Strange Temple

by John Lilley

  Her initial thoughts were: Could it be the Canadian after all these years?

  She had already instigated changes at the Clyde-side dockyards. All Border Patrol ships had now been scheduled for an immediate refit. Until that happened, extra simulants were allocated to each ship for deck watch.

  Beneath the Ship, the creature held on tight. The optimal release point would be several hours later when the Ship had reached the North Channel. From there it would rendezvous with its Orcadian friends and their precious cargo.

  38 BEER AT BILL’S

  Gene manoeuvred his frail body into the elevator. ‘Beth, please get Brad to bring the car around,’ he shouted back to his housekeeper, who was clearing away the breakfast pots.

  ‘Yes sir, will do Mr Newbury,’ said Beth obediently. She didn’t flinch from the task at hand, but deep below ground, Brad was already on his way to the car.

  The scenic elevator descended from Gene’s palatial apartment that nestled in the treetops at the centre of his estate. As it emerged from the underside of the building, a family of startled marmosets (Callithrix Jacchus) scattered noisily through the branches. Gene reflected on the fantastic resource costs of bringing the small mammals into his bio-dome, but they’d been worth it. He’d enjoyed many an evening on his balcony feeding the tiny creature by hand.

  The elevator descended to the forest floor 150 feet below. The moist air of the surrounding jungle was alive with the sounds of insects and birdsong. Outside in the stifling heat of the desert very little moved, just a few tumbleweeds blown by the constant hot breeze from the south. Deep beneath the ground, the dome’s environmental power-plant hummed without complaint and effortlessly maintained the 12,568-acre artificial environment within the five-mile diameter dome. It was an ecosystem that no longer existed anywhere else on Earth.

  Gene shuffled along the path to the pickup point. As he did so a herd of Java mouse deer (Tragulus Javanicus) crossed the jungle path some ten feet in front of him. Deep beneath his feet, the 1972 Cadillac Fleetwood 75 Limousine was ascending on its elevator. The warning lights on the pickup point flashed into action as the surface slid away and the car emerged. Brad was already standing by the passenger door ready to greet the old man.

  ‘Good morning sir, how are you today?’ he enquired as he opened the door for Gene.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been better, but I can’t complain,’ said Gene.

  Brad helped Gene into the car and closed the door. In a flash he was in the driver’s seat and ready for instruction: ‘and what is your pleasure today sir?’ he asked politely.

  ‘That cursed Bill Redmond wants me to pop over to his place. Gaia knows why he can’t just talk to me on the phone?’ Gene said.

  ‘That’s a half hour’s drive sir, would you rather go in the hovercar?’ asked Brad. He knew that the Fleetwood could keep the cabin at a reasonable temperature, but the roads were not smooth and the old man was getting increasingly frail.

  ‘No, damned infernal things, I puked my guts up that last time. Anyway, I want to feed the camels along the way. Have you packed some treats for them?’ Gene snapped back.

  ‘Of course sir,’ Brad said as he started the 472 cubic inch engine which then powered the car effortlessly and smoothly down the driveway to the dome’s airlock. The car didn’t actually like the damp atmosphere of the dome, but only Brad could hear the Rochester four-barrel quadrajet carburettor complaining. It was just over a mile and a half to the airlock, and at one point Brad had to sound the horn to get a large Tapir (Tapirus Terrestris) to move off the drive, much to the amusement of Gene.

  The airlock began its cycle as the car approached and concentrated blasts of air began to remove all debris and insects before the car entered. This positive pressure continued until the car was safely inside the first compartment. The car was then extensively scanned for any signs of life other than Gene and Brad, before being blasted in all its nooks and crannies with a mild disinfectant. Brad then drove the car into the second compartment, where the same process was repeated. The third and final compartment opened onto the outside world of the desert.

  The car emerged from the jungle environment of Gene’s dome and sped across the baking desert, its climate-control on full blast. The photochromic windows were a necessary addition to its original specification and rapidly adjusted to the intense glare. Although he liked the moist easy-to-breath air in his dome, Gene always enjoyed the contrast with the outside, initially at least. He’d grown up in the dome and trips outside reminded him of his early youth and the many adventures with Bill, Jake and Carlos.

  Good old Bill, he was always a worrier, what the hell was this all this about? He thought as the desert scenery sped by.

  Although Beth and Brad were there for his every need and were good company in their own way, he was missing having the Kids around. This was why he’d recently become fond of his visits to the camels. They could usually be found at the Sand Creek waterhole, coyotes (Canis Latrans) permitting. Brad had used his initiative and placed a sentinel at the waterhole, so any coyotes approaching while they were there would be treated to a few thousand volts from its projectors. The Sentinel had been scanning the area for them from the moment that Brad knew of Gene’s intention to visit the area. Central was very protective of the Four, very protective indeed.

  After twenty minutes the car approached Sand Creek. There were no camels at the waterhole, but Brad knew that there were six approaching from the south and they would be there in a few minutes. ‘We’ll have to wait a few minutes sir. Shall I get the food ready?’ he asked Gene through the car intercom.

  ‘Yeah, great Brad, I think I’ll get out and stretch my legs for a bit,’ Gene said.

  ‘Is that wise sir, it’s boiling out there?’ Brad quickly warned. He knew that Gene would become breathless quite swiftly, and besides that, he always got up to no good.

  Completely ignoring his servant, Gene said: ‘Here, help me out will you.’

  In one swift movement, Brad pulled the large sun parasol from its holster as he opened his door. He had the parasol up and the passenger door open before Gene had taken another breath. Gene took Brad’s outstretched arm and levered himself from the sumptuous cream leather upholstery of the Fleetwood.

  ‘Just wait here sir, and I’ll get the food,’ said Brad as he pushed the extended tip of the parasol into the scorched earth. He dashed around behind the car and opened the huge trunk.

  Damn, done it again, he thought. I can’t see the old man from here.

  As quick as he could, he packed the food into the rucksack along with the binoculars. He shouldered the sack and yanked the folding chair from its clips. Closing the trunk, he stared across at the parasol. The old man was gone, not again! He became a blur as he moved around the car, but then skidded on the loose gravel as he had to pull up quickly to avoid Gene who was kneeling on the floor, poking his cane beneath a nearby rock.

  ‘I saw a little critter dash under this one, can we have a look at him Brad?’ he asked.

  ‘Why certainly sir,’ said Brad, dumping the rucksack and chair. ‘Here, sit yourself down sir, while I capture it for you.’

  He helped the old man back up and into the chair beneath the repositioned sun parasol then returned to the rock. As he slowly lifting it, he saw a quick movement from underneath. Before the creature knew what was happening he’d flung its hiding place aside and had it firmly between his thumb and forefinger. The red scorpion (Paruroctonus Boreus) squirmed as it tried to escape.

  ‘My, my, he’s a big son-of-a-bitch,’ Gene cried with delight. ‘Let’s have a closer look at him.’

  ‘It’s a female sir, let me pop her into a jar for you,’ said Brad as he dug into one of the rucksack’s side pockets for the screw-top glass sample jar. It seemed that Brad had once again thought of everything. He handed the jar containing the now captive scorpion to Gene.

  ‘Priceless, truly priceless,’ said Gene as he rolled the jar around in his hands. He sat engrossed in the creature fo
r the next five minutes until he heard the familiar grunts from the approaching camels.

  ‘OK, let her go, Brad, here comes my girls,’ he said.

  Brad took the jar from Gene and released the scorpion which immediately crawled gratefully beneath a nearby rock. Collecting the parasol, chair, rucksack and Mr Newbury he then guided the old man down to a spot near to the waterhole.

  The camels were always nervous about approaching Gene, but he didn’t care, he was contented just to watch them. They seemed to be in no rush and spread out around the water hole with no jostling for position. Apart from the occasional grunt, sneeze or spit the main noise was now the camels lapping up the water. Neither Gene nor Brad noticed the small translucent creatures as they slid down the lead camel’s leg and entered the water.

  Gradually the nearest camel approached Gene, and he was ready with a large cucumber in his outstretched hand. The camel took the cucumber between its prominent yellow teeth and pulled it from Gene’s hand. In two chomps it was gone, and the camel was eying the bucket next to Gene.

  Gene’s supply was soon exhausted and conscious of his master’s frail condition Brad suggested that they continued their journey to Bill’s dome. Gene was feeling a bit sweaty by that point so didn’t object. With Gene in the back seat and the chair and parasol back in the trunk, Brad returned to the driver’s seat. As soon as his back was turned three small translucent shapes dashed from the water and sprinted across the sand and rocks until they were beneath the Cadillac. After a couple of seconds to assess the situation they approached the car’s engine bay. Then one by one they climbed up beside the now running engine and secured themselves tightly onto the bulkhead beside the alternator. They seemed to be particularly interested in a service and navigation module that was the only piece of contemporary equipment in the car.

  Bill Redmond adjusted the scanner to maximum magnification.

  Where was the old fool? he thought. We’d agreed on two o’clock.

  Just then he thought he saw something move in the shimmering heat haze on the horizon. Irritatingly for Bill, the scanner confirmed it by announcing:

  ‘Mr Gene Newbury is approaching on the Nor…’

  Bill punched the button, and the scanner was silenced, cut off in mid-sentence.

  ‘..thern highway. If I need your help I will ask for it,’ said Bill through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t let you wipe my backside, and I don’t want you doing my looking for me either.

  He slammed the remote control back into its holster on the scanner. It had been a difficult few months since Jake’s last visit had changed his relationship with Central for good. Retreating down the spiral staircase, he entered the kitchen. Molly was already busy getting the tea ready.

  ‘Would you like a selection of teas or just English Breakfast? I know that Mr Newbury liked that one last time,’ she enquired politely.

  ‘Oh just the English Breakfast please Molly and some bourbon biscuits,’ Bill said, trying not to sound irritated, while he thought: But why should I not be irritated? Gaia be damned, what am I some kind of performing lab-rat? Why didn’t I see what was going on before? Jake was right, the sooner we’re out of here, the better.

  Bill’s dome was fitted out like an Alpine valley with meadow, small cliffs, alpine plants and fir trees. Swifts (Apus Melba) and swallows (Hirundo Rustica) circled overhead while field voles (Microtus Agrestis) and rabbits (Lepus Sylvaticus) busied themselves in the grass, oblivious to the fact that their entire world was only a few feet deep. A profusion of Edelweiss (Leontopodium Alpinum) clung to the many escarpments, which were now the only places on the planet where the small plant grew. The apartment looked like an over-the-top Bavarian ski lodge, perched on a two hundred foot high hill surrounded by pinewoods.

  By the time that Bill had made it to the front door of the lodge, Gene’s old Fleetwood was already emerging from the airlock at the edge of the dome. He watched as it sedately picked its way up the twisting driveway to within six feet of where Bill was standing.

  Bill was always glad to see any of the others, especially Gene. He always felt of Gene as the elder brother he never knew.

  ‘Great to see you buddy,’ said Bill as he helped Brad get Gene out of the ancient vehicle.

  ‘You only want me for my beer,’ said Gene.

  Over on the car’s nearside, one of the translucent creatures dropped to the floor. It then scurried quickly across the gravel driveway until it was in the shade of a rhododendron bush (Rhododendron Ferrugineum).

  Earlier that day, Carlos Gonzalez was bent in deep concentration over one of the formal beds near to the Kids’ old play park. He wanted the marigolds (Calendula Officinalis) to go in “just right” at eight-inch spacing. They’d grown well in the greenhouse. He’d only lost a few in the process. Thirty dozen should do the trick. Then he could start on the Violas (Viola Huntercombe Purple). His back was getting a bit stiff but not bad for a man of 131. He stood up straight, stretched out and mopped the sweat from his brow with a neatly ironed fine linen handkerchief, pulled from the breast pocket of his gardening overalls. Carlos always liked to dress the part for whatever he did: Green Wellington boots and a green and white woollen plaid shirt complemented the ironed and starched blue denim overalls. He looked back towards the house along the pleached lime (Tilia Americana) walkway, which also led to the play park.

  Where was Juanita with that beer? he thought as he bent down again to continue with the marigolds.

  Carlos’s housekeeper Juanita was at that moment just leaving the house through the large conservatory. She was taller than Carlos, very leggy and very top-heavy. She tottered down the garden in her highly impractical stiletto-heeled sling-backs. Her enormous breasts wobbled in the tight confines of the black leather corset and push-up bra beneath her classic French maid’s outfit. The short split-skirt rode up her long slender legs to reveal her stocking tops and garters. She carried Carlos’s beer on a silver tray, and as she approached him, she called out: ‘Hello sir, here’s your beer.’

  Carlos spun around and took in the sight of Juanita bending low towards him with the tray. Her breasts were bulging out of the uniform he had chosen for her. Carlos had never tired of Juanita, even after 120 years she still looked as good as she’d done that first day he’d moved into his own dome. Although I can no longer chase after the butcher’s van, I can still bark at it, he thought.

  Apart from Juanita, gardening was his main pleasure, now that the Kids had moved out. He’d always been interested in formal gardens, and they’d been the driving force behind the design for his dome. In fact, most of the domes had benefited in one way or another from Carlos’s extensive horticultural and botanic knowledge. His dome had many different gardens, each one lovingly tended by Carlos, but with all the heavy work now done by Juanita and Manuel. The maze and play-park were a major success with the Kids, as was the small swimming lake. They always liked coming to Uncle Carlos’s.

  The house itself was also a massive adventure playground for the Kids. It had all the gothic splendour of any of the best Edwardian English stately homes. Built around an inner quadrangle of formal gardens and small fountains, it had an entrance portico designed in the best of Palladian style. The house was already large enough, such that Carlos didn’t need to add any more rooms even when all thirty Kids came to stay. Its many rooms lent themselves well to games of hide-and-seek; the long drapes at every window and the many pieces of furniture afforded countless hiding places for the young players. The large games room also offered numerous table soccer and pool tables and the best in ancient arcade video games. When the Kids were all tired, he would take them down to the basement swimming pool where he would treat them all to an ice cream.

  ‘Thanks, Juanita; you’re looking particularly lovely today. Do you have any news for me?’ he said as he took the beer glass from her tray.

  ‘Thank you sir, Bill Redmond has called. He would like you to call him at your convenience,’ Juanita said proffering the phone in her slender la
ce-gloved hand.

  ‘Good old Bill, I’ll ring him right away,’ he said taking the phone.

  Carlos never liked to keep the phone with him in the gardens; he felt it was too intrusive. After all, what was the point of having a housekeeper if they could not take your calls? Carlos really liked playing the Lord of the Manor.

  ‘Bill you old goat, how are you?’ Carlos opened up with.

  ‘Fine and dandy my little gaucho, thanks for calling. How is Juanita?’ Bill said.

  ‘She is a gorgeous as ever. Anyway, what can I do for you, Bill? I’m a busy man here, and my beer is getting warm.’

  ‘Shucks, we can’t have that Carlos. Gene is coming over this afternoon, why don’t you get your tough old hide over here as well?’ Bill said, ‘and I can assure you that my beer is always cold.’

  ‘Sounds good old buddy, what time is the Newbery-mobile rolling up your driveway?’

  ‘Oh, well I said 2 pm, but you know what Gene’s timekeeping is like. No doubt he will have to visit every creature in the desert along the way.’

  ‘OK, it’s just gone noon, let’s say 2:30 pm. I’ll get cleaned up and fire-up the hovercar right away. See you soon buddy.’

  ‘Cheers buddy, take care,’ said Bill as he hung up.

  Carlos returned the phone to Juanita’s waiting hand.

  ‘Thank you, my dear. I’ll be popping over to Bill’s for a few beers. Have Manuel prepare the hovercar. I’ll be down at 14:15 as soon as I can work out what to wear.’

  ‘OK sir; is there anything you need to take with you?’

  ‘Yeah, I’d like to take Bill a tray of these marigolds. Better make it two; Gene is going to be there as well.’

  ‘No problem sir, I’ll see to that right away. May I take them from the trays you have here?’