Changing Destiny Book One: The Past is the Present
Prologue
In the year 2012, the world would change forever. Both naysayers and true believers would watch that December, convinced that either the world would end, or that nothing at all would happen. Everyone watched it for their own reasons, no matter what they said. No one ignored it. Either they would be vindicated, or they would laugh at fools who didn't know better. In the end, perhaps both were correct, in their own ways.
For the world did not end that December day. Yet, it would be forever altered.
None know exactly what began the events of that day. Some argue that crazed madmen, desiring to end the world as predicted, awoke something they shouldn't have. Others say that it was a sign of the end times. Yet others argue that whatever caused those events came out of nowhere and only pure coincidence had it occur on that day. Perhaps, in the end, it is some mixture of all arguments.
Regardless of the truth, that cold December morning, mankind found itself at war. It began with panicked cries for help, echoing from every sea. From the warm Mediterranean to the bitter Arctic, merchant ships called for help...and vanished. Soon, warships joined them. Even mighty submarines, hidden from all prying eyes, vanished without a trace.
Panic gripped the governments of the world. 'What is happening? Who is attacking us?'
In those early hours, multiple states nearly went to war. It was the closest to nuclear armageddon humanity has ever come. Russia screamed at America that their bastions had been violated. America cried at China, demanding answers to why her merchants were vanishing. Europe tore into itself as the British accused the French and the Swedish the Russians. It was only when it became apparent that all were suffering, all were losing their ships, tha calmer heads prevailed. It was not a first strike, not a war between men, as everyone who had ships lost them.
When aircraft began to vanish as well, it became apparent that something was very, very wrong. And it had nothing at all to do with the forces of nations. Something far darker and more malicious lurked and struck.
From the depths they came…
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June 21st, 2015
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
It was a typically sunny day in Hawaii, the bright orb in the sky pounding down upon the pearlescent waters of Pearl Harbor. Across the harbor and the nearby city, men and women walked to and fro with a purpose. Civilians going about their daily lives and military officers mingling in every direction. In many ways, it was just an average day, one of many in a busy military base.
As the shattered hulk of USS
Samuel B. Roberts limped into port, it was anything but average. Or it would have been, just three short years before.
What is average, anyway? Nothing happening at all? Or another ship coming back like this?
Standing upon a pier, a middle-aged man sighed and brushed a hand through his still-dark hair. His shoulders, bearing the stars of rank, sagged as he shook his head. Intelligent green eyes, world-weary, looked out at what he saw. The
Roberts, her superstructure savaged and dirty water spilling from her flanks, struggling towards a pier. Fire marks upon her hull surrounded gaping black holes, torn as if by a giants fingers, scratching and tugging upon her.
"Admiral, you're needed in the conference room!" A voice broke into his thoughts, as the man turned from
Roberts and towards his companion. A short woman, dressed in an enlisted uniform, who was acting far more familiar than her rank would indicate.
Then again…is that 'average' now, too? You'd think I'd be used to it after a couple years of dealing with it. Chuckling at his inner joke, the Admiral waved a hand at the woman. "Right, right, I'll be along shortly. I just wanted to see how bad it was for myself. What about
Boone?"
The woman, her shoulders slumping a bit, shook her head. That was all the Admiral needed to hear. Damnit. It never got any easier, yet it had seemed like things were going so well, lately. Letting out a weary breath, the Admiral spun on his heel and set off for the conference room.
"I'll write the letters later." It never did get any easier, as his hands shook by his sides. Clamping down on that, he continued on, the woman in lockstep with him. "Can you make sure that
Roberts gets whatever help she needs? I won't lose her too. Not today."
"No problem for me!" The woman chirped, her voice filled with her usual cheer. Tempered only a little by the seriousness of the situation, as she continued, "Are…are you sure you're alright, sir?"
The Admiral just smiled, "I'll be fine. Besides, it's not like you to worry. Aren't you always the first out there when I need you?"
Both of them chuckled, a little, at the joke. The woman smiled brightly, even, as she said, "First in everything, as you know! It
is my job." A little giggle escaped her lips, beneath her reddish-brown gaze. "'Always first, never second, and third isn't even a question'. That's what my sisters say!"
As they continued to share in the joke, the Admiral waved her away. "Go on, you. Get to
Roberts and make sure everything is alright over there. Remember, I trust you on this."
"And you won't regret it!"
Setting off towards the distant frigate, the woman strode with a purpose. In spite of her apparent youth- she couldn't be older than twenty -she knew what she was doing. The Admiral couldn't stop his smile from turning slightly melancholic, though. He trusted her. But he hated having to do things like this, all the same.
Before she got far, the Admiral spoke up once more, "We'll figure this out like we always do, Shira. You know that." As the woman turned to look back at him, her deep black hair swaying across her back, he gave her a small smile, "Thank you for getting me. You know how I get lost in thought."
"That you do, sir, that you do." She smiled back, before giving a sharp salute. Her bright reddish-brown eyes shining with mirth. "Good luck, Admiral Thompson!"
And so she set out, leaving James Thompson alone once more. His smile fading into a thin frown as he looked away from his friend and comrade, and back towards the distant office buildings. He
did have a tendency to get lost in his own mind. Ever since that fateful morning, where he had survived when so many others didn't…
Can't think about that right now. We have to get things going.
Forcing those thoughts down, Admiral Thompson continued forward, a purpose to his steps. If
Roberts was back, her escorts couldn't be far behind. If he put his trust in anyone it was in those brave sailors. They were, after all, the only reason the
Sirens had yet to take this beautiful harbor.
*
The Sirens. This is what the monsters from the deep have been called. From the few surviving reports of that December day, all agree on one thing, and one thing alone. That from an unnatural mist came a haunting song that none could resist. Seasoned sailors who had plied the waves for decades were suddenly overtaken by an urge to move to the fog. Captains who would never deviate from their assigned routes suddenly found themselves unable to resist a calling they didn't understand.
Those who entered the fog never returned. At best, torn and ravaged debris was left for later ships to find. At worst…nothing. It was as if the Bermuda Triangle had overtaken the entire seven seas. Those few to survive can describe nothing more than horrifying glimpses of torn and blackened metal, of dark figures out of nightmares, manning ships from the darkest abyss.
What are the Sirens? Who can say. The name comes from myths of a time long lost and is certainly fitting. Yet no one knows for sure.
All that can be certain is that shipping became far too dangerous. Air traffic across the oceans became little better. Countries were isolated as even the best militaries in the world fell victim to the songs. Perhaps the seas would have been lost forever, had it not been for the chance discovery of a ruined hulk upon Malta. The broken form could only be a Siren. Study of that hulk had discovered that, when the metal was worked into an existing vessel, it conveyed an immunity to the song.
This alone would have been enough. The curious thing was, however, that the act of conveying this metal awoke…what could only be described as the 'spirit' of the ships. Confused and perplexed at being visible, yet completely immune to the Siren Song. The spirits became a valuable resource and a hope that was long lost.
When the phenomena spread and spirits devoid of their hulls came into being? It became an arms race to bring as many forth as possible…
*
"And…that's it. The last of them, for now."
Admiral Thompson stared down at the letters he had written, biting his lip as he set aside his pen. The stack of papers, larger than he would have liked, stared at him judgmentally. Accusing him of failure. It had been his orders that sent the pair of frigates out on patrol, and even if his most trusted subordinates had been on escort duty, it still remained a risk. A risk that they paid in blood.
The weight of their lives pressed down upon him. A silent reprimand. No matter how many times he sent ships out, that simple fact never got any easier. Ultimately, it was on him. Even if he was safe in the harbor and away from any active action. It was always on him in the end.
Eyes drifting towards the flag at the end of his quarters, Thompson gave a strangled sort of snort.
I'm still just a jumped up Captain in the end. Been an Admiral for all of a year. And one without a flagship or anything like that.
Standing up with a creak of protesting muscles, Thompson shook out his hand and walked towards his bed. The meeting had taken up most of the day, and what remained had been spent on the letters. He hadn't even gone to see
Roberts yet. Didn't know if he could bring himself to.
"Think I'll turn in for the night," the relatively young Admiral muttered to himself. He shucked off his uniform jacket, tossed his boots away from the bed and sat down with a hearty sigh. "No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Might as well get a head start."
Laying upon his pillows, the man's eyes locked on his ceiling fan, watching it merily rotate along. For a moment, he was reminded of home. He hadn't been back since…God. Since this entire mess had begun. Even now, transport to and from the mainland was heavily restricted. Too much danger. And they could hardly spare one of the girls to help.
So he had lived in Hawaii, fighting his battles, and making others fight them for him. What a life.
I'm sure they're proud of me, back home. I'm in the news all the time. The 'defender of Hawaii'. Pfft. As if I actually do anything. I don't fight anyone, and if there were anyone at all senior to me, they'd be here. Right place and right time. Nothing more than that.
Unbidden, his eyes shifted to his window. The setting sun reflected bright white off the distant Arizona Memorial. If anyone deserved the title of 'defender of Hawaii' it certainly was not
him. It was the ships and their crews who bled and died. Three years. Almost three years and they were finally coming to grips with the Sirens.
And yet, they still lost a ship almost every time.
This war had pushed everyone to their breaking points. Often pushed them beyond that point, even. The world was still a mess, countries disconnected from each other, with more than a few having lost a large portion of their populations. The damage would take decades to repair, to even figure out the true extent.
All of that was out of his hands, though. Thompson could only work his job and do his best. An Admiral was never going to solve all the world's problems on his own.
"I think I'll see
Roberts and her crew tomorrow." Thompson nodded to himself, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. His voice slurred with the weight of sleep, as he continued slowly, "See for…myself…how they're…doing…"
His eyes slid shut. He never even realized it would be the last time he saw that barren little room, or the flag of USS
Stout hanging upon the wall.
*
…none truly know what the Sirens are capable of. The song that draws in unwary listeners is but the tip of the proverbial iceberg. They clearly have weapons or powers beyond that of mortal understanding, as they tear ships and planes apart. The monsters can destroy the mightiest of warships and bring low the most advanced of fighters. Is it that hard to believe their powers stretch beyond what we know?
Perhaps their powers even extend beyond the fog and they have simply not seen the need to use them….
*
"Hmm…"
It was the gentle swaying of a ship at anchor that woke Admiral Thompson from his restful slumber. The man sat up, groggy, as he looked at his wrist where his watch
should have been. Blue eyes, still foggy with sleep, narrowed when they noticed it was not there. His wrist was bare.
What?
As his mind continued to wake up from sleep, the man quickly realized that was far from the strangest thing going on. The swaying was his first clue. He had very much
not been aboard a ship. The second thing was the small size of the cabin he sat in. It was smaller than his old quarters aboard
Stout and…strangely empty. All he had was a small desk and a tiny closet.
It was very, very strange.
Where am I? Thompson frowned, swinging his legs from what he realized was an equally small bed. The moment his feet touched the deck, he swayed slightly in place.
What the hell—
Fighting down a sudden wave of nausea, the relatively young Admiral looked closer at the room. Everything looked like it was straight out of the 1940s, right down to the uniform he saw in the closet. Even the writing instruments on the desk looked as if they were taken from a museum and placed upon it to mimic a ship at war.
Getting to his suddenly unsteady feet, Thompson walked up to the desk and placed his hand on the rough wood. He ran his fingers along it, feeling the grain of the wood and frowning deeply all the while.
This is something right out of Lexington. Am I on Mo?
No, he had seen the Captain's quarters on
Missouri and they were bigger than this. Fancier.
"I need to get to the bottom of this." Musing aloud, the Admiral shook his head and stepped to the closet. Shaking hands pulled out the uniform jacket, running through rough-hewn fabric. It was nothing like the one he had taken off before sleeping, in more ways than one.
Feeling decidedly out of place as he pulled on a uniform befitting his grandfather more than himself, Thompson grumbled a little. He felt like this was a prank. Someone had stuffed him on
Missouri and he was just misremembering what the ship looked like. It wasn't as if he spent much time aboard the old girl, so he couldn't be expected to remember everything…right? Yeah. It was as simple as that.
So why did he feel so familiar pulling on a uniform straight out of the Second World War?
That's done. Now, to see if anyone can answer my questions. Thompson looked at himself in a small mirror, frowning deeply at the out-of-place uniform. "Time to ask some serious questions. If someone wanted to play a prank on the 'old man' they're going to regret it."
Before he stepped more than a couple feet towards the exit, he noticed something he had missed. So focused on the desk and the uniform, he hadn't even noticed a familiar woman sitting in a chair on the other side of the cabin. She was sleeping soundly, swaying exactly along with the motion of the ship. The deep auburn hair, released from the ponytail he was familiar with, moving along her pale face.
"Sara…?" Thompson frowned, walking over to the woman. "No, she wouldn't have done this. She's not the prank type."
His hand reached out and gently shook the woman on her shoulder, prompting bright blue eyes to snap open. Confusion filled them, at first, before shock and a tinge of
confusion overtook them. The woman's mouth hung open, working up and down as if struggling to form words. Her hand shakily reached up and lay upon Thompson's, fingers gripping down on his own.
Just that little gesture had a gasp escape her.
She looked from the hand, to the Admiral's face, a strained whisper finally escaping her lips. "You can
see me. Touch me."
That is…not what I expected. Thompson frowned, letting Sara grip his hand as he thought. His mind raced a mile a minute, thinking back to old memories.
Just like when we first put some Siren metal in a ship. They're always so confused when someone can see them. Touch them. But this is Sara. She isn't…her hull…
"Hey, Sara. Can you tell me what ship I'm on, right now?"
If the question confused her, Sara didn't seem to act on it. Her pale eyes continued to stare at the hand as if it would vanish if she looked away. "This is my ship. USS
Saratoga, CV-3." Finally turning her gaze back to his face, Sara gave a weak smile. "I don't know how you can do this, Admiral, but are you alright? You didn't hit your head did you?"
Carefully, slowly, Thompson removed his hand from Sara's shoulder. He walked back to his bed, and sat down heavily. His bed. Aboard the
Saratoga.
"I'm going to ask another silly question, Sara." Thompson looked down at the deck, picking out the imperfections and minor rust streaks. Not a modern deck. "What day is it? The year?"
Sara got to her own feet, her long white dress trailing along the deck, and walked to the Admiral. She placed a hand against his head, and in any other situation, Thompson would have snorted. She always did have that motherly streak to her.
"June 21st, 1940," Sara answered, frowning deeply. She obviously didn't feel anything wrong with him. "I…have to ask, Admiral. How can you see me?"
Thompson just placed his hand on her own, this time, and shook his head. "From my perspective, the year is 2015. Something…"
He trailed off and sighed heavily. Oh, this was going to be a long story. He could see the gears working behind her pale eyes too. She was never anything but incredibly intelligent. As for himself? Thompson could only look at her eyes and reflect that this was the strangest thing in a strange life. He would probably break down into a babbling mess, once it really set in. For now, he was keeping himself functional based on one thing, and one thing only.
1940. I don't know how I ended up here, if I'm dreaming, or what is happening. But I have time to change things. Make things better.
Yet, he couldn't shake the sense of dread rolling down his spine. He could see Sara. Did that mean that the Sirens were out there, lurking, waiting, watching?
He didn't know. And that
scared him.
