Trouble In Milwaukee (A Captain Scarlet/ HD crossover)

[Bea]

Prologue

Green Bay, Wisconsin, 1962.

One of the largest cities in Wisconsin. One of those rare places that never sleeps.
Yet in the quiet suburb of the city, just to the west of the city, it was the dead of night and it showed.
Not a soul could be seen in the centre of the place. The shops and traders had shut down for the night as early as 5.30 and all was well, except for the local museum and archive, just off the main square. To a passer by, the light streaming down from the small room on the first floor, just above the door, would seem a little odd. Why was the place still open? A passer by would ask. The answer was simple. Its occupant was busy, cataloguing his latest acquisitions. A set of rare stamps dating back to the settling of the first colonies on the moon.
One passer by however was glad there was light coming from that building.
Dr Herbert Vimmer, the curator, sat hunched over the stamps at his desk in the corner of the small upstairs room, and was engrossed with them. A set of five dating from 1957, the year Latka went into space, following the decision of the United Nations to pass the Luna homestead act, opening up the moon for colonisation. Five years on, the first five cities were complete, and each stamp has a picture of one of those cities on it.
Vimmer looked at each one carefully in turn, the first one depicting the military garrison and base of the Luna Security Executive(LUNASEC) at the massive Tycho crater. Then next showing the largest civilian settlement at the Copernicus Village, after that came the stamp showing the Luna Capital, Armstrong City, bang smack in the middle of the sea of tranquillity. The last two, worth not quite as much as the others, but still rare and valuable had pictures of the Goddard research institute at the Lovell settlement in the Frau Mora highlands, and the main destination for the newest occupants of space, tourists, the Scott building at the spectacular Hadley Rille, nicknamed the "Luna Hilton."
All these pictures showed the leaps and bounds that man had made in this 20th century and the Doctor, fascinated by what he was looking at, though his magnifying glass failed to notice he was talking to himself.
"History," he said, "What wonderful history. A century that began so bleakly has for once produced more plusses than minuses."
He however also failed to notice the dark haired overweight stranger who now stood in the doorway. How long had he been standing there? Long enough to be able to make a quip back at the curator, his voice was low, and almost monotone.
"History can be cruel as well as kind, Doctor Vimmer." Vimmer leaped from his desk, spun around, but was not able to make out the features of the person at the doorway, for just as he straightened up, and the visitor flicked the light off. All the doctor could make out was an outline of a man, standing against the light coming from the outside corridor. He was almost six foot tall and appeared to be wearing what seemed to be the uniform of the Spectrum Agency. His eyes just finished adjusting to the change in light when he noticed the agent pulling out his revolver from its holster.
A single shot rang out.
The magnifying glass fell from his hand.
Vimmer was dead before it hit the floor, smashing its glass into a dozen pieces. He fell back and clattered into his desk.
The assassin leaned forward and uttered to the corpse, "History can also be cruel and kind."
Two luminous green rings suddenly appeared over the body, as though projected on to it by a torch or spotlight. They moved very slowly and eerily from head to foot. All it took was a the time for the human eye to blink, and there, standing next to the dead doctor, was as exact a duplicate copy of him as it could be possible to create. Waistcoat unbuttoned, hair all out of place, glasses on the end of his nose, the 51 year old man, copied to the most exact detail. The unblinking eyes of this facsimile of Herbert Vimmer looked straight ahead; there was not a flicker of emotion in him. The man in the white suit looked at him and spoke with calm certainty.
"Doctor Vimmer, this is the Candy Man, relaying instructions from the Amazons, you know what you must do."

"THIS IS THE VOICE OF THE AMAZONS, WE KNOW YOU CAN HEAR US, MAN'S WORLD. OUR REVENGE FOR YOUR ATTACK ON OUR COMPLEX ON PARADISE ISLAND'LL END WITH OUR ULTIMATE VICTORY. NOTHING'LL PREVENT THIS. OUR NEXT ACT OF RETALIATION'LL BE TO EXECUTE YOUR WORLD PRESIDENT. ON THE FIRST OCCASION WE FAILED TO ACHIEVE OUR AIM. THIS TIME THERE WILL BE NO MISTAKES AND YOU WILL NOT EVEN REALISE IT HAS OCCURED. HISTORY'LL BE CREATED AND CRUSHED!"

HISTORY CREATED AND CRUSHED

Based on "Happy Days"
and "Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons"

1. A Place to Hide

"Chachi, launch all Birds."
Al Delvecchio spun his desk around and had finished giving out the order even before his desk stopped rotating.
"Okay, Al." came the reply from the standby officer. His chair then moved him slowly to a position halfway down the long computer console that was his responsibility and pressed a small switch.
"All birds, immediate launch."
As Chachi was doing this, Al was stepping out from his desk and walking over to the observation port to see the three aircraft leave. Such was the efficiency of their lovely pilots that no sooner had he stepped on to the cylindrical walkway that lead from the control room, than the white jets were speeding down the runway, and off into the sky.
The Spectrum chief then turned his attention to the spectrum passenger jet on the lower cloudbase runway, inside sat his two most trusted officers, Roger Philips and the man who, by sheer fortune alone had become Spectrums most valuable asset in this war of nerves against the Amazons, Warren 'Potsie' Weber a.k.a Captain Muscles. It was Potsie's voice that White now heard as it came over the speaker.
"Request launch clearance."
"Spectrum is Green" came the reply from Charles 'Chachi' Arcola and the craft moved slowly at first, and then gradually it picked up speed until it left the carrier and climbed fast to join the Angel escort.
"All angels and SPJ sky borne, Al."
"Thank you, Chachi," Al acknowledged and he went back to his desk, "Open a radio link to all the aircraft," he requested.
Chachi flicked a switch, "Go ahead, Al."
"This is Colonel Al Delvecchio. You will proceed to the rendezvous point as instructed in your briefing. Its code number is 162. There, the Birds will over fly the airstrip while the Spectrum Passenger Jet will land. Potsie, Roger and the World President will be in a Spectrum Maximum Security Vehicle, this will be flanked front and rear by two Spectrum Pursuit Vehicles. Once you have collected the President, head straight for cloudbase. That is all."
Roger replied, "S.I.G. Colonel, ETA point 162, 21 minutes".
The four craft flight swung east, their destination was a disused airstrip just 20 minutes drive from the presidential palace, itself a mere two miles from the centre of the world government capital, Unity City. The flight passed over the Bermuda coast as Roger had estimated, just 21 minutes in to their journey, Potsie looked down from his side of the cockpit, he saw first the huge sprawling mass of Space City, home of the World Space Patrol with it's familiar rotating T-tower, then, in a matter of minutes their plane passed over the even bigger mass of buildings that was Unity City. The four craft then banked to the west, in doing so they passed over the presidential palace. Roosevelt House as it was known, looked every inch a palace, fit for a president. Though at this time, it's incumbent'd be cool, Potsie thought, to live in a hut if it meant no more attention from the Amazons.
A roadway lead from the palace to a junction. In one direction was the main road that linked the palace to the centre of the city. The other road petered out into a track. This track lead up a small hill, over the brow of this hill, and into a small field. It was flat, and was, it appeared at one time to be the chosen site for a runway for all presidential sites. Potsie pondered that it was perhaps wise that the WP chose to use the purpose built airstrip at Space City, with all its security. Yet now on probably the most serious matter imaginable, it was ironically, this small strip that was being used, and sure enough, as briefed, the SPV's and the MSV were there in the pre discussed position.
"OKay, Roger." Potsie said to his colleague and friend, "There're the MSV and escort". His epaulettes flashed Al and his hair stuck out of place, "Hey, Al, we've arrived at point 162. Area's clear, the MSV and the two SPV’s are in position."
"S.I.G. Potsie. Howard's in the front SPV, Marion's in the rear one, they both report the area clear. Fonzie's in the MSV with the President, he'll escort him to the plane and will return to cloudbase with you".
"S.I.G. Colonel, losing height now, will radio once we are airborne again."
The exchange on the ground took less than 2 minutes; the two SPV's sped off with Fonzie and Marion at the wheels. They would follow the others back to cloudbase within the hour. A spectrum security officer took care of the MSV. It had taken four minutes for the vehicles to arrive, deposit their VIP on the jet, and leave.
Less than thirty minutes later, World president Robert Younger sat in front of Al's desk. The sixth person to hold the position since the United Nations was incorporated, Younger had become the first person to be targeted by the Amazons when, just two years into his term, the attack by the Zero-X triggered the war of nerves. Now he was the first to be targeted twice, and the strain of it showed, but he remained stoical and to Al's surprise, even humourus, cracking a joke or two with the valet staff as they took the presidents luggage to the quarters he had been assigned on cloudbase.
"Mr President", Al began, "We are keeping all channels of investigation open, any lead, however small or insignificant, will be investigated. We have the resources, the man power and last of all, and the will to win. You can rest assured that we will find the Amazon agent before he or she finds you."
"Thank you, Colonel", the president replied, "But where do you start", he asked, his voice showing signs of exasperation, and worry.
Al sounded almost apologetic, "I wish I could answer that sir, I wish I could."

[Bea]

2. A Lead

"Spectrum headquarters, Munich here, it may be nothing, but we think you should take a look at this."
"This is Colonel Al Delvecchio, do you have something substantial, or is it just rumour or conjecture?"
"No, Sir," the operative in Munich replied, "This could be important, something has come in from the local police in Düsseldorf."
"Right, on no account are you to talk about this further, even though this is a secure channel, it could still be being monitored. I'll send down my two senior officers, that is if you think this is definitely worth our while."
"I think so, Sir," his voice now a little uncertain. However, better to err on the side of caution, White thought. He closed the link and summoned Potsie and Roger to the control room. Both were in the room of sleep when they were called and the two of them were still a little groggy when they sat at their CO's desk.
Within 90 minutes they were in Düsseldorf, and were heading along the E3 highway that links Düsseldorf with Eindhoven, and eventually Antwerp. The quadruple carriageway arced its way out of the westfalien metropolis and in minutes the captains were in Neuss. The two, now fully awake officers, headed for the local police station and once they had parked their Spectrum Saloon Car outside the back, they made for the main entrance. There they were greeted by a rather portly gentleman in his late fifties it appeared, slightly bald, with a moustache that made him appear almost Latin, instead of German.
"Goot e-vening, gentlemen." he slightly bowed his head in a manner that reminded Roger of Bela Lugosi.
The man continued, "My name iss Gottfried Maus unt I am chief of police for zis district of Düsseldorf."
"Pleased to meet you, Sir," Roger replied, "I'm Dr Roger Philips and this is Captain Warren Weber."
"Likewise. Now you will accompany me to ze place that I think will interest you. It is just over ze road." and with a point of his finger and with both hands clasping the lapels of his overcoat, he lead the two agents over the main through road of Neuss to a building just down a side street. The entrance door was wedged open and the trio walked through into a small lobby where the policeman flashed his ID card to an awaiting constable and then led Potsie and Roger up a flight of stairs at the end of the lobby.
The stairs came to rest at a large landing. To the right was a corridor which seemed to lead to a fire exit, the door was ajar and a small barrier was erected in front of it. To the left, a door led to a small office. There in front of a desk was a blanket, underneath it was corpse and Chief Maus bent down and pulled back the blanket top to reveal the person it covered. He spoke, "Gentlemen, may I present to you the late Dr Herbert Vimmer. He was shot less than 3 hours ago. He was the curator of the building you are in which is the local history archive. Wiz zis in mind, may I direct you to the room next to zis one pleez."
He gestured to the adjoining room and the three men went in. They were greeted with row upon row of computer disks. Each one stacked on shelving that stretched from floor to ceiling all on one wall. Potsie noticed one of the disks had been removed and placed in a PC on a desk opposite the wall. The disk was still inside, he picked up the case lying next to the computer, "Hey, Chief," he asked, handing the case to the policeman, "This disk reads Milwaukee Journal 1919-1961. What use is this to us." he enquired, seeming almost to feel as if he and Roger were waiting their time. Maus responded.
"Ah, Spectrum people," he had one hand on his lapel and with his other hand began to wag his finger in a manner that reminded Roger of Phil Marlowe or Sam Spade, "You must not judge a book by its cover," he continued to wag his finger as if lecturing the two for having done something wrong, "Ziz compewder iz vone wiss ze abilidy to record all material zat hass been accessed in the vent of such an investigation as zis. Behold." he motioned the two captains to look at the screen and the clerk, sitting at the PC, who had been called in from Düsseldorf archive by Chief Maus began to access the security file, Maus continued, "ze shewtink took place zome tree hours ago, zis gives us a time frame to go on, and sure enough, two hours and forty-four minutes ago, zis disk was accessed and the following pages were looked at." He waited for the clerk to call up the image he wanted them to see, saw it appear on the screen, stood back and allowed Roger and Potsie to see the picture and the headline for themselves.
There eyes widened as they saw what was on the screen. The headline, from the edition of the Milwaukee Journal from August 9th 1949 and in Latin, for some reason, read, "Media morte in vita sumus." Roger read it out loud, "Today, amid the wreckage of the earthquake in Los Angeles, amid the death that seemed to surround the quake zone and will go on surrounding the zone for some weeks to come, there was a tiny spec of life for us to celebrate, for in a makeshift tent, on a hill overlooking the main central metropolitan area, a baby was born. A son to be precise. Mrs Kimberley Younger of Bakersfield, California, gave birth to her first son, christened Robert at 11.20am eastern daylight time. Robert weighed in at exactly 9 pounds. Mother and son are both doing well and were re-united with Father, Dr Mark Younger, and later today."
"Media Morte in Vita Sumus." Potsie said, looking on at the page in surprise, "In the midst of Death, we are in Life."
"Holy moly." said Roger and he puffed out his cheeks as if to emphasise the surprise, "We're on the right lead then, Chief Maus."
"Absolutely", he replied, "I am aware that these Amazons or whatever they are can create an exact copy of a dead person, so it is fair to say that a person matching the exact description of Vimmer is now at large, but for what end, I vish I knew."
"Right, Chief Maus," said Potsie, now taking charge of the situation and running to turn into his alter ego, Captain Muscles. "We'll take it from here."
"Cloudbase," Roger said calling Al on his watch and he spoke, "Al, we were right to come here. But there are still more questions than answers."

[Bea]

3. Questions

Midnight.
In the open countryside, to the north of Düsseldorf, the E9, the giant north road that linked Düsseldorf, Essen and nearby Dortmund with Hamburg and Copenhagen was deserted. Save for one black sedan, speeding at nearly 100kph. Its occupant was a picture of calm, he did not even bat an eyelid as he sped through the smaller towns of Onnasbruck, Bremen, and Bremmerhaven on his way to his destination, but where?
He glanced down at the empty seat next to him, empty that is save for the small map opened out and folded so that the road he was on was centre page. The village he came to next looked, at least on the map to be an insignificant little place with nothing to offer any visiting driver. Yet, on the map on the seat was a large cross drawn right next to this village, drawn by the driver of the speeding car. The speeding suddenly began to ease off, and the vehicle slowed down as it entered the village. Once at the village crossroads the driver turned right, and headed up a small incline, the road gradually got narrower and narrower until it was only one lane wide, and the tarmac became nothing more than a dirt track.
Some two miles down the other side of the small hill, the car came to a halt at a large wrought-iron gate. The gate was book ended either side by a brick wall which was equally as high. Beyond the gate there was a large field; at the rear of this field was what appeared to be a small stately home. The driver got out of the front seat and opened the rear passenger door, got in and lied down with his head facing the driver side.
He raised his head just above the top of the driver’s seat and, sure enough he saw, amid the gloom, the outline of a lone figure walking towards him from the other side of the gate.
The figure stopped at the gate and with one hand drew a pistol, with the other, a keypad. The keypad was pointed at the right hand gate post, and a button was pressed. The gate opened inwards.
The figure walked towards the car, just then, the window of the rear passenger door was wound down.
A gun barrel appeared above the top of the glass.
A shot rang out. The figure, now close enough to be made out as a female, slumped to the floor. She would not have known a thing. The driver got out of the car, walked over to where the woman's body lay, and then glanced over his shoulder as a voice, deep, dark, and menacing, spoke.
"Doctor Vimmer, this is the Candy Man, relaying instructions from the Amazons, we'll re-construct the body of security officer Shutze. She'll give you access without interruption to the centre of the building, where you will find the chronometric gateway". As the Candy Man finished talking, an exact copy of security officer Hildegard Shutze appeared out of thin air next to the former Spectrum man.
Herbert Vimmer, mysteron agent spoke back, "The Amazon instructions will be carried out, we will not fail."

"Thanks, Al, we'll get there in the Spectrum Saloon Car, no point waiting time getting an SPV from over in Dortmund."
"Great. All the same, I'll have a spectrum security guard drive that one from Dortmund to rendezvous with you when you get to the complex. What's you ETA there, Roger?"
"Twenty-Two minutes, Al, have the roads cleared to give us a chance to get through." Roger responded.
"I'll try," said Al, "But having the adjoining roads closed to you might arouse suspicion, we need to keep this as low key as possible. We still don't have any idea what is actually in this complex, even the President doesn't know, at this very moment he is speaking to his senior security advisers from his temporary office here on cloudbase to get the information he needs. I don't think he is too happy that whatever is in there is not known to him in the first place. Anyway, good luck to both of you."
"Thanks, Al, Spectrum is Green," and Roger signed off. He turned to face Potsie who was now Captain Muscles.
"Lucky that farmer was passing by that area and heard that gunshot." Captain Muscles said.
"Yep, but he was taking a risk going and looking at the gate and seeing the car and the body, the Candy Man could've had him".
The Captain quietly nodded, as he gradually opened up the accelerator as the car got to the open country. It had all happened so quickly, the farmer, has been out walking his dogs when he heard the gun go off, the time taken from this farmer having seen the car, reported stolen at the time Vimmer was found dead, stolen by a man fitting Vimmer's description, and the dead guard, to the red Spectrum vehicle being on it's way to the complex was little more than sixteen minutes. The fact that no one in the German police or local municipal authority had any idea that a house of any sort existed by this village let alone that it was something important as to require a security guard to carry a loaded pistol, was a cause for concern for the World President.
What was in the house?
Why did it need a security guard, and an armed one at that?
What did our man Vimmer want with the place, and why was that guard now dead?
Soon he would get his answers.

Al did this more times than he cared to mention, looking out from the observation walkway next to the control room on the giant white carrier that was the headquarters of the Spectrum agency, and also, for the moment, the office of the President of the World. He thought long and hard about the newspaper headline from the earthquake all those years ago.
He was himself just twelve years old when the quake struck; he remembered vividly the images coming over the television in his parent’s old house in Canterbury. Images came to mind of the desolation, the misery and the suffering, but there was also praise, written in the papers, and spoken on the broadcasts, of the efforts of International Rescue.
The Thunderbirds.
They had only been in operation for just three years when the quake struck and already the young Alfred Delvecchio was in awe of them. They had saved the life of the business partner of his Italian father just months after they had stunned the unexpecting world with their dramatic appearance at Heathrow airport and the miracle that they delivered to those six hundred innocent souls on the Fireflash.
Their commitment to service was in many ways the reason why he chose a career in the armed services, little realising then that in years to come, the family connection that would come about between himself, and people behind that great organisation. Yet he had no recollection of the news of the birth of a young baby boy amid the wreckage. "Guess I was too busy being their greatest fan to notice anything else." Al thought out loud.
He was suddenly woken from his reverie.
A noise of a door opening come from the other room was the cause. He stepped out of the walkway and was met by the World President, his face whiter than the very uniform that the Spectrum commander in chief was wearing.
"Colonel, I think we should talk about this alone." it was as much as he could do to speak, let alone walk to the very observation walkway Al had come from. The two men walked into the clear cylindrical area that had its entrance directly opposite where Chachi sat. "Excuse me, Chachi." Al said as he and Younger disappeared into the other room.

[Bea]

4. Answers

Roger jumped out of the SSC at the gates of the house while Captain Muscles landed on the ground. The body of the dead guard had long gone. Together with the stolen car. In addition to the promised SPV, there was a whole squad of Spectrum Guards at the front.
Together with a platoon of armed German police officers. Captain Muscles turned to face them all, and was brief.
"Spectrum security personnel, you'll surround the wall of this house and on no account are you to let anyone in to the building, official passes or not. If anyone turns up demanding access to this place, and flashing passes at you, stop them. If they have a problem, they can take it up with me when this job is done. Members of the Bundersgard, you will guard the approach road, only spectrum vehicles are to be granted passage". With that, he turned abruptly and walked down the gravel track that leads to the house with Roger alongside him.
They were half way to the house when Roger and the Captain's epaulettes flashed white together.
The military-clad superhero answered, "Go ahead, Al."
There was a pause, as though Al was summoning up the strength to speak, "Captain Muscles, what I'm about to tell you and Roger is to be kept in the strictest of confidence, this is security classified far above anything we have had to handle before. I will come straight to the point, in the house in front of you is a device called a Chronometric Gateway. This apparatus is capable of transporting an object or person back in time!"
The two young men froze. They stared at each other, the colonel had expected this and had paused to allow them time to let the last statement from their commander sink in.
Time travel.
At once the jigsaw began to fit together.
The Amazons had planned to go back in time and prevent the birth of the President or at least kill him once he was born. It was their sickest threat yet, hence the cryptic nature of the message they issued and they way they had gone about their plan, the old newspapers accessed and in particular the ones that were printed on the day of his birth, amid the wreckage of the 1909 earthquake.
It all now made sense.
"Captain Muscles, Roger, are you still there?" Al demanded.
"Y-yes, Sir," a startled Roger replied, "We were just taking it in, NOW this whole thing makes sense. What can we expect in there sir?" he enquired.
"I'm afraid I just don't know, what plans there are of the device are planted in the brain of the scientist that created the thing, a professor Burgoyne, he is currently in California, at Marineville to be precise, having just completed some work for the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, he's heading over here right now in a Spectrum Passenger Jet with an angel escort. Fonzie's at the controls and he told me it'll be 50 minutes before he arrives at a nearby airstrip we have set aside for landing."
Captain Muscles wasn't optimistic about his arrival, "It might be a waste of time. What's the betting when we get in there we find the place a wreck!"
"All the same, he's on his way, lets hope he has a Chronometric Gateway to look at when he gets there." Al was more hopeful than his superhero pal.
The two young men got to the main entrance door where they should have found a security lock keypad. The pad was gone. Roger pushed the door open, the corridor that they saw before them was in darkness, Captain Muscles fumbled for a switch but once his hand came across it yielded no light. The flashlights were only a poor substitute but they were able to find their way to the centre of the complex, one door, two, three, four, five, and finally, a sixth double door. All with their keypads blown away. Gingerly, the superhero kicked the door in as he did so he quietly whispered to his colleague.
"Roger, wait here, if anything happens to me in there, warn the others outside and have the birds pepper this place with ammo as soon as they’ve seen the SPJ down on the strip, to hell with this man Burgoyne, he had no business building such a device in the first place, clear?"
“But, Captain Muscles, what if that device is turned on you, it could kill you.”
“It’s a chance I’ll have to take.”
“Its suicide.”
Captain Muscles shot Roger a familiar look, “You know I’m right, Roger.”
Roger reluctantly understood, "SIG, mon capitan."
Captain Muscles went in, what he saw was not what he expected, yet what could anyone expect to see, when they are told that a time machine has been built in this room. Again, darkness greeted him, but this time the lighting was not out of commission. Once he found the light switch, he drew breath, and pushed the switch down.
In the centre of the room was a large crater, about twelve feet in diameter, four or five feet deep, but no sign of either a time machine, or Vimmer. It was as though a massive explosion had taken place, and taken half the room with it.
Suddenly, something stirred from the far corner of the room, from behind what appeared to be the remains of a wrecked control desk. Captain Muscles raced around the right side of the room to where the movement had come from. As he got closer, a sudden feeling of nausea hit him; his head began to feel as though it weighed a ton. Heedless of this discomfort, he knelt down and began picking up the pieces of smashed desk from on top of the person, whose arms were now visible. Scarlet noticed this person was wearing a security uniform. When the last piece was removed, the seat of an operator’s chair, the spectrum man stood back in horror.
It was Shutze.
Captain Muscles knew she had been killed and replaced with a double and now this double, looked up at the spectrum agent-cum-superhero, her body wounded so badly that a normal person would be dead by now but even has the captain looked at her, he could see the wounds starting to heal.
She lifted her head and spoke.
"We've sent Doctor Vimmer back in time and to see that you can't follow him, we've destroyed the Chronometric Gateway, we'll stop the President from living, we'll succeed where we failed on that first day of our war. We also know of your inherited powers of retro-metabolism, but it will not stop us. No, not even you, Warren Elliot Weber, Captain Muscles, will be able to stop us now," a sickening evil smile now came to her face, "We'll be avenged, Man of Man's world!"
From behind Captain Muscles, came a bolt of invisible power. Electricity. Roger only needed to fire the mysteron gun once, it was enough.

[Bea]

Epilogue

Robert Younger sat slumped in his chair next to the window in his quarters on cloudbase, he was being attended to by Howard Cunningham. The Chicago born physician had just administered a sedative to help him sleep. With the aide of his wife Marion, herself a trained medic, the President was helped to his bed in the adjoining room. As he lay there, the outside door opened and Al walked in and joined the others at the President's bedside. As they stood there, the drugs Fawn had just given him were taking real effect, and the World President drifted off to an uneasy sleep. White turned away and walked toward the window on the opposite side of the room. A moment later, he was joined by Howard. Al looked at his chief medical officer, and his face did not hide his anxiety, "Howard, Howard, Howard, in the years that Spectrum has been in operation we've always been able to at least try and stop the Amazons, what ever they throw at us, we can throw back. Yet this is one time where we're simply not able to do a thing, the whole situation's just helpless."
He pointed to the bed and continued.
"Here is the President of the World, under the tightest security it is possible to have, all six corridors on this section of the carrier are sealed off. There is an angel circling the base at all times. In any other situation he would be the safest person in the world, and yet in this case, we can have all the security in the world, it would make no difference. If there was no one on this base guarding him, he would be no more vulnerable than he is now. The Amazons've at their disposal the most powerful weapon they or anyone else has ever had."
He looked at Howard.
"History. History that they can create and crush!"

[Bea]

PART TWO
1919

Prologue

Los Angeles, California.
A sprawling mass of buildings and people caught between an ocean and a desert. A sprawling mass, that had no idea of what was to come this day.
The newsstand was on a side street, just a few yards from the main road, the super-highway that linked LA with San Francisco and Oakland. This massive six-lane-either-way structure was busy, yet the noise hardly seemed to get through to this side street. The newsstand was almost in silence.
Its owner was sitting, minding his own business, enjoying the quiet and solitude. It was after all only 6.30am.
The solitude was suddenly shattered as a man slammed down a dollar note on the desk.
"Do you zell Vestfalya Tribune?"
"Yes!" the owner said, shaken from his solitude. He leaned over to a small box at the bottom of the stand and picked up a copy. Like so many newspaper vendors in the states, in addition to their own papers, they also made a point of providing copies, no more than two days old, of the main European papers, of which the Tribune was one of them.
"70 cents." the man said.
"Keep ze change." came the reply. The man promptly turned and walked away. Not ten yards from the newsstand, he stopped and looked at the top of the paper.
"Ze day hass come," as he glanced down and smiled. The date read:

THURSDAY AUGUST 9TH 1919

Herbert Vimmer smiled, "Yes, ze day hass indeed come!"

[Bea]

1.The Time

The Shuttletram was packed with Thursday commuters heading into the main business centre of the city. People from Santa Barbra, and nearby Pasadena were crammed into the huge double decked rail car. Vimmer sat at the rear, sure in the knowledge that if the quake struck the car would be the best possible protection for him.
He glanced at his watch; it was 7.35am, two minutes to go.
Up ahead the trams from other outlying districts could be seen coming together as their track systems converged. Vimmer surmised that there would be a fair amount of panic once the first tremors could be felt. It would give him ample chance to get away from the area and make for the hills, his intention once the quake started.
He glanced at his watch again; it was 7.36am, one minute to go.
The tram came to a halt, a number of people got off. It took a moment or two, despite the fact there were four entrance doors. No one got on.
He glanced at his watch a third time, it was 7.37am.
Suddenly, he felt the whole ground shake, all those around him looked at each other, and began to make for the exits. The tram came to a sudden and violent halt and began to tilt on its side, the ground underneath was crumbling. Vimmer glanced down from his seat to what he saw. Coming toward him at speed was the biggest crevasse in the ground he could have ever imagined. All around him there were people screaming and yelling. Confusion and panic reigned, and Vimmer realised he had to get out quickly or the tram would disappear down this crevasse and take him with it.
There was a problem.
The doors had jammed and the people were struggling to get out, two, three, four men tried to prise them apart. Finally they came open and the people spilled out. At this point Vimmer made for the same door, but would not get there.
Just as he got up from his seat, he felt the car tilt back. He was thrown up against the rear seat that he'd been sitting on. Slightly dazed he glanced over his left shoulder and out of the window saw the crevasse now wide open. The people who had got off the tram saw that he, together with some four other people in the upstairs section, were still onboard, but they were unable to do anything, save look on in utter helplessness. The ground they were on was crumbling all around them, and they simply had to get away. Back in the car, the fissure that had opened up underneath it was now wide enough to swallow it, and the last they saw of the man in the rear was of him trying desperately to clamber to the exit they had all got out from.
Clambering in vain.
In the car, Vimmer saw the blackness envelop the whole tram.
It was the last thing he would see.

The young woman had just got off her Shuttletram, having come into the city area from Bakersfield. She was in Glendale, some 30 miles to the north of Los Angeles, and was on her way to visit her sister, Chrystal, who lived there. Having just persuaded her husband to let her go to her sisters on her own, being eight months pregnant and all that, it made prudent sense to just go straight to the small house on the hill where her sister lived, and to call hubby from there to let him know she was there and was OK. A straightforward plan, with no drawbacks one might think.
This would be a day when no ones plans would go as expected. For just as she got to the start of the road where her sisters house stood, tremors in the ground began to be felt. Panic consumed her and she ran for the small house at the top of the road. As she did she caught a glimpse of Chrystal, running toward her. All around them people were screaming in sheer panic, petrified at what was going on.
She got closer to her sister but was stopped in her tracks. Never has she felt pain like it. It was as though a knife has been plunged into her stomach. She collapsed where she stood, unable to stand the agony no longer. Chrystal reached her and the distressed mother to be saw her sisters face look down on her in horror.
Unconsciousness overcame Kimberley Younger.

"I'm tellin ya, there is no way we can get to that tram, Chief," the young fire officer stood in the temporary site office that had been set up just away from the city centre. All around there were police, ambulance crews, national guard, and firemen. The damage had been light, the quake was not as severe as had been first thought, yet there were still casualties, and the tram was the one causing the most concern. The Fire Chief, tall, balding, and concerned, stood in silence as the young lad stood and gave his report. He realised that there was a problem, and a grave one at that. He was not one to dwell on the situation, at once he realised he needed help from an outside organisation. The tram could not be got to with the equipment at the cities disposal.
Standing next to him was one of the national guard officers. The Chief turned to face him, "Can you get me access to a radio transmitter?" he demanded in his thick Texan accent.
"There's a small set in the jeep outside, will that do?" he asked.
"Yes, let’s go."