, and every nostril in this room will be filled with the foul odor of your bowels. I promise that.”

Tom stepped forward. He glared into Bouchard’s sunken eyes and spoke firmly and clearly. “The only odor from a bowel in this hall will be that of your own duty in your braies.”

Bouchard charged like a madman, wildly swinging his sword. 

A sadness and disappointment fell over the spirits of the nobility. For they knew that even if Bouchard had managed to defeat and execute Tom, he would have lost favor. His manhood would become greatly diminished.

A ferocious downward draw cut came from the tightened grip and gnashing teeth of Bouchard. Tom sidestepped it. The sword struck against the stone floor. Tom grabbed the blade with his hand, wearing the hawking glove. Bouchard tried to withdraw the sword, but Tom held fast to it. Bouchard pulled and was not able to dislodge the sword from Tom’s grip. He panicked and grabbed with both hands, but still could not dislodge the sword. It was as if the sword had been grafted into the stone floor. 

Tom stiffened his right hand. He quickly drew back and came forward with a slap across Bouchard’s face. Bouchard released his grip of the sword and stumbled backwards to the floor.

Tom quickly advanced and stood over Bouchard.

Defeated, Bouchard rested on one hand.

“This is the sword I want,” Tom said, holding its point to Bouchard’s forehead.

“On your knees, Bouchard,” Tom commanded.

Bouchard rose to his knees. “Have mercy, please, Master.”

Tom looked with disgusting pity at Bouchard’s face. “A brave, mighty, and good man would at least say, ‘make it quickly.’”

“Make it quickly, please,” Bouchard begged.

“For god’s sake, Bales!” The earl called out, “Make it quickly, make it slowly, but make it. I can’t bear this cur’s cowardly drivel.” 

“Run him through!” Many sounded off from the peasants’ and nobles’ gallery.

Tom turned toward Thomas, who stood near the wall and next to Lattice. “Come here.”

Thomas handed his torch to Lattice. He walked forward and stood next to Tom. 

“If you wish,” Tom said, “you may put this man to death. It is simple. It takes a stroke slightly below the jaw. The move is like slitting the throat of a pig.”

“It would bring great pleasure,” Thomas said. “It is nothing I care to live with.”

“Thank you, young master,” Bouchard said with theatrical remorse.

Tom motioned for Thomas to return to his place.

“Lattice,” Tom called. “Come here.”

Lattice handed both torches to Thomas. She slowly moved toward Tom and stood beside him. He handed the sword to her. She pressed it against Bouchard’s neck with only enough force to dent the skin. 

Bouchard trembled. He closed his eyes, and tears cascaded from beneath his eyelids. 

“Confess before I slice your neck,” Lattice said resolutely and with a single tear rolling over her cheek.

Bouchard opened his eyes and looked up at Lattice. His voice quivered. “As my last breath, I did ravish you. I had wantonly coveted you from long ago, but it was Geoffrey Bales whom you loved, and he loved you.” She paused and pressed harder. “I pity you and the breath you breathe in and exhale.” She handed the sword back to Tom. “You are the one who has bested this man. You should be the one honored to bring about his death.”

Tom accepted the sword. He held it against Bouchard’s cheek and swiped. Bouchard shrieked. It sounded like a woman’s scream.

Tom turned to the earl. “My Lordship, I beg that this wretched man be spared. However, he should lead the next charge in defense of your dominion.”

“And he be recalled as a hero?” The earl questioned.

“No matter how he dies, he dies,” Tom said. “Bouchard will always be remembered for this moment. Let the foes of this land imagine they have slain a loyal nobleman—and you and those after you will laugh at your enemy for unwittingly performing a desired service.”

The earl pondered Tom’s words. He nodded. “So it shall be. Arrest Bouchard and hold him until the next battle.”