Chapter Three
Metropolis 1978
Next time sleet and snow was predicted in the evening forecast, she was staying home.
The weather was horrible, filthy in fact. The windshield wipers fought hard to keep up with the slushy rain as it came down, making visibility and driving at dusk almost impossible. If the gym’s parking lot had not been covered with salt earlier in the day, getting the old green Volkswagen out of the tight spot would have been difficult to say the least. It would have been so much easier – and safer – to create an efficient workout routine in her studio apartment, minuscule as it was. Why had she pushed to attend Dylan’s karate class when all the TV newscasters and radio weather people had predicted a heavy snowfall, starting with sleet?
Because he was the best karate instructor in New Troy, and she had a tiny crush on him. The class was half-full so he could give more personal instructions to his students, she had finally perfected the side kick to the jaw, a move that might come in handy if anyone wanted to attack her. Right now she felt confident no mugger outside of Suicide Slum would be foolish enough to be out on a night like this.
It took brute strength to handle the Volkswagen’s steering wheel, yet somehow the car moved slowly forward, slipping occasionally whenever it turned a corner, an insistent reminder about the repairs that needed to be done; a new set of tires and the heater replaced. She sighed, if it was a choice between tires or a heater, new tires came first. True it was like driving in a rolling frozen torture chamber, but as long as there was a thick blanket in the back seat, she could stay warm.
So far, the evening traffic had been lighter than expected, she only needed to inch around three more blocks to reach home. Three very long blocks, that were usually choked in traffic at this time of the night. Then put the cheery red tea kettle on the boil for a piping hot cup of peppermint tea, that would go well with the chocolate chip cookies she made last night. Maybe she would pop them in the oven first to warm them up? The comforting thought of sipping hot tea and munching on warm cookies, only furled her desire to be home, she tapped on the gas pedal, urging the car forward.
Suddenly an intense blue light, like a nimbus appeared, splitting the darkness into shards. An older man wearing a heavy black overcoat and bowler hat stepped out of the center of the halo … right in front of the car. Aykira screamed in terror and the man, seeing a moving vehicle coming toward him, mimicked the emotion and jumped to get out of the way. Instinct kicked in and she turned right to miss him and then slammed on the brakes, sending the car skidding down the street on ancient wheels, desperately trying to find purchase on the slick pavement. Before the vehicle stopped, it had slid a good twenty feet. Miraculously, the old Volkswagen hadn’t plowed into any parked vehicles.
It was all over in a matter of seconds. Aykira’s fingers, were instantly icy cold despite being covered with wool gloves, it took a moment to relax the clutching grasp of the steering wheel. Her waist hurt, the seatbelt had dug painfully into her body, tomorrow morning, there was going to be wicked bruising and uncomfortable soreness.
But first, she had to find out if the nitwit who stepped in front of her was all right. Fuming, yet more than a little concerned for the man, she carefully unlatched the seatbelt and opened the car door, only to slide on a patch of ice. If it weren’t for quick reflexes and grabbing the door, her derrière would have landed hard on the wet ground. Training shoes were designed for dry streets, on mild days, not tramping through heavy snow on slippery asphalt in what was fast becoming a blizzard
.
Gingerly, she picked her way down the eerily quiet street, the wet snow was beginning to penetrate her thin canvas and nylon footwear, making it cold and wet. She scanned the street and not too far from a lamppost whose blub was flickering and its light a sickly yellow, found a man lying on his side. The sleet was rapidly turning into thick, heavy snowflakes, falling around him, softening the outline of an unmoving body. If the snow kept drifting up, within an hour no one would know he was there until the snowplows came through and hit the body.
The unbearable thought made tears of deep anguish ran down Aykira’s cheeks. She whispered hoarsely, “Oh God! I killed him!” she whimpered.
Kneeling down, she removed a glove and placed two icy fingers on the man’s neck, hoping to find a pulse. At that moment, a shuttering groan was heard, the old man, with an effort, sat up, rubbed his face with wet woolen gloves and then a voice with a cultured British accent said, “Fear not dear lady, this … this mishap was entirely my own fault.” Patting himself all over he said, “Aha! Happily no bones were broken. I … I never should have allowed Andros to set the coordinates, that … that young man still has a great deal to learn.”
Ignoring the odd comments and completely relieved that he was alive, Aykira quickly took control of the situation. “Sir … can … can you stand? We have to get to a hospital, MetroGen is not far away!”
An unexpectedly strong voice answered firmly. “No. No hospitals! There would be … complications. Is there someplace warm we can go? Perhaps your lodgings? Are … they nearby? I don’t fancy being in this miserable weather. Perhaps a hot cup of tea … with … scones?” As the man spoke, his teeth began to chatter fiercely.
He might be going into shock or reacting to the cold. Either way, there was no time to argue. Besides, she thought with amusement, if this weakened old man tried any funny business, she would lay him out cold with a mild blow to the neck. Cautiously, she helped him up from the ground and they supported each other while walking back to the car. Her new friend was limping badly, but he didn’t complain. It amazed her that not a single car had come down the street. Apparently other drivers had listened to the weather report and wisely stayed home. Finally, they reached the car and with anxious care got him into the passenger’s seat and in one swift motion, pulled the blanket from the back and onto the shivering man. She regretted not having a larger car with heat, but at the moment this was all there was. Quickly, Aykira got inside, turned the ignition key and miracles of miracles with its usual rattle and bang the ancient engine groaned in protest and then turned over.
Her companion studied the vehicle’s interior, smiled softly and said, “Excuse me, is this a … Volkswagen … Beetle?”
Curious about the comment, since he was obviously old enough to know what kind of car this was said. “Yes. A very old one, built in nineteen sixty-five.”
“Bit of an antique isn’t it? A … a lot like me.” He chuckled softly at the small joke.
Aykira, in spite of keeping a close watch on the road, quickly gazed over to him and answered with a touch of humor. “My late uncle gave this car to me before he died. He said, and this is a direct quote ‘I can remember that the Beetle had four virtues and little else: it was cheap– it was easy to repair– it was easy to push out of mud and, more importantly, snow.’”
He answered with a slight tone of alarm. “Oh dear, let’s hope it doesn’t stall out now! Neither one of us can push!”
Aykira decided not to mention that the car could be easily moved; unfortunately, there had been a lot of experiences doing that this winter. Wryly she said, “Yes. Especially since that leg of yours is injured.”
It was dark within the car, but she detected a hint of color raise in his cheeks. But to the man’s credit, he neither complained nor denied the injury.
“No fortunately it’s not my leg. But my … ankle has been sprained … quite severely one suspects, I… I can actually feel it beginning to swell. Oh dear, I have grown rather fond of my new snow galoshes and would dislike having them cut off.”
Hearing that, Aykira groaned and snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner? We just passed MetroGen!”
He shook his head and said adamantly. “No, Miss M … a … doctor is out of the question.”
A tiny quiver of fear went through her heart. “Ah, you aren’t wanted by the police?”
He looked at her, deeply offended, as if his honor had been questioned. “Certainly not! I … perhaps we have gotten off on the wrong foot …” He stopped and grew quiet, realizing with chagrin what he had said.
She, on the other hand, could not let such an opportunity to poke fun at the situation slip past said, “Wrong foot? Absolutely! By the way, my name is Aykira Milan.”
“Ah … yes, yes … I am … Herbert Wells.”
Sighing at the strange turn this evening was taking she said. “Nice to meet you Mr. Wells. Since we aren’t stopping at the hospital, I must concentrate on negotiating this snowfall … so …”
“My silence whilst you drive is required? Very well.” His eyes twinkled.
Between the darkness and the increasing snowfall, they moved at a snail’s pace, but some progress was better than none at all. Thankfully, they arrived at her apartment building without incident; a large five-story glass and tan brick bunker shaped structure. Due to long practice, she was able to maneuver the Volkswagen haphazardly into its customary parking space, after no small amount of battling with the recalcitrant steering wheel. Aykira cut off the engine and after an alarming agitation and slight mechanical groanings, the car was quiet.
Her companion breathed a sigh of relief and said in a small voice. “Does the ‘Beetle’ and all other motorcars in America make such a cacophony of sound?”
“Not speaking for all the other cars in America Mr. Wells, but sadly, mine does. At least now we are home. Watch your step, there’s lot of snow here. We wouldn’t want the other ankle injured!”
His bitter comment was lost as she had closed the driver’s side door. He was cautious of slipping while getting out of the car. Once he was stood up with Aykira’s assistance he looked up at her building. “Oh my, what a … charming domicile.”
She knew Herbert was being kind, her home was anything but charming, it was built during the post-World War II period, thrown up quickly in order to accommodate the baby boom. Domicile? She thought. Lodgings? Motorcar? Herbert’s style of speaking was old-fashioned, his age was anywhere between fifty-five and sixty-five, British people probably spoke that way during his youth. But there was something about the cadence, as if his style had never evolved from that time. It was a curious quirk, but right now she needed to get him out of this weather and upstairs. Thank goodness for elevators!
Ten minutes later they were stepping through the door of the apartment. “Here we are Herbert.” Aykira said as she snapped on the light. “Home, from the cold and damp. Are you sure about not needing medical attention?”
“Quite certain. As a point of fact I must contact my colleague, Andrus. Barring any mishaps, he should be able to collect me in the morning. He’s a capital surgeon and can attend to my ankle without me bothering the medical establishment here.”
Aykira listened to this as she helped him around a wood and glass coffee table to a large green couch that had seen better days. The flea market purchase had several brightly colored pillows thrown over sections a little worn from wear. For an awkward moment, she made him stand long enough to remove damp bowler hat, gloves, overcoat and suit jacket, he insisted on taking the rubber galoshes off himself.
After removing her own outer garments, Aykira hung everything up in the small bathroom to dry. The brown shag carpet was going to require cleaning after they tracked water in. Galoshes? When was the last time she had seen a pair of those boots with genuine steel buckles? Elementary school? He had mentioned in the car that they were new. Where did this man come from?
Putting that question and a dozen others aside, she brought out the red kettle, held it under the tap and started boiling water for tea. She pulled out a large blue and white Tupperware container of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Once the top was removed, the sugary aroma of chocolate, cinnamon and nutmeg was comforting and familiar, she placed six in a shallow baking dish, put the oven on the warmer setting and popped them in.
Initially, the thought of changing clothes with a man in the apartment made her uncomfortable, but the faint odor of workout perspiration and the desire to get out of her slightly damp gi was beginning to aggravate her. Besides, Mr. Wells was in no condition to attack her. If the older man did try to make a questionable move, the outcome would be most unpleasant, painful and the damage permanent.
With that bit of mental reassurance, Aykira excused herself and went into the bathroom. It only took ten minutes to swiftly remove the offensive garments, take a sponge bath scented with floral notes and then put on her favorite black lounging outfit which hung on the back of the door. The garment had been a rare indulgence and she only wore it whenever company came around.
Feeling refreshed, she entered the living room and said while walking into the kitchen. “Sorry it took so long. Ready for something to eat?” Before Mr. Wells could answer, the teapot started whistling violently.
He put down a cooking magazine and said politely while looking around at the neatly arranged mismatched furniture collected from thrift shops and in some cases the street. “Yes, something to eat would be welcomed. Your rooms are very … different, they remind me of an artist’s loft.”
She shrugged, mildly irritated and responded, “Mr. Wells, an artist’s garret is a habitable ‘attic’ or small and often dismal or cramped living space at the top of a house or larger residential building. My home is very much like an artist’s studio, minus the sloping ceiling. But right now, this is all I can afford.”
He opened his mouth and said apologetically. “Oh dear. Please, forgive me! That was shockingly rude. You have been very kind, and in repayment I have insulted your home,” He said as his face flushed red.
“No. It’s true, this studio apartment is cramped, nonetheless, the roof doesn’t leak, there’s light, hot water and most of all on this particular night, plenty of heat!”
“My colleagues and several young students I know have lived in such places. Their schooling was expensive; thus it was more important to worry about paying for classes and books than having a fashionable address. You must be in the same situation, I certainly understand the pain and stress of being in debt and having to make do with what’s available.”
Thinking about the debt made Aykira rub her neck, it had tightened from muscle strain, something that always happened when she thought about it. “Until I pay off my outstanding student loan of five thousand dollars, I work for S.T.A.R. Labs as a lab assistant and a small event planning company as a receptionist.”
“That’s a rather singular career path.” He said, somewhat dubiously.
“It’s the only path open to me right now. Yes, well oddly enough, working those two jobs together pays more than working one full-time. Computer engineering was my major in college, but after two years and thousands of dollars later I discovered it was not my cup of chai. I dropped those courses and concentrated on business instead.”
Herbert shook his head in disbelief. “In my day, it cost less than hundred pounds for a gentleman to receive a full education at Oxford.”
“Nowadays, a semester worth of textbooks, plus pencils and stationary cost twice as much! So I have at least another two years before my loan is paid off. I have no wish to live in an ‘artist loft’ for the rest of my life, so I’ve set aside money to move across country and live in Seattle. That’s where all the emerging technology industries are located. They need administrative assistants who know how to set up events, I want to be a part of that.”
“For a young woman you have many ambitions.”
“When there’s only yourself to rely upon, ambition and focus are extremely important to succeed in life. I was orphaned at age ten and raised by my grandparents. They died shortly after I graduated from high school. They instilled in me a solid work ethic and how to carefully manage my finances. Otherwise, this tiny studio would have been furnished with credit rather than other people’s castoffs. I thought I wanted to be a computer engineer and taking two years’ worth of courses for a career I did not want to pursue was a costly mistake. Business, especially event planning is my greatest strength. That’s why I’m working at S.T.A.R. Labs, with that background it opened the door for me to work for a high-end computer firm which can use my skills in both fields.
“Miss Milan, the plan is a good one. I sincerely hope you are able to succeed.”
She looked at him and realized he could have been dialing his friend while she was in the kitchen or even before she began to tell him about her financial life and employment hopes. “Oh, the phone is by the door. Sorry the cord doesn’t reach the couch. Do you mind hopping over to it? Maybe you can call Andrus and let him know where you are …?”
Herbert looked at her, with a definite twinkle in his eyes. “That shall not be necessary, I already contacted him.”
Baffled, Aykira stepped into the living room. “How?”
He held up a device no bigger that a playing pack of cards and with a grave expression on his face replied. “While you were changing, I used the Time dimensional writer or TDW for short. This device allows me to have instant communications with my colleagues … one thousand years in the future.”
The silence in the apartment grew as she looked fixedly at Herbert for a half minute as if he were a particularly unique insect and then her face crumpled into a wide grin as peals of laughter escaped.
Herbert was more than a little surprised, he narrowed his gaze and said, “I assure you, this is not a matter for levity. I am here on an urgent mission and now that my ankle is injured that mission is in grave jeopardy. Someone … must take my place.”
“Time travel? Your joking right? You sprained the left ankle … not the brain! The next thing you’ll say is that your middle name is George.”
He looked at her and somewhat quietly said, “As a point of fact … it is. My full name is Herbert George Wells. I was born in Bromley, Kent England in 1866 and ‘died’ of a supposed heart attack in 1946 at my home in London.”
At hearing those words Aykira stopped laughing and was angry, so much so the breath in her lungs - already charged from a vigorous workout - felt even more strained. Tonight was a complete mess, first the lousy weather, the car being as cold as ice, hitting a pedestrian and now this same person wanted her to believe he was a man dead more than thirty years. Absolutely stunned at this revelation, she snapped angrily. “No one can travel through time. It’s impossible! I don’t want to hear another word. Get out of my apartment now!”
Herbert raised both hands in a placating gesture and said. “Miss Milan please! If I can provide proof of who I am, will you listen?”
“Why? So you can tell me more fairy tales?” At that moment the teapot started whistling again.
Herbert closed his eyes, seemingly thankful for the brief interruption. “Please, more tea and cookies? My blood sugar is still a little low …”
At first Aykira was going to tell him limp over and get it himself when a vague memory about H.G. Wells’ health nagged at the edge of her memory.
“Mr. Wells … or whoever you really are. Are you a diabetic?”
Red-faced, he nodded. “Where I come from there are treatments which thankfully ended the dread disease. Unfortunately, whenever my duties require coming to either the nineteenth or twentieth century my body reacts oddly, and the disease reasserts itself.”
Hearing this fact made for a miniscule frisson of fear to move across her heart while preparing the hot drink and more warmed cookies. All the oddities about this man were beginning to create a picture that was both frightening and wonderous. She reminded herself again that if Wells got out of hand, he could easily be subdued. But then what? Call the police and say what? I have a time traveler in my apartment? The 911 operator would say she was crazy!”
From the cramped kitchen Aykira attempted to look out the window, unfortunately in the time since they had come inside the glass was frosted with delicate ice crystals. Metropolis was being covered in a frozen, white blanket. The quiet and serenity of the outside was a sharp contrast to the mental turmoil she was experiencing inside. Should this strange man be allowed to remain in her home?
After another minute of deep thought, finally she decided, and handed him the plate of now warm cookies, the chocolate melted into tiny puddles of gooey richness. Herbert or H.G. must have been very hungry as he eagerly started munching … without waiting for her. It seems Victorian manners go for a hike where the stomach is concerned. After setting down two steaming mugs of peppermint tea she sat on a chair, leaned forward and said with a frosty tone that matched the outdoors. “It is a cold, snowy night, H.G. Wells is supposed to be an accomplished storyteller …so let’s hear it.”
Her companion looked at her oddly and then said, “By your countenance, I surmise hearing the story will not be enough. Let me show you, unfortunately; this machine was damaged when I fell earlier and can only provide images, not sound.”
He removed the device from his pocket and Aykira watched in complete fascination as a tiny dark screen lit up and then images of four young men walking down a city street at night formed. Despite the screen’s size, from the overturned garbage cans, large cracks in the sidewalk and generally shabbiness of the area, these fellows were in a disreputable part of a city ... at night. It may have been small-minded on her part, but from their body language and the way their lips moved in anger, that could only mean they were up to no good.
The target of that anger was one of their group, who was well dressed, almost as if he had stepped from the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly. His face, although a little blurry, was vaguely familiar. Where had she seen him before? The other three men, their features distorted by anger, were slowly coming into sharper focus, were becoming increasingly angry. The flashy dresser tried to ignore them and started increasing his pace.
It was fascinating to see how a device so small could produce such crisp images! She wanted to ask how this was possible yet remained silent as the ‘movie’ continued. The others started chasing their hapless companion as the argument escalated. One of the men abruptly pushed the flashy dresser into an alley, he stumbled and hit the ground hard. Another of the group, the biggest of the trio, picked him up as if he were a ragdoll, shook him violently and slammed him against the wall, ripping his jacket.
They were demanding something from him, but he remained silent and then all three began to pummel his body with their fists. Slowly, he slid down the wall and onto the ground. The man who pushed him into the alley, seemingly the leader, produced a knife, the metal gleamed coldly from the streetlamp’s light as he raised it above his head. Suddenly the struggle ended and the other two men, realizing in horror what had just happened, ran away. The leader stood over the young man lying motionless on the ground, smiled coldly, removed the knife from his body and walked away. The miniature screen went dark once more.
Aykira was numbed with shock from the rapid, violent chain of events, placing a trembling hand over her heart she whispered. “That … that wasn’t a movie was it, Mr. Wells? It was horrible! Those men … they killed him!”
“Unhappily yes. The young man fell out of favor with his companions over money they had stolen. He was supposed to hide it until the police stopped looking for it and then share the money equally. Our young man had other ideas. He decided to keep the money for himself. He had planned on moving away, but unfortunately, they found him.” Wells said while shaking his head in disgust.
“His companions were completely unreasonable, and he was foolish not to reveal the whereabouts of the cash. Who was that man? There is something about him that’s very familiar. Why kill him?” She took a long calming sip of tea; the peppermint help to soothe her badly rattled nerves. Watching someone being killed, was not the way this evening was supposed to end.
“Those images were taken fifteen years ago, in early autumn of 1973 … in Metropolis.
She eyed him suspiciously and said. “That’s impossible! None of the surrounding are familiar to me.”
“That crime took place in an area of the city known as Suicide Slum. Forgive me, but it is unlikely a lady such as yourself would be found in such an environment.”
She looked grimly at him and said in a bleak tone, “At one time I had seriously considered taking an apartment near that neighborhood, and it did not have any heat! But thankfully, the job with S.T.A.R. Labs became available. Poverty, Mr. Wells, doesn’t care how nice you are.”
H.G. Wells nodded. He knew London had such neighborhoods and many of the people who occupied those places were just like Aykira; determined to make a better place in the world for herself. But if he didn’t take some kind of action and very soon, this timeline would be erased from existence.
“There are forces at work that you do not know exist. Those men that killed their associate were not originally supposed to do so. The knife-wielding scoundrel, Nico Zabrinski, is a sleeper agent associate with an organization called Rittenhouse, he joined their gang just for the purpose of killing our young, albeit greedy, friend.”
Her eyes closed and groaned softly. “Rittenhouse? Who are they? Sleeper Agent? No, don’t tell me ... they have their own time machine?”
“Unfortunately, yes, but unlike my organization, the Time Corps, they want to not merely change things but eradicate all that is good in the world for their own villainous purposes. That poor man must be saved and allowed to live, otherwise life as you know it right now shall cease to exist. Miss Milan, in my present condition it is impossible to carry out my mission and it has to be accomplished soon. Rittenhouse must not be allowed to succeed.”
“So, your associate Andrus is going to go back there to save him?”
“Certainly not! Andrus was the one who, though his bungling, dropped me in front of your motorcar. He is incapable of stopping those ruffians!”
It was quiet in the tiny apartment. The occupants stared at each other. Finally Aykira rubbed an index finger under her chin and breaking the silence said. “I see. You want me to go back in time and save him? Who is this man, a future president?”
“No. In 1973 he is young, brash and quite simply put than and now … is a thief. Still, he is vastly important to the future of our planet. Someday, the international corporation forged by his efforts shall become one of the main pillars that will draw mankind together. Yes, the Time Corps need you to go back there and stop Nico before he draws that knife. In my current condition and with the TDW damaged I cannot fight those young men, but you with your advanced karate skills will have more than a fair chance.”
In the short time she had known this strange visitor, amazing statements no longer surprised her. She asked, “How do you know I’m advanced enough to take on three men?”
“Two reasons: First only someone truly dedicated to the art of karate would go out on a terrible night like this to train. Second, the belt around your gi is purple. As I understand it, the determined student who reaches the end of their time at the blue belt level, begins to develop a deeper appreciation of what a black belt means. The advancement to a purple karate belt represents a moment of dramatic evolution for the karateka as they mature into the advanced levels of their skills. You have reached that point. Otherwise I would never have asked you to take on such a perilous task.”
A cold frisson of fear caused the hairs on the back of her neck to raise. Once again, he was right, advancement to the next level was attractive. She whispered. “This individual must be vitally important for you and the Time Corps to go through all this trouble. Again, Mr. Wells who is he?”
“Lex Luthor,” Herbert stated flatly.
She blinked twice. Luthor was something of a hero to her … a business model to copy. His hardscrabble rags to riches story was an inspiration and as with Dylan the karate instructor, a tiny infatuation for the handsome businessman was tucked in the corner of her heart. “Are you kidding? Lex Luthor a thief? He was voted by Cable magazine to create the first super technology conglomerate! After I save him from this man, shouldn’t your time traveling agency protect him so Mr. Luthor’s very existence isn’t constantly threatened?”
A curious expression crossed the older man’s face, and then he said, “No. Another team of time travelers will take care of Rittenhouse and all their sleeper agents. Rufus, Wyatt and Lucy are quite an impressive lot, regardless of being rank amateurs.”
Confused, Aykira answered. “Rank amateurs? What does that make me?”
Herbert gave her a kindly smile. “Someone who is willing to help.”
She nodded, took a deep breath, not believing what she was about to do. Quickly she went into her room for a set of street clothes. After a two minutes she emerged and said, “All right H.G., I’m ready.”
With infinite care, he placed the TDW in her hands. “I have already set the time, date and place. The device will bring you back automatically in one hour’s time. If anything should happened to the device stay in the area. We can easily return you to this place and time. Be certain to strike Mr. Luthor’s attackers, especially Mr. Zabrinski with lightning speed, they won’t expect a woman to be a problem.”
She took a deep breath, thought that this was the craziest thing she had ever done and said, “I hope you are correct H.G., or this might be a really short trip!”
***
Stepping through the portal that had been created by the TDW was like stepping through a doorway from a lighted room into the darkest night. She paused a second to get her bearings. She spotted some landmarks she had seen in the video that H.G. had shown her and knew that the alley was very close. As an afterthought she was happy that she had changed into her lounging outfit, its black color would help her to blend into the background and be almost invisible in the dark alley.
Cautiously she approached the mouth of the alley and peered around the corner. She could see the backs of the three men that were in pursuit of Luthor and hastened after them. The alley was lit only by the glow of the halo created by the smog surrounding the streetlights nearby and was feeble at best. That and her soft soled shoes would mask her approach very effectively.
She was within striking distance as Luthor was being slammed against the wall by Nico. His two associates were standing somewhat behind him. With the element of surprise which she enjoyed, she should be able to make short work of them.
As she got into position she said, “Am I interrupting something?”
All three of Luthor’s assailants turned at the sound of her voice. When they dir, the two nearest her were in the perfect position for a move she had recently been practicing. She lept into the air and both legs flashed out. Her feet caught each of them under the chin, snapping their heads back, knocking them off their feet. The crashed to the floor of the alley, the back of their heads impacting the macadam, stunning them.
That left only Nico. She came to a ready stance and waited. She hoped that the threat she posed would lure him away from what he had intended to do to Luthor. There was a metallic snick as the blade of the switchblade Nico favored snapped into and locked in place.
Even in the dark, there was a faint metallic gleam from the blade, and she could see that he was an experienced knife wielder. He didn’t hold it for throwing. He knew that if you throw your knife, unless you are absolutely sure of your target, you risk not only losing your weapon, but giving it to your opponent. He also did not raise it up for a downward stroke, that has very limited utility. Instead, he kept the knife in front of him, blade forward at waist level. This made it available to thrusting or slashing as opportunity presented. He was going to be a dangerous opponent. His hands came up, defensively and she watched his face. His face telegraphed his moves. A change of expression and he slashed, side to side. She easily jumped back, out of range, but not so far as to stop being a threat. This time he charger her, thrusting the knife at her mid-section.
This was the move she had been hoping for. With a half spin she took her body out of the spot he was aiming for and as his arm passed her she grabbed it with both of her hands and yanked. This sent him crashing into a wall, head first, knocking the air out of his lungs. Aykira plucked the knife from his hand and then let him fall to the ground. Nico was a dangerous man, and then that she now had complete control of his knife arm and as she said, “Let Rittenhouse, know they have enemies.” She balled her hand into a fist and punched him hard in the gut.
There was a look of astonishment, whether it was from her mention of Rittenhouse or the disbelief that this mere slip of a girl had bested him, he could never say. As he crumpled to the alley floor his two companions recovered and seeing what had been done to Nico, decided that they didn’t want the same thing to happen to them and fled.
Knowing that she had not touched anything to leave fingerprints and the only prints on the knife would be Nico’s, she left him lying on the ground, and assisted Luthor to his feet. She then helped him to leave the area.
***
Aykira eagerly stepped out of the simmering blue nimbus of light and into her apartment, everything was just as she left it. Only an hour had passed in 1973, but here the tea kettle was still warm. The visitor H.G. Wells, if that’s who he was, had vanished, leaving behind a thick manila envelope with her name written in graceful cursive letters on the coffee table.
Dear Miss Milan:
Please accept my apologizes for not remaining here to greet you upon returning from Metropolis in 1963. All is well within the time continuum; the threat of Rittenhouse murdering Lex Luthor has come to nothing, his position in the creation of Utopia is assured. As was mentioned previously the other group of travelers have ended Rittenhouse as an organization. The time stream for all mankind, not just this tiny fragment is permanently secure.
It took a tremendous leap of faith, as well as a certain amount of pluck, to put your life into the hands of a virtual stranger to accomplish the task placed before you. Such courage reminds me of the early twentieth century aviator Bessie Coleman, a woman of fierce determination. We of the Time Corps will be forever in your debt for the service done this evening.
As vulgar as it is to speak of money, within this envelope is a saving account at Pacifica bank in your name in the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. More than enough to settle any outstanding student debts, purchase a new motorcar and begin your life anew on the West Coast. I say this because living in Metropolis there is the slender possibility of meeting Lex Luthor. Now is not the point in time for you to do so and it shall lead to numerous complications.
Might I suggest working for a computer company called Nanite in Seattle? It is still a young corporation and could use a woman of your daring skills and intelligence.
Sincerely,
Herbert George Wells
P.S. My dear Aykira, please continue your studies in karate, we may have need of those skills again someday.
TBC
Last edited by Morgana; 04/14/20 10:14 PM.
