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The Second of several extracts from my 2nd #WIP
Title: The Ragged Edge of Time.
Genre: Science Fiction, Time Travel, Alternate History
#SciFi #TimeTravel #AltHist

You can read other extracts clicking #TheRaggedEdgeofTime

In the 20th Century – Arena

The three men, line abreast, walked slowly from the dark, cavernous, arch that was the entrance from the slave quarters into the vast arena. To the baying crowds they were only three more anonymous men walking to their doom as many slaves and combatants alike had done so before them. Very few, if any, had come back into the relative safety of the darkness in the holding cells. The noise from the crowd reverberated around the huge arena. Screamed abuse, catcalls, booing, food thrown at them and general chatter among the crowd of thousands made for an intimidating entrance to even the hardiest of souls.

On the left, a tall muscular black man looked around in wonder, no hint of fear in those eyes. The man on the right, old, white, slightly built with a stooping gait. Hands clasped firmly behind his back, curly grey-white hair awry and a knowing smile on his grey mustachioed mouth.

The middle man stood out. Taller than the other two, straight backed, almost Nordic in appearance with clear blue, steely eyes, his short blond hair tousled by the slight wind. He looked every inch a fighter and his intense stare was on one man, the man now called Emperor of the World, sitting on a massive throne on the raised dais on the other side of the arena.

The three men continued their long walk toward the dais, no words spoken and no need for words at this stage. All that needed to be said between them had been said. The time had come for deeds.

Finally, they reached the dais and stood looking up to the Emperor’s throne. The older man looked up further toward the top edge of the arena, fifty metres in the air, where two large flags fluttered; the stars and stripes and beside it the Swastika of the Nazi party of Germany, and now the world. The old man’s gaze fell to the Emperor.

The Emperor stood and the silence was immediate, the only noise from early nesting birds in the unseasonal warm Washington spring of 1945. The birds knew a good opportunity when they saw one and the new arena, built from the remains of the White House, was almost overrun with birds making nests in every nook and cranny. Busy little builders.

The feathered interlopers ignored the Emperor and his musings, as he stood in spring sunshine and viewed his world, his empire, his people. Surrounded by his cronies and the vanquished population of Washington D.C. he felt every inch an emperor. No tyrant before him had ever conquered the entire planet. As the Fuhrer, he had no need for a resplendent uniform, but as Emperor of the World, Adolf Hitler had to impose his will on the fractured world he had created; his flowing purple robes were testament to a similar story told many years before in the age of the Romans. As he looked down on the three men, the middle-man stared right back at him with an intensity that almost made him shudder. Gideon Prime must die if I am to rule the Earth in peace.

With a nod from the Emperor, the trap-doors opened and three hungry lions entered the arena.

Tom Kane © 2017

You can read other extracts clicking #TheRaggedEdgeofTime

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