The Pandora Chronicles - Book 1 (A Scifi Adventure Thriller) (9 page)

He ran like his life depended on it and jumped. Finnegan plunged his saber into the weak spot, putting his weight behind his strike. The opposing forces were strong, but the tip of his blade was already touching the orb. He doubled his efforts, yelling with strain, and the black orb moved a fraction of an inch out of alignment.

But it was enough.

Finnegan felt the resistance lessen and pushed further. The orb hovered uselessly, resting against the sword wedged in its way. He pushed further and let go.
 

The saber was now wedged in place, and the orb remained stuck to it. The strange black machine was emitting a soft hum, but remained quite dormant.

“Warning.”
The disembodied voice echoed throughout the room once more. “
System shut down in progress.”

Every machine began dying out in a bizarre coalition of hissing, blinking lights and the whirring of steel. Every chamber shut down and the automatons melted, as if they were no more than blocks of ice left in the afternoon Caribbean sun. They were now only a memory, like a lingering shiver after waking up from a nightmare.

In mere seconds, the room went dead.
 

As he watched, Finnegan’s mind was transported to another place, much like the visions he had when Rodriguez had spoken to him on the
Belladonna
. Information filled his mind and he knew of things that no man could ever dream of knowing: the birth of his species; the gods that came from the sky; they way they tampered with our nature. He saw what they meant to do with our world and he understood his place in destiny, what he was meant to do.

He saw the future, lived it for the briefest of moments, and Finnegan felt something inside of him break. His cry echoed throughout the cavern, screaming until both the air in his lungs and the visions in his mind faded away.
 

No
, he thought.
Not like this. It will not end like this.

Suddenly filled with defiance and willpower he never knew he had, Finnegan scooped up the red ledger from Rodriguez’s corpse and knelt by Tier. She was conscious, but weak. Gently, he lifted her in his arms and walked out of that cursed place, intent on rewriting the destiny of mankind, and save it from certain calamity.

Chapter 12

Finnegan’s return to the native encampment was met with genuine surprise. They did not inquire about the other men—they knew very well what fate they had met. The chief and other elders tried to get him to divulge more details of his journey, but all Finnegan told them was that he had managed to stop, albeit temporarily, whatever was inside that cave.
 

Then, he beseeched them to blow up the entrance to that place and cause a cave-in, permanently sealing that ungodly spot. The elders agreed immediately.

Finnegan used all of the
Belladonna’s
powder kegs and led a team of warriors and hunters to the mouth of the cave. He warned them not to enter or even gaze at the darkness within. The explosion shook the very ground they stood upon and a portion of the cliff below collapsed.
 

Seconds later, the cave was sealed.
 

Finnegan knew it was only a temporary solution, but that was all he could do for now. He knew from his visions that another man—one with his same strange powers—would one day claim the orb inside.

Finnegan and Tier set sail shortly afterwards, and through a series of negotiations, Finnegan managed to put together another crew from passing ships. Their new voyage took them through the rivers of Panama before Finnegan asked his men to leave, but not before paying them handsomely for their services.

On his way to Jamaica, he settled on a rowboat with Elizabeth Tier, the red book, his captain’s log, which detailed his voyage, and a few provisions and arms for safe passage.
 

The
Belladonna
was set on fire, though Finnegan knew it wouldn’t burn for long. In a few hours, a British galleon would intercept it. They wouldn’t recognize it as one of their own and would bring back the half-charred vessel to Port Royale. All of the ship’s documents would have become ashes by then, and the
Belladonna
rendered little more than a phantom. It would sit for a decade inside the ship yard until a bloke by the name of Francis Drake would become its eventual owner, and change its name to the
Golden Hind
.
 

Finnegan and Tier settled into a quiet rural life. It wouldn’t be a very long life; what they saw and the usage of their abilities had taken a toll on their minds and bodies. Perhaps that was the price to pay for threading upon God’s territory.

Tier had the red journal shipped back to the Order. They had not added any new information to its contents, and the Order would assume that the mission was a failure. Without more people with special abilities to undertake the task, it was unlikely the Order would be able to attempt such a mission again.

After his last adventure Finnegan would never set sail again, although he did spend days out at sea, fishing for his family.

Before he built his new house, new family, and new life, Finnegan had one final piece of business left.
 

He acquired a sturdy coffin and filled it with dirt and hay. In a tightly sealed box, he placed his captain’s log, the only document which proved the existence of people with abilities like his, the Order, and detailed maps leading to the cave.

He took the coffin out to sea, amidst the blue waves of his true home, the Caribbean. There, he sunk his coffin and returned to Jamaica where he bribed a government official to tamper with the records. As far as the books went, no boat was rented, no coffin purchased, and some lucky man simply happened to stumble upon ten pounds in silver.

Shortly thereafter, Finnegan and Tier settled down together in a small house by the countryside where she bore him a son—a son that would be the catalyst for events to come.
 

As for the coffin, Finnegan knew that the waves would carry it off until, eons later, it would end up in the precise spot it needed to be.

Until that moment in time, the coffin, with all its secrets, was destined to lie beneath sea, sand and sky, waiting for the one chosen to reclaim it.

PART 2

“All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible. This I did.”

— T.E. Lawrence

Chapter 13

Trinity College, June 2012.

Nick Solomon was late. Again.

He darted in and out of groups of students, bobbing and weaving like a boxer in a ring. People yelled out in surprise as he passed by, while others stared as he ran like a maniac towards his class—and on a Monday morning no less.

Coming at five feet seven, wearing a leather jacket, a shirt depicting his favorite electronic band, and jeans with a belt buckle of an All-Seeing-Eye inside a triangle which he’d gotten at a
Tomb Raider
expo, students had a hard time processing the fact that Nick Solomon was in fact a professor of archeology and history at Trinity.

On this particular day he had even chosen to keep his sunglasses indoors; not due to some fashion statement, but because he knew his eyes would implode if he dared take them off.

“Bad day for a hangover.”

It wasn’t the worst one he’d had. Compared to last month’s underground rave and the excruciating morning afterwards, this one was quite mild.

Professor Solomon had always gone the extra mile in showing that he did not abide by the rules.
 

If this had been any other member of the staff, they would have been kicked out as soon as the paperwork permitted, but he was Nick-freaking-Solomon.
 

He was shot to fame when he was just a doctoral candidate, after a discovery which started off as an expedition inside an ancient medieval burial site, but ended up in the discovery of a long lost city, where Nick stumbled upon the tomb of a certain monarch which centuries later would inspire the legend of King Arthur. Money and attention followed soon after, but Nick’s true love was in the adventure and mystery.

But discoveries like his were rare and every other expedition he went on yielded nothing.
 

Slowly he began falling into a depression, and in an effort to regain some control over his life, Nick sold all of his fancy possessions and moved into a small apartment, much like the one he lived in during his college years. He even went back to school, this time as a teacher, when not authenticating relics for museums on the side.

Given his age, fame, and charm, his classes had become increasingly popular over the years. Professor Solomon was perhaps not the best teacher around, but he taught with the upbeat charisma of a jazz musician. He told stories, jokes, and recounted adventures, some of which he asked the students never to repeat outside of the classroom walls.

In short, Professor Nick Solomon was making the best he could out of his life, all the while searching for his next big adventure.

“Rough night, Teach?”
 

Tyrone Wilson sat at his teacher’s desk with his usual smirk. As soon as Nick came in sight, Tyrone handed him a coffee cup and a folder of paper. Nick took a sip of coffee, freshly brewed from his favorite diner three blocks down, and slowly regained his ability to form coherent thoughts.
 

“Never, ever try to pick up twins at the same time,” he moaned.

Tyrone’s eyebrows shot up, trying his best to hide his smirk.

“It sounds like a good idea on paper,” Nick continued, “but in reality, it’s just twice the work. Which means twice the booze.”

Tyrone shook his head. “That’s why I stick to one girl at a time,” he said condescendingly.

“Probably a good idea,” Nick replied. “I got up to twelve Jagers before I gave up. And I’m pretty sure they couldn’t take a hint.”

“Maybe you just getting’ too old, Teach.”

Nick Solomon, aged thirty two, gave him a dark look. “Say that again and the next gravesite we visit will be yours.”

Tyrone held his hands up in mock surrender and both men burst out laughing. This was normal banter between them: they were colleagues and, more importantly, friends. Solomon saw in Tyrone the same fire he himself had when he first discovered the wonders of the past. And Nick needed to be around that passion to remind himself that he wasn’t alone—that he needed to work harder, not just for himself but for his students as well.

A few minutes and two cups of coffee later, Nick burst into the classroom with his usual swagger. The students were still chatting away until their teacher’s energy diverted their attention towards him.

“How are you guys doing?” he asked, scanning the dopey-faced classroom of twenty five students on a monday morning.
 

Without missing a beat he turned to a guy in the front row who had been chatting up the girl behind him. She wore a particularly disgusted look, one that Nick himself had been on the receiving end of more times than he could count.

“Dave,” Nick said with a grin. “She’s not gonna sleep with you. In fact, she’s about to go all restraining order on your ass so time to move on, buddy. Find a new victim.”
 

Dave, who had all the right qualities of a jock whose sole purpose at Trinity College was to party until his liver gave out, looked down, embarrassed for just a second. But then he gave the professor a sheepish smile, still thinking that he had a shot with the female population on campus without either good looks, brain cells or a steady supply of alcohol.

Nick winked at the girl whom he just saved from Dave’s harassment and gave her a cheesy smile. She rolled her eyes at him, scowling.
 

One in every class
, Nick thought, as he shifted his focus on today’s lecture.

“Okay then. Mouths shut, eyes on the man of the hour—me, in case anyone can’t get a clue—and let’s get rolling.” Solomon opened the file
 
Tyrone had prepared for him earlier, and spread the lesson plan in front of him without bothering to read its contents. He grabbed a piece of chalk and scribbled on the antique black board, which for some reason he was weirdly attached to; maybe because he saw it as a throwback to less technological times.

Nick put the chalk down, wiped his hands on his trousers and once more turned to face his class. “Today, we shall discuss the Golden Age of Piracy.”

Chapter 14

Class was finally over, and Nick was looking forward to wasting an hour on YouTube. Perhaps he’d even try to nap.
 

Most of his students had rushed out of class, eager to get to the good pastries at the cafeteria. Sometimes, a student or two would linger behind to talk to him. Usually, they just wanted to rope him into upping their grade or, in a few genuine cases, actually ask a relevant question.

The man who stayed behind was clearly none of the above. In fact, he wasn’t even a student. Nick saw him sitting at the very back of the Greek-theatre-style hall, his hawk-like features eyeing Solomon.