Evolution: Stories from the Dawn of Creativity

By John W Partington

These are among the first stories I ever wrote. Decades ago, before the advent of powerful personal computers like we have today, armed with a dot matrix printer and a dream, I wrote. Then I got better at what I did and life took me in other directions for a while. These are the primordial stories that started me on my route to creativity. This is the start point, not the destination. Still, they’re entertaining. I’ll never reach my destination.
TimeX, is the story of time travelling agents with the job of setting straight the course of history.
The Thief of Time, is the story of an immortal who is the last line of defence against the powers of darkness.
Night Watch, is the story of a werewolf who hunts vampires with his human sidekick. Told from the sidekick’s point of view. These stories contains graphic violence, language, and adult situations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W Partington
• Release date: Sep 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781989973059

John W Partington

I have been writing for most of my life: as a child, as a soldier, and now as an independent author. My favourite colour is purple. I have two cats, who choose to annoy me most when I am trying to write. I'm a middle aged white dude suffering from psychosis, but with medication am perfectly stable (except for singing to my cats).

Book preview

Evolution: Stories from the Dawn of Creativity

John W Partington

Copyright 2020 John W Partington

Cover art copyright: Daniil Peshkov – https:\\www.123rf.com – photo: 90624717

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you, then please return it to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Preface

TimeX – Prologue

TimeX – Chapter One

TimeX – Chapter Two

TimeX – Chapter Three

TimeX – Chapter Four

TimeX – Chapter Five

Thief of Time – Prologue

Thief of Time – Chapter One

Thief of Time – Chapter Two

Thief of Time – Chapter Three

Thief of Time – Chapter Four

Thief of Time – Chapter Five

Thief of Time – Chapter Six

Thief of Time – Epilogue

Night Watch – Warning

Night Watch – Chapter One

Night Watch – Chapter Two

Night Watch – Chapter Three

Night Watch – Chapter Four

Night Watch – Chapter Five

Night Watch – Chapter Six

About John W Partington

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the faculty of Algonquin College and my editor Kurt Thuot. This was a hard assignment, I think, because the themes are so well worn. Thirty years ago, when they were written, these stories were expressing new concepts. Now, they are familiar ideas told in a different way. I would also like to thank the rest of my editing team: Patricia Elkins, and Gerry Kroll, for the work they completed on this collection. Suspend disbelief and have an adventure.

Preface

I wrote these stories almost thirty years ago. My writing group is lucky enough to have a partnership with Algonquin College’s Professional Writing Program, where they supply us with co-operative education students. It is a good relationship, except when there is a lag in content for the student editors to work on. I was looking for anything to give our editor, Kurt Thuot, so he had a choice of projects. I literally dusted off an old CD-ROM, which is a type of round, flat thumb drive that holds less than a gigabyte of info and found these three stories.

These stories were written when I was twenty years old, on a crappy assignment as a soldier, and thought the whole world was against me. I was a very angry, young corporal with too much time on his hands and too little knowledge of the English language and its conventions. I didn’t know the difference between than and then, or that and which.

Also, it would not be inaccurate to say my view of the world was a little skewed. I took out most of the F-bombs in these stories and the word count dropped by a thousand. I took out the more derogatory references and the story reads very differently. It is improved.

Thirty years ago, the world was a different place. We didn’t have cell phones. We didn’t have internet, though the first primitive bulletin boards (chat rooms) were starting. There was not the free flow of information or instant gratification we are capable of today.

Judge me harshly, or not. It is up to you. Please keep in mind, however, I have evolved as a writer and as a person. These first primitive scrawls are not what I am producing today, but I own up to what I wrote in the past. Try to remember what you were like at twenty years old, if you are currently fifty. If you happen to only be twenty, remember this day thirty years from now (if you can) and reflect back.

I have evolved, but I remember (for the most part) where I came from. These stories are my first primordial step out of the ocean.

TimeX

Prologue

Security alert! security alert! the metallic voice blared over the loudspeaker. Xeno prisoners escaped from cells, level three! Xeno prisoners escaped from cells, level three!

The bedroom lights came on automatically when the alarm sounded. A young officer rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes. He sat on the edge of the mattress and looked at the crumpled uniform that was thrown over the back of his desk chair.

Why do these things always happen on my level? he grumbled. The officer reached for his uniform with one hand while scratching his testicles with the other. He vaguely recalled wearing underwear to bed, but discovered they were missing.

Join the Terrestrial Interception and Monitoring of Enantiomorph Crossovers agency and see the universe one century at a time, he recited the TimeX recruitment slogan as he put on the soiled uniform without the benefit of briefs. I should have joined the army. At least then I would have gone someplace. See the universe! The farthest I've been back is last week!

The uniform looked disgusting. Wrinkles formed little webs and patterns, the right shoulder was ripped from being caught on a nail the previous night, and the red embroidered Deeks on the right chest had a yellow blotch where somebody had spilled a drink.

All guards to security stations, all guards to security stations, the loudspeaker chanted. Xeno prisoners escaped level three, xeno prisoners escaped level three.

Shut up. I've got a hangover! Lieutenant Deeks barked at the security speaker. He lost his balance and fell back onto the bed.

Let the fucking bugs run wild, he said.

Deeks located his first boot under the bed. He managed to get his foot halfway in before it was blocked. He removed the boot, reached in, and pulled out an undergarment. He held up a pair of frilly pink panties with white lace trim. Deeks tried to remember who the owner was but gave up by the time he had his first boot on.

As long as I remember her name when she comes to get them, he mumbled as he threw the panties back under the bed. The second boot proved more of a challenge. It wasn't under the bed or in his closet. He was looking under his desk when he came across a note taped to his chair.

Thanks for the wild night, A.M., Deeks read out loud.

At least I know her initials. He paused briefly to see if the two letters rang any bells, but nothing came through.

He located the second boot after digging through the empty booze bottles and sticky latex at the top of his garbage can. He tipped the boot over and shook out the contents. He tried to count the condoms as they fell out but lost track after four.

He slipped his foot into the now awaiting boot. A sqwoosh sound echoed from the inside of the leather casing, his toes worked back and forth between the gooey residues inside the boot.

Tie knots next time, Deeks mumbled.

He looked in the mirror above his desk. His blood-shot eyes could be covered with his security glasses and he could say he was unshaven because of the alert, but the ring of hickeys around his neck would prove more difficult to explain. He located the security glasses when he heard the cracking of glass beneath his right heel. He picked up the twisted frame and bent them back into shape. The left lens had a crack going across the middle, but Deeks didn't seem to notice.

Deeks slipped on the glasses and with his vision cleared he recognized pizza crumbs nestled in his moustache. He walked towards the door and stopped when he realized he was missing something. He pondered what the item could be when the speaker suddenly crackled into life. The voice from the speaker was feminine, but flat as all voices were when transmitted over the communications system.

Lieutenant Deeks, why aren't you at your post? demanded the woman.

Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm on my way, Deeks replied.

What did you say? the female officer questioned.

On my way, ma’am, Deeks said as he ripped the speaker cable from the wall. That should shut her up.

Deeks picked up his weapon belt and security helmet. The belt he placed around his waist. His pistol was only half charged, and the baton was missing. Deeks opened the door and jaws closed on his throat. His windpipe compressed with the pressure and he was unable to yell for help. A second, shadowy figure moved behind Deeks and clawed fingers poked through each eye, his cheeks, and under his jaw. The wolf-like muzzle pulled away from Deeks’ neck, ripping out the jugular vein while the hands twisted Deeks’ head from his neck like a cap from a bottle. The attackers were showered with a fountain of blood. The dog-like maw of one assassin lapped up the crimson fluid. The body slumped to the floor. A hand removed the pistol from the holster and then the sound of running feet echoed in the hallway.

Chapter One – Two Majors

Gentlemen we have a problem, TimeX Director Jones said. Last night three xenos escaped custody, managed to get to a transporter, and went back.

How far? asked Major Mark Allen, codename Sanctuary. He was five foot ten inches with a heavy build. He had thick black hair that went just past his shoulders, pulled back tight and tied in a braid. The major had green eyes, a strong roman nose, and cheeks marked with small pock-like scars.

The dangerous look of his face was ruined by his wide smiling mouth. His constant grin had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, whether it be with a woman's husband, a man's daughter, or a Bringdaloda delegation that considered smiling to be offensive.

Mark Allen had wide shoulders, not tremendously broad, but wider than what was normal for a man of his height. The uniform he wore was a blue jumpsuit with a red stripe running down each side. The jumpsuit was slightly unzipped to expose a bright white T-shirt with a few curls of chest hair poking over the top. Mark wore black boots – the synthetic leather gleamed under the office lights. The three red bars running across his shoulders looked new; it was obvious that Major Allen had been promoted recently.

Sixteen-twenty by the Julian scale, Jones answered after consulting a note.

What? said Major Allen.

You're kidding? exclaimed Major Rance Logan, codename Incubus.

Rance Logan was six feet two inches tall with short spiked blond hair and big blue eyes. He had a large scar running across the top of his forehead close to his right eye. He had received the scar in a fight with a Corbellian trader near the Stark frontier. The Corbellian was dead.

Rance Logan had a medium frame and was heavily muscled. Women loved Rance with his button nose and boyish grin, a grin that could quickly turn into a wolfish leer. Most people agreed that he deserved his codename. Major Logan was dressed like Major Allen; Logan also had a pair of shiny red bars on his shoulders.

No, I'm not kidding! yelled the Director. I couldn't be more serious. They killed a security officer, stole his pistol and broke into the circuit. Inside the lounge they killed the guards, and took two blaster rifles and personal jumpers. They went back to 1620 and from that point probably split up.

What are we supposed to do? Rance asked.

What you are supposed to do is go back and recapture or eliminate them before they fuck up all of known history! barked the Director.

Excuse me, Sir, I know that we're majors but maybe you should get somebody more experienced, said Major Allen.

For one thing, said the Director, you two are the most experienced officers I have on the ground. And another thing, I'm assigning Flashback to the two of you.

Flashback? both men said at the same time.

Yes, the Director said as he pushed an intercom button on his desk. Send him in.

The office door opened and for a moment a dark figure was silhouetted against the light from the outside office. The figure stepped inside.

He was six foot five with a heavy build. The man was bald. Deep scars ran across his head in a spider-web pattern. The steel-grey eyes looked down at the two officers. The lips curled up into a slight smile.

He was wearing a tight grey track suit with the word visitor stamped in red letters on the back and front. Beneath the suit the man was a mass of muscle. He looked like he should be playing professional slaughter ball or ringette.

I know we're not the most experienced, but I don't think we need a mercenary Mark said. Rance nodded in agreement.

Flashback, are you a mercenary? asked the Director.

No, Sir, the bald man said in a calm voice. His voice was without inflection, almost mechanical, like a soldier.

What you and a lot of new operatives don't know is that Flashback here, the Director pointed at the bald man, was one of the very first active agents we ever had.

The two officers looked at the new member of their makeshift team.

He's retired, but occasionally we like to dust him off and use him for important missions like this. He's got a lot of experience that will be useful.

Okay, Sir, Rance accepted the situation.

What type of xenos are these? Mark asked.

One Corbellian, one Naxian, and a Bull-Weevil, answered Jones. Do your research, get a good night’s rest, and then report to the lounge when ready.

Should we not leave as soon as possible? asked Mark.

Gentlemen, you have all the time in the world.

The three operatives stood before a huge steel door. The door was oblong and behind it was the most powerful computer in the universe. The team had to navigate multiple security check points, scanners, and identification points, and then walk half a mile under the watchful eyes of automated weapons that were programmed to shoot if there was even the slightest deviation from proper procedure. The door slid open silently and the three men went inside.

They found the computer room empty. There were five small comfortable chairs, a platform with a keyboard resting on it, and a ten-foot view screen. There was easily room for another thirty chairs.

The three men sat in front of the screen. Major Allen typed a few commands and the screen came to life. A few more commands and the screen was filled with data that quickly cluttered the screen. The clutter became confusing, so the major cleared it and requested information on the three prisoners, and the time period they were going to.

Let's just get the hard files and go eat, Rance said.

Sure thing dude, Mark responded. The Rockets are playing tonight.

Got tickets? Rance asked.

Major Allen held up two slim pieces of yellow paper.

Let's all look at the species’ files later, Flashback said.

Sure, Mark replied. You got anything to do tonight?

Yes.

Subject Species: Corbellian

Average Height: 5'10"Planet of Origin: Corbos

Average Weight: 200 lbsPlanet Identifier: X21-LB1

Average I.Q.: 170Approx. Appearance: Human

Natural Weapons: 2 retractable talons (finger X 5/hand); 12 retractable talons (forearm X 2)

Comments: Native of planet X21-LB1, capable of interstellar travel, very violent. Most recognizable feature are solid black eyeballs and 1" incisors. Teeth are used to suck body fluids from living victims. Suspect Corbellian species of being origin of vampire myths. Most often employed as merchants or mercenaries. Human in most other respects. Extremely intelligent.

Subject Species: Naxian

Average Height: 6'6"Planet of Origin: Necos

Average Weight: 340 lbsPlanet Identifier: C2C-5D9

Average I.Q.: 90Approx. Appearance: Subhuman

Natural Weapons: Large jaws (canine); 3" claws (finger X 3/hand)

Comments: Native of planet C2C-5D9. Appearance human with profuse body hair, clawed hands and canine head. Capable of planetary travel, achieved interstellar travel through contact with other species. Most often employed as labour or mercenary. Intelligence approaches human levels. Extremely strong.

Subject Species: Bull-Weevil

Average Height: 12'0"Planet of Origin: unknown

Average Weight: 300 lbsPlanet Identifier: N/A

Average I.Q.: 40Approx. Appearance: Insect

Natural Weapons: Pincers (hand X 4); Mandibles (mouth X 2); Talons (feet X 2); various barbs over entire body

Comments: Native planet unknown, found simultaneously in several different systems. Intelligence below human standard but extremely cunning and adaptive. Capable of learning to perform sapient functions — classed as an intelligent animal. Ruins on indigenous planets suggest regression species that was capable of interstellar travel.

Subject Time Period: Approximately 1620 Julian

Appropriate Clothing: Natural fibres, earth tone colours

Appropriate Weapons: Hand to hand weapons (blades/blunt); carbon combustible projectile weapons

Location: Eastern Continental North America (New England)

Security Level: 1

Put that shit away, Mark said. The players are taking the field.

Just reading what it said, Rance replied as he slipped the printout into a pocket.

The ringette stadium was designed to hold three hundred thousand people, larger than average, and it was filled to capacity. The field was a cross between a football field and a hockey rink. There was a bright red line that went down the centre of the field and a blue line ten yards from each end zone. Three yards from the end zone was a yellow line and all around the perimeter of the field was a thick sheet of glass that was used to protect the people in the stands.

In the end zone, suspended five feet off the ground, was a goal net. The net was a horizontal slot about ten feet long. The actual entry to the oblong box was only a foot wide. The visiting team took the field.

Tonight, for your viewing pleasure, the announcer said over the stadium loudspeakers, the Bell City Point Men will play their second playoff match against our own Century City Rockets!

The crowd drowned out most of the message with their own yelling. The Point Men ran out onto the field dressed in blue and grey uniforms. The shoulder pads and breast plates were