Chapter Six

In San Francisco, the mutant quickly got to work on his schemes, the knowledge he had gleaned during his stay in the twentieth century gave him an unfair advantage when it came to buying up real estate. Blocks of land that seemed worthless would, Darkon knew, in time be worth more than anyone could dream.

He invested too in the arms manufacturing business in the north of the country, knowing well that when the American Civil War came into being, his investments would reap incredible rewards.

But this still did not satisfy him. His investments would make him a billionaire many times over, but it would not give him the control that would enable him to assert his will over the future.

He was frustrated by this and he was also suffering strong mental upheavals which he did not understand. Many times his thoughts drifted back to Professor Kane’s laboratory and he cursed his hurried exit. He regretted not taking the time to read through his personal file. Not knowing his full capabilities was a constant frustration. His subconscious mind, however, was working overtime trying to evaluate his genetics.

The Zs had little trouble in following Darkon’s trail. His anger and high state of nervousness had left a vibrant pattern. They arrived in San Monte and, like their quarry, armed themselves with a survey map.

The coloured paper notes and rounded coins they received in exchange for their gold nuggets and the number of things that could be bought caused ripples of delight to flow through the Zs. Zac thought the system great fun. But his enjoyment of the discovery of spending money and going shopping was short-lived, for Zara worked out the correct co-ordinates and was ready to set off again after Darkon.

They arrived in San Francisco at the same point as Darkon, on the boardwalks. The streets were still muddy, but drying into deep ruts caused by the passage of horses, wagons and coaches.

Zoltan took in the new scene around him. ‘Now that we’re here,’ he said, ‘What do we do?’

‘Easy,’ said Zac. ‘We find Darkon, capture him, and take him back.’

‘Don’t be a clone,’ said Zoltan. ‘I mean, how do we do it? He’s stronger than the three of us put together, and I’m not sure I could summon enough violence to actually attack him.’

‘I agree,’ said Zara. ‘So we have to immobilise him somehow.’

‘Why not go back and get a skinshot of tranquilliser and a tranc gun?’ suggested Zac. He laughed. ‘I mean, we have time, don’t we?’

His little joke broke the tension.

‘It’s an idea,’ said Zara. ‘But I wouldn’t like to risk it. Darkon might already have done something to change our world. If we went back and were trapped...’

‘You mean if we go back to our original co-ordinates, things might not be the same?’ asked Zoltan. Zara nodded.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Zoltan. ‘If we go forward to when we started, how could things be different?’

‘It’s the space continuum,’ explained Zac.

‘The future is as it is because of events in the past. If Darkon changes or history, the future will be different.’

‘In other words,’ said Zara, ‘unless we catch Darkon, we can’t ever go back ourselves. So,’ she looked at Zac, ‘you come up with a tranc formula and Zoltan will make some.’

‘And it had better be oral-effective,’ said Zoltan. ‘What we need to find is a substance laboratory.’

‘They didn’t have them then,’ said Zac. ‘They used places called pharmacies, or drug stores.’

‘So, let’s find one,’ said Zara as she looked up and down the street at the rows of shops. ‘They look like basic item depots,’ she said. ‘Come on.’

She set off at a brisk walk, with the others following. Zac brightened up at the thought of spending some more of his money, but Zara kept a tight rein on him. In the drug store, Zac muttered the formula for an oral-effective tranquilliser while Zoltan quickly assessed the contents of the large jars and boxes that lined the walls of the sweet-smelling, peculiar establishment.

The puzzled-looking shop assistant measured out the quantities as Zoltan issued his orders.

The Zs were just about to leave the shop when Zoltan suddenly said, ‘We need somewhere to sleep and plan. We can’t just wander about the town.’ He turned to the shopkeeper. ‘Could you tell us where we can find the youngdorm?’ he asked.

‘Somewhere we can get a bed for the night,’ Zara added hastily.

The shopkeeper pointed them in the direction of a small boarding house on the edge of the central part of town.

It was during their walk to the place that Zac spotted the newspaper that had Darkon’s sardonically smiling face on the front page. He looked different as ‘Mr Konrad’. His hair was shorter and he looked taller somehow in his new clothes. In fact, Zoltan wasn’t convinced it was him until Zara pointed out the tell-tale band around his wrist - the Time Trekker.

The article was informative, if written in archaic jargon. Now the Zs knew exactly where Darkon was and what he was doing.

They were welcomed into the boarding house by a plump, motherly woman who took them to be orphans of an Indian raid, and, without even asking the bewildered trio, had hot, delicious-smelling soup on the table in front of them almost instantly. So they experienced another pleasant taste sensation.

Later they sat in the bedroom which was furnished with three cots crammed close together. They were small but comfortable and the linen was clean and sweet- smelling.

‘It almost smells like home,’ said Zac, burying his nose in the sheets. ‘It makes a pleasant change. I’ve never known so many odours.’

‘And most of them foul,’ cut in Zoltan, throwing himself onto a cot.

‘There’s no time for resting,’ said Zara, prodding Zoltan with her foot. ‘You have to make the tranc.’ She paused and lifted her head, her nostrils flaring like a forest deer. ‘He’s getting agitated. I’m a bit scared that he might take off again. We have to stop him before he leaves this place or time zone.’

Zoltan jumped to his feet and pulled the small packages from his pocket. ‘You’re right, as usual,’ he said. ‘But I need some heat to mix this little lot.’

‘The food preparation place,’ said Zac. ‘The woman has heat down there, lots of it.’

The trio went quickly but quietly to the kitchen of the boarding house. The woman was not there and Zoltan went across to the heat generator. It was a large metal container that radiated into the room. He ventured nearer. It was very hot.

‘It’s a combustion-type heater,’ he said. ‘You put combustible material into this hole here,’ he indicated the cover, ‘and it heats all the metal.’

‘It’s very inefficient,’ said Zara.

‘But it was the way they cooked and heated their homes,’ said Zac.

‘We have a problem,’ said Zoltan. ‘There’s plenty of heat in volume but we need a bigger concentration. It will take hours to cook all the ingredients down into a soluble powder.’ He flashed a look around the room.

‘We need a conductor.’ His gaze fell on the iron poker that sat by the cooking range. ‘That might do it,’ he said. He took the poker and lifted the lid on the range, reeling back at the blast of heat. ‘Whew,’ he said, ‘get that concentrated and we could almost make lightning.’

He sat the poker into the hole at a quickly calculated angle and then lowered the lid back onto the range. Then he took out a piece of gold from his pocket and rubbed it slowly against the iron rod. The heat caused flecks of the gold to stick to the poker.

‘I really need an electric charge for this,’ he grumbled.

‘It’s hardly in general use yet,’ said Zac. ‘We might find it lighting the more modern buildings, but not in the older places.’

‘Just do your best,’ urged Zara.

Still grumbling, Zoltan set to work, using the smallest cooking pan he could find he mixed, vaporised, and distilled the herbs and concoctions he’d bought from the drug store.

Finally, he pulled the poker from the fire, letting the lid of the stove fall shut. The soluble tranc powder was sitting, slightly steaming at the bottom of the pan.

They hurried back then to their sleeping quarters and poured the powder into a strip of newspaper. Then Zoltan returned the pan to the kitchen.

The boarding house keeper could never explain how the handle of her poker became gold-plated.

‘Now,’ said Zara, closing her eyes in deep concentration. ‘Where are you, Darkon?’ She could feel his presence strongly - and his mounting agitation.

The materialisation of the Zs gave Darkon a shock. He was studying his atlas. His master plan was finally in place and he marvelled at the simplicity of it.

‘When you know your history, anything is possible,’ he muttered to himself, ‘especially when it’s in the future.’ He was laughing almost insanely when the Zs appeared by the window. His laugh stopped abruptly and he slammed the atlas down on a table.

‘You,’ he spluttered. ‘Won’t you ever learn? Go away, leave me alone or I will kill you as surely as I killed Kane.’

Zara felt her heart pound and her knees went weak. ‘We have to take you back,’ she said. ‘You and your violence can’t be allowed to run through history.’

The trio stepped forward, unsure of what to do next.

Zoltan tried to appeal to Darkon’s vanity.

‘Okay, you can kill us, we know that. You have violence bred into you. But what’s the point? I’m trying to understand. Can’t we just talk?’

Darkon regained his composure and picked up a bottle of yellow liquid. He put it to his lips and drank.

Darkon realised he was being carefully watched. He showed the Zs the bottle. ‘Whiskey,’ he said. ‘Alcohol made sweet and beautiful. It lifts the mind if used properly.’ He smiled. ‘The Indians love it, but it does strange things to their minds.

‘I’ve already made a fortune in acquiring the stuff and reselling it. It’s amazing how fast you can make money in these primitive times.’

‘But you have an advantage,’ said Zara.

‘Of course I have,’ snarled Darkon, ‘you can’t conduct successful business unless you make use of your advantages. They’re the rules of commerce.’

Zoltan gave Zara’s hand a squeeze. He had worked out where he had to put the soluble tranc. He whispered into Zara’s ear. ‘Distract him.’

Zara made an imperceptible nod and moved forward towards Darkon’s atlas. The mutant put his bottle down and grabbed Zara by the wrist and twisted it. ‘Not so fast,’ he said. The girl gasped in pain.

Zoltan took advantage of the diversion and emptied his home-made tranquilliser into the whiskey bottle. One more swill, he thought, and Darkon would be out like a broken glowglobe.

Darkon pushed Zara away brutally and she fell to the floor and tears formed in her eyes.

‘I won’t kill you,’ he said. ‘I’ll do worse than that.’ He moved to the wall near to the door and picked up a handle from a wooden box that was fixed there. It was attached to the box with a length of cloth-covered wire. He put the handle to his ear and rattled the metal it had been resting on.

‘Telephone,’ said Zac. They had all seen the antique communicating devices in museums.

Darkon spoke. ‘Get me the sheriff,’ he said, and then waited, keeping a wary eye on the Zs. They stood, uncertain of what to do next. Darkon spoke again. ‘Sheriff,’ he said. ‘It’s Konrad. I’ve just caught three thieves in my room. Get round here and arrest them right away.’

He hung up and turned, smiling evilly at the Zs.

‘This is much more unpleasant than death,’ he said. ‘I’m going to put you three in jail -which is much worse than Sanctuary - and you’ll stay there, or at least in this time zone, until you die of natural causes, because I’m going to relieve you of your Trekker.’

He advanced on Zara, but Zac, who had been doing some rapid computing, called out a set of co-ordinates. Zara fiddled with the Trekker, frantically adjusting the controls. Zac was already holding on to her and Zoltan ran, surging past Darkon to grip Zara tightly. She pressed the transporter button before Darkon could touch them and the Zs were instantly back in their bedroom at the boarding house.

‘That was too close,’ said Zoltan. He collapsed on his cot.

‘Radiant timing, though,’ said Zac. ‘But what do we do now?’

Just wait,’ said Zara, ‘and hope that Darkon will drink his alcohol. We’ll go back in thirty minutes.’

Darkon swore when he leapt and grabbed at thin air. He thought of following them, but changed his mind. His plan was much more important, especially now the Zs had tracked him down.

He thought his situation through. He was strong and capable of using extreme violence. He had a cunning brain and other powers he could slowly feel emerging from his body and mind. He knew that in his own time he would be able to seek them out and dispose of them as he wished, while he went on to create his perfect world of conflict and greed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. He opened it and the sheriff and Zara deputies rushed in, long-barrelled revolvers in their hands.

‘It’s too late,’ said Darkon. ‘They’ve already gone. They were far too quick for me. They ran to the window and escaped.’

The sheriff looked out of the open window and scoured the street both ways. ‘There’s no sign of anybody down here now.’ He looked down. ‘They must be pretty agile,’ he said. ‘It’s a straight drop-hardly a foothold at all.’

‘They were kids,’ said Darkon, ‘two boys and a girl. They just jumped.’

‘In that case, they’re lucky kids,’ said the sheriff, putting his gun back into its holster. ‘A man could break his leg with a drop like that.’

‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ said Darkon. He picked up the whiskey bottle. ‘Want a belt?’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said the sheriff.

‘Boys?’ Darkon indicated the bottle to the deputies, who holstered their guns. They knew Darkon had good whiskey.

The sheriff took a swallow and passed the bottle on. His deputies also took a big gulp. The second one had hardly finished swallowing when the sheriff fell to the floor unconscious.

‘What the...’ the first deputy couldn’t even finish the sentence before he fell and the second deputy soon followed. Darkon grabbed the bottle before all the liquid spilled out. He sniffed it and recognised the infused smell of the dissolved tranc. He put the bottle down.

‘You’re smarter than I thought,’ he murmured.

He set the controls on his Time Trekker and pressed the transporter button. He was gone instantly, but was soon back again, dressed completely differently. He was wearing furs over expensive clothes that were out of keeping with the time zone. He was also smoking a huge cigar which protruded from a mouth that was enclosed in a neatly cut, short dark beard. In his hand he held a cheque book from his future bank. He looked at the date stamp; it was 1865. He put the book into a carrying case and then went to a chest of drawers from which he took a pile of parchments. He read through them and smiled, satisfied, and put them into the carrying case and locked it. Then he moved to his atlas, lying open still on the bedside table. He set his co-ordinates once more and took one last look around.

‘Now let anyone try to stop me,’ he said loudly, and laughed as he pressed the transporter button.

Zara knew the moment they materialised in Darkon’s room that their plan had failed. The three snoring, inert bodies of the sheriff and his men only accentuated their failure.

‘He’s gone,’ said Zara.

‘But where to, and why?’ asked Zoltan.

‘We know why,’ said Zac. ‘Gold - but where to is a different matter. Zara?’

Zara opened up her mind to the myriad different waves emitted by Darkon’s swirling metabolism. She began to frown and then she started to shiver as if she were freezing. Her face began to turn pale, and then a light shade of blue and her teeth began to chatter.

Zoltan looked at Zac, questioning ‘I don’t know,’ said the boy. ‘Should we try to wake her?’

‘I don’t know.’ Zac’s voice took on an edge of panic. ‘I’ve never seen her like this. I’m scared.’

Zoltan moved forward and touched Zara on the arm. She did not respond, so he gripped her shoulders and shook her. This did the trick. She gasped and opened her eyes. She began to rub her arms and hands, trying to get some warmth back into them.

‘What happened?’ asked Zac anxiously.

‘I was cold, so cold,’ said Zara. ‘I’ve never known anything like it.’

‘Colder than a skidome?’ asked Zoltan.

‘Much, much colder,’ said Zara. ‘There was snow and ice, but there was a wind, a wind that cut like a knife.’ She shivered again. ‘We have nothing in our experience to compare it with.’

‘And Darkon?’ asked Zac, as a more natural colour flowed back into Zara’s face.

‘He was there,’ she said. ‘But the cold made it impossible to concentrate on what he was doing. I tried, but the experience of the cold overrode everything.’ She looked helplessly at Zoltan. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ he said kindly. ‘We all have a long way to go before we become what Professor Kane intended. Did you get the co-ordinates, though?’

‘I was too confused,’ said Zara. ‘I could see the ice and snow and a blinding blue sky. There were trees, frozen water and huge buildings with golden domes and yet, mixed in with that were pictures of mountains, tracts of dark-green forests and the howling of animals combined with the howling of wind. I’m just not sure.’

Zoltan wandered across to the bedside table on which Darkon’s atlas lay. He looked at the open page, and then turned to another that was ear-marked. He turned his gaze back to his companions, who were watching intently.

‘Two places,’ he said, ‘Russia and Alaska.’

It was Zac’s turn. He closed his eyes, his eyelids starting to flicker instantly. His computations took several minutes.

‘Russia was a sovereign state that went through many revolutions before it joined with many other states in the north-eastern part of the planet to form the Nordonic area,’ he said when he opened his eyes.

‘Alaska - well that was a province of Russia that lay at the northern tip of what is now Westonia. It was separated from the Russian mainland by a thin stretch of water that froze over in the winter.’ He stopped before adding. ‘That was pre-climatic control.’

He focused on Zara. ‘Your impressions came from both places. The gold-domed buildings belonged to Russia - it was the Oriental style of building. The other place, Alaska, was a wild place and unsettled by invaders. It was too cold for anyone but the original aborigines. They were called Eskimos. The same bloodstock as the Indians we met.’

‘So Darkon’s gone to Russia,’ mused Zara. ‘And his mind is concentrating on two places. But why?’

Zac’s eyes lit up. ‘What was the time zone?’ he asked.

Zara, tuning in to his excitement, was prompt with her answer. ‘That came through strongly,’ she said. ‘It was 1865.’

‘That’s the answer.’ Zac became even more excited. ‘That’s it. It’s Alaska that Darkon’s interested in. In later history, in a place called the Yukon, there was a tremendous amount of gold discovered. Darkon wants the gold. According to my records, this Alaska became part of the Westonia region in 1867. The Russian government sold it to the Americans.’

‘And Darkon is in Russia, two years before the sale?

What’s he up to?’ asked Zoltan.

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Zara. ‘I’ll just have to get those co-ordinates.’

‘What about the cold?’ asked Zac.

‘I won’t be there long enough to worry about it,’ said Zara, closing her eyes. Almost immediately she opened them again. ‘Got it,’ she said, giving Zac her readings. The boy quickly gave her the correct setting and she pressed the buttons. ‘Now we have him,’ she said, holding out her hands.

‘That’s what we thought last time,’ said Zoltan, taking hold of her hand.

Zac bit his lip as he worried about experiencing the horrifying cold Zara had mentioned, but he took her hand.

Zara pressed the transporter button.

‘This time, Darkon,’ she said with determination, ‘you won’t get away.’