An Atlantean Triumvirate

by C. Craig R. McNeil

  As the deepening purple dusk crept quickly across the skies above the island of Sao Miguel in the Azores, Oliver Brown exhaled contentedly, closing his eyes as the last blazing rays of sunshine sped across the darkening seas and shone on the veranda of his house in Ponta Delgada. His wife, Lucille, was putting the children to bed so he had a few moments to himself to savour the wonderful panorama before him. The sunsets were incredibly fast this close to the Equator especially compared to those in Britain. One minute it was broad daylight, the next the darkness was everywhere. For a brief moment in between the two extremes, the sun hung like a succulent orange above the rippling seas before plunging into depths, reflections of white and yellow dancing across the water’s surface. And then, finally, as if struggling to prevent itself from drowning, the sun paused with just the rim peeking above the horizon, splendid rays of light shining high, spreading a wonderful rose tinge over the clouds that hugged the sky. The eye searingly beautiful effect lasted for a few brief seconds before the sun was extinguished once and for all. At least until the next day.

  Brown smiled. The setting of the sun was always such a peaceful moment for him, a time to forget all his troubles and enjoy the best that Mother Nature could show. Striking a match, he lit an oil lamp before holding the still burning match over the bowl of his pipe and sucking in the flame. Ahhh… nothing like a wee smoke after dinner, he thought as he puffed on his pipe savouring the delicate flavours of the tobacco and listening to the drowsy chirp of various insects and drone of bumblebees.

  Brown heard his wife move around inside the house, her flat shoes slapping off the wooden floors of the villa. Lucille would be out in a few minutes and he’d get them a nice glass of wine to see the day away with… He frowned. Bumblebees? You don’t get bees in the Azores do you? Certainly not bumblebees. But the drone was unmistakable, louder now as well, with a pulse. Brown laughed at his daft mistake. Bees indeed! That was an aeroplane flying somewhere. More than one by the sound of it. Quite low flyers as well and coming in from the east too unless his hearing was really failing him. It was unusual to see or hear planes around the Azores as the main form of transport to and from the remote islands was by airship. Brown peered into the night, searching for landing lights and seeing nothing except the inky blackness. Next door, he could see old Charlie Flanders out on his veranda, walking stick clacking on the wooden boards.

  “Charlie!” Brown shouted across. “What do you make of that?”

  Flanders squinted across as his neighbour before nodding an acknowledgement. “Damned if I know, Mr Brown. Damned if I know. Something's afoot tonight. Probably that damnable government messing around with our heads again!”

  Brown nodded. It was safer to agree with old Charlie when he was dreaming up conspiracy theories.

  “Bit odd though. Those planes came from the East,” said Brown.

  “It’ll be the Americans flying over to bomb Blighty,” replied Flanders.

  Brown laughed loudly and received a sharp look from his old neighbour. “Don’t you rule it out Mr Brown. Everything is possible in this day and age. The Americans are railing against the chains that the Empire has put on them. The American states may be a young country but they desire their freedom much the same as we do and will fight for it.”

  A nearby whump of something hitting the sandy beach made Brown jump.

  “What was that?” said Brown uncertainly. It was turning into a strange night. Several loud splashes could be heard over the crashing surf.

  Brown raised his lantern trying to cast as much light down the low grassy slope in front of him onto the beach just past the grass. Just beyond the weak pale light, in the ermine shadows, a darker shade flicked away.

  “Christ! There’s something out there!” said Brown.

  “What was it?” asked Flanders, himself leaning against his veranda railing, lantern held high, the oil fed wick blazing bright in the velvet night. “A turtle maybe?”

  “That was no bloody turtle!” spluttered Brown. “Charlie, get back inside. I’m phoning the local plods.”

  “Ah tuts, man. You’re making me nervous,” said Flanders. “It was probably a seal or something similiar.”

  Brown was no naturalist but he knew a seal when he saw one and that brief flash of black on black had not been a seal.

  “Charlie, back in. I’m not joking. Get your rifle out and bring it over here. Bring Elspeth as well. I’m phoning the police.” Brown’s voice was shaky and he backed away from the veranda railing through the wide open doors into the living room. Lucille walked in and stopped in astonishment.

  “Olly, what on earth is wrong?”

  Her voice acted like a catalyst and he jumped forward slamming the doors shut and locking them, pocketing the door key. “Lucy, get the children,” he said.

  “Wha..?” Lucille’s query was interrupted by a shrill, unearthly shriek, closely followed by another one.

  Extinguishing his lamp, Brown picked up the phone receiver with a shaking hand and, pressing it to his ear, quickly dialled the local police station. A monotone drone announced that the line was engaged.

  Lucille was still standing rooted to the spot, mouth agape.

  “Lucy! The children!” repeated Brown urgently, putting the phone down with a thump.

  His hunting rifle was over the fireplace, a modern Lee Enfield design modified from the standard British Army issue. He’d bagged a few tigers in the Raj with it a few years back and hadn’t used it since. However, he’d kept it well oiled and it was in fine condition. He heard Lucille run towards the children’s room.

  Another scream rent the night much closer this time, in fact almost outside the door… Brown lifted the rifle of the rack and fumbled for the ammunition boxes in the bureau cursing his own clumsiness as the bullets spilled out of the cardboard boxes and clattered across the wooden veneer.

  Another nearby scream and the Brown felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He looked up in fright as he heard a click, click out on the veranda of something walking across the wood. He heard something sniffing deeply, snuffling against the locked doors which creaked alarmingly as they were pushed.

  A rifle shot cracked from old Charlie Flanders, followed by muffled shouting and another rifle shot. Christ. What the hell was happening?

  Brown fed a bullet into the chamber of the rifle and aimed it at the creaking door. If one bullet could stop a tiger then it could stop anything else. It would have to. He didn’t have time to feed in any more.

  The doors splintered inwards and a nightmare demon screamed into the room, razor teeth glimmering in the pale light. Brown cracked off a shot straight into the chest of the creature. It didn’t even blink. It didn’t have eyes. But it knew where Brown was. Brown’s last thoughts were of Lucille and the children.

  11 Answers

  Jane was tired as she once again walked down the now familiar corridor to the amphitheatre that held the Nucleus. Events were overtaking her, rushing past without giving her a second thought and she hated it when that happened. And worst of all there was something nagging her, something she couldn’t quite remember about this Core, something that she knew was vitally important. She brushed a strand of damp hair out of her eyes, feeling the fatigue in the muscles of her body as she did so. It would come back to her, she hoped.

  Her eyes hurt in the gloom of the room. The Nucleus was gone and the only light in the amphitheatre was from the tall black slab with its etched shining hieroglyphics and from the walls themselves.

  A dull pain ached in her head. It had to be the Americans that were transporting the Khadrae. War was never a good thing. She could hear Murdoch having one of his fits of rage against the ‘coffee drinkers’ as he so delightedly put it. Jane smiled. What a man! Such intelligence but also so blinkered when it came to Empire and its ambitions. Murdoch thought that the world should welcome the Empire with open arms and beg it to take over their governments and lands. World peace could only be achieved when everyone bent a knee to Britain. The
United States didn’t quite agree with Murdoch’s world view though and had taken steps to ally itself with various Central American countries and had made overtures to several of the European nations. The Diplomatic Bureau was working flat out to sabotage any formal treaties that the US had made.

  At present, peace between the two competing empires was only possible because they both realised that a worldwide war was against their interests and would leave them unable to protect themselves from the Soviets, the Chinese Middle Kingdom, Nippon and the other European empires such as France and Germany. The Core business threatened to blow a hole a mile wide in this uneasy peace. The Americans had an astronomical industrial capability more that capable of matching the Empires. The added ability to produce dreadnaught size ships was not good news for the Empire either.

  Too many ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ and ‘maybes.’ Jane hoped the Nucleus would know what the Core was capable off and indeed would provide the information.

  A shimmer of ionised air was followed by a flicker of electric blue light and the semi transparent figure of the Nucleus flashed into being, engrams and pictures flashing and rotating across its body.

  The Nucleus bowed to Jane, its usual short perfunctory bow, almost a nod.

  “Do you have good news for me?” asked Jane.

  “Revered lady, we regret that you are unlikely to look on our point of view as good,” replied the Nucleus.

  Jane’s heart sank. She had expected the worst but still she had held out some hope. After all where would the world be without hope?

  The Nucleus continued, “We were designed to aid and assist the descendants of the seven tribes only in peaceful ways. We understand and are concerned about the Core and the threat it presents to the world but we were not designed to deal with such a scenario. Our algorithms and internal workings are such that the very thought of providing military assistance almost caused us to self destruct.”

  “This is an unfortunate situation,” said Jane after taking a moment to digest the news.

  “We are able to provide you with information that may assist you in the coming battles you will have with the Core. You may find this more than adequate,” said the Nucleus almost apologetically.

  “What sort of information can you give me?” asked Jane, her interest piqued. Then her brain finally clicked into action. “Battles?” she added, “What battles?”

  “Revered lady, you will realise from the information we will supply that the Core will form a most implacable enemy. The Tuatha de Danaan were the most militaristic of the seven Atlantean tribes. To give you an idea of what you are facing, some of the Tuatha passed through the Pillars of Heracles and on to ancient Greece and formed the basis of the republic of Sparta.”

  Jane raised her eyebrows at that snippet of information. If what the Nucleus said was true, and Jane had no reason to think otherwise, then the Atlanteans had a made a deep and profound impact on the history and prehistory of the human race. The Nucleus had previously told of how Ireland, the Americas, parts of Europe and even the depths of the African rainforests had all been colonised by the remnants of the Atlantean nations. Scholars in Dublin were extremely interested as the supposedly mythical Lebor Gabála Érenn, the Book of Invasions, had always insisted that Ireland had been colonised from the west. As for Sparta, it was well known that the Spartans were the greatest military power of ancient Greece. They were also a tyrannical race, where the children were bred for war and the preparation of war.

  The Nucleus continued, “The Tuatha will never give in. They have no fear of death as they believe that they will only find peace with their goddess, Danu and only if they die a warriors death in battle.”

  “That’s fantastic,” said Jane sarcastically. “So we’re on our own against a tribe of long dead religious nutcases guided by a long dead super duper intelligence that breeds dinosaurs for fun?”

  Her sarcasm was lost on the Nucleus who merely nodded. “We would advise the British Empire to request assistance from its friends in the world. The Core must be destroyed otherwise the entire human race will face extinction as the Core hatches long pondered plots to destroy this earth.”

  “Britain has no friends in the world. The Empire is powerful beyond reproach and that power has bred much in the way of envy. Soviet Russia pounds at its borders like a caged bear while spreading its insidious tentacles around the world, corrupting countries into believing communism is the way forward. China, the Middle Kingdom, huddles within its boundaries, insular yet fearful of Nippon and its militaristic ambitions in the Pacific. The United States holds a fearful hatred of the Empire despite its founding roots being in the colonies that Britain established. As for the European empires, they have nothing to offer us nor would they want to. All these countries and empires are united in one thing and that is their fear and mistrust of the British Empire. No. Britain stands alone.”

  “The Empire has us,” said the Nucleus.

  Jane looked at the long face with its inscrutable alien eyes and wondered if that was a good thing or not.

  And then in the recesses of her mind, her nagging thought pushed through the veils of her sub consciousness to the forefront of her mind and she roundly berated herself for being so stupid, so slow, so plainly stupid.

  “The Americans have definitely been in contact with the Core. We found a diary on the ice base near Greenland which noted that they had made contact with something…,” Jane paused. “A column, a pillar of light it was described as.”

  “Then the Americans will be in great danger. They will feel that they will have made a friend, an ally who will greatly aid them. The Core will lie and manipulate them while expanding its existing knowledge and power beyond the confines of its prison.”

  The Core or the Nucleus? Jane had an unquantified suspicion that this Core could quite inconveniently be an extension of the Nucleus itself or even vice versa. The Nucleus had proven to Jane that it was capable of an unexpected ruthlessness when it had murdered her Royal Marine bodyguards simply to demonstrate that it was annoyed with her. Intelligence and knowledge the Nucleus had in quantity. Morals were another thing altogether.

  Jane left the room deep in thought leaving the Nucleus fading away into the deep shadows that descended on the amphitheatre as the lights ceased to glow, sparks of illumination dying into the deep darkness that descended on the room like a death shroud.

  12 Corridors of Power and Pomposity

  It was a relief for Murdoch to be back in the comfort of Whitehall after those four foul, miserable weeks on the USS Ice Base Snowstorm. A very productive four weeks but miserable nonetheless. Despite the balmy late May weather, a fire was crackling in the grate of the Permanent Secretary’s office lending a stuffiness to the air that Murdoch felt all the more, thanks to the smart suit, shirt and tie ensemble he was wearing.

  “Have a seat Mr Murdoch,” said the permanent secretary, Charles Greenshields waving his hand in the general direction of two well stuffed and heavily worn leather armchairs near the fire. “Like a quick snifter?”

  “Gin and Indian tonic water please,” replied Murdoch as he sat down.

  As Greenshields filled the cut crystal glasses himself, Murdoch pondered the events of the last few months. The murder of King Edward and the devastation on the Govan dockyards, the abortive attack on the German Reich, the placation of the German Reich, the discovery that the United States was beginning to flex its muscles, the loss of the Azores, these accursed Khadrae creatures and ooohhhh, far too much to consider, far too much.

  Greenshields gave Murdoch a large glass full to the brim with gin and tonic. Murdoch was impressed to notice that it was topped off with a slice of lime.

  “Very nice,” said Murdoch after he’d taken a sip.

  “Spent some years in the Raj, dear boy. Have to learn how to make a decent gin and tonic just to survive out there!” replied Greenshields.

  “Really? I never knew you’d spent time out in India.”

  “Oh yes. Was vice sec
retary to the ambassador in Delhi. Ghastly place. Too many poor people begging for pennies. Made even the Russian spies seem like nice chaps.”

  It was well known that the Soviets were interested in British affairs in the Raj. No one was quite sure why though. It was easy for the Russians to infiltrate British affairs because no one really gave a damn but it was bloody difficult to infiltrate the Soviets. Suspicious bunch which wasn’t surprising considering the way Stalin had them watching their backsides all the time.

  Greenshields sat himself down, crossing his legs as he did so, fussily picking at invisible bits of fluff on his pinstripe trousers. “Do you know why you’re here, John?” he asked.

  Murdoch had a hunch it wouldn’t be for a reason beneficial to his health. Whitehall, especially people like Greenshields, knew more than he did about the Atlantis situation. He shook his head.

  “Well, John, the fact is that we’re very concerned about this situation facing the Empire.”

  Murdoch didn’t bother to ask who “we” was. It could be anybody from just Greenshields himself, various clandestine organisations within the Empire, the Royal Family, the Government, any of the MI organisations, the armed forces; the options were limitless.

  “Aren’t we all?” Murdoch risked a small dig. Greenshields wasn’t really a man you wanted to cross but he had a tendency to rub Murdoch up the wrong way. A politician through and through, Greenshields was a man who put himself and his career first, everyone and everything else second and if anyone died along the way that was too bad.

  “Of course we all are, old boy, of course we are. But really, no one is doing anything, to quite blunt about it. The Cabinet is in quite a tizz but dithering about like a flock of mother hens. The Empire isn’t going to get its lead from those incompetent idiots. Democracy is vastly overrated in my opinion,” Greenshields sniffed as he sipped his gin and tonic.

  Murdoch ignored this. Most senior civil servants had the belief that they could run the Empire better without party politicians imposing their views on them. Murdoch didn’t doubt this but most, if not all, the civil servants he knew needed a good kick up the rear end and a massive injection of common sense. Bloody half wits straight out of Cambridge and Oxford and given a plum role in the running of the Empire. Not a bloody clue half the time. Not. A. Bloody. Clue. Murdoch gritted his teeth and smiled as Greenshields continued.