The Fifth Codex

by J. A. Ginegaw

  My lower jaw drops so far that, for a split second, I fear it might fall out of my head. Just when I had convinced myself that, for once, these soulless spies would sit this adventure out – here they are. Put off by the sight of them just as much as the others; I am, however, in no way surprised by their arrival.

  The other seven soldiers frozen in place, Major Sinclair withdraws his handgun and points it in their direction. The spies barely seem to notice and appear to care even less.

  “It is always just a matter of time,” I hiss, “before you scheming serpents clothed in the finest cobra-skinned suits corruption can buy show up!” I motion for the Major to lower his weapon and then unleash my sternest glare at Admiral Vanderbilt. “Isn’t that right, Grandfather?”

  The Admiral’s stammering lips search for words, but find not a one.

  The shortest, scrawniest member of this grimy group of nine snickers as he steps forward. His show of unwarranted confidence, bulging eyes, slicked back, greasy hair, and elevator shoes a supermodel would trip in, makes certain we all know he is undoubtedly the leader.

  “Blaming Admiral Vanderbilt for our arrival will do you no good, Dr. Rothschild. Do you think it was he who assigned himself here?” Director Gaunt pauses as if he awaits a response I have trouble thinking up. My tongue tied as if in a bow, his forked one flickers on. “A third star, my good Admiral, is going to look awfully good at your retirement ceremony.”

  “Who’s the mini-spook?” I hear Saddlebirch whisper to Dr. Leitz. Both stand directly behind me.

  “Not just any spook … ‘The Man’,” Alfred whispers back.

  “Him? ‘The Man’? Seriously?”

  “Ja … ihn.…”

  “I was not aware cockroaches could survive Antarctica!” As neither my scowl nor sarcastic tone wipes away Gaunt’s smug grin, this reply is nowhere near as biting as I intended.

  “Every time we cross paths,” Gaunt chimes after a deep chuckle, “you are simply more charming than the last. I believe you referred to me as a ‘cloaked leech’ during our last encounter.”

  Chance struggles to hold in his laughter at this. These giggles give me confidence I do not particularly need any more of, but comfort me nevertheless.

  “Despite your insults,” Director Gaunt continues, “I remember each visit fondly as nearly every one of them seems to find something our governments desperately seek …” he pauses just long enough to flash another smirk, “and very often take away.”

  “Unlike in the past, I am not feeling so charitable these days,” I spit back. Just as I wonder when they would, the others finally join in.

  “What is your purpose?” Dr. Korzhak demands. “Who are you?”

  As if Victor had just dumped trash on Gaunt’s shoes, he throws him the dirtiest of looks.

  “Just what is your business here?” Dr. Ravensdale growls. This tone nowhere near his normal television voice, Alistair sounds more like a grizzly bear than a world-renowned geophysicist. How the Director dismissed Korzhak’s questions with nothing more than a chortle and rolled eyes has obviously angered him.

  Gaunt takes a moment to look back at the other spies and his fake cheeriness returns. “My true name is not your concern, but who I represent is. I am the Director of a shadow agency that oversees both the NSA and CIA. Under my watch, those here with me,” he motions behind him, “work diligently to mold our world into what we wish for it to become. And as we do so, the masses do little more than plod aimlessly about it. This suits us perfectly well, of course. We are everywhere, in plain sight; yet nowhere, impossible to see.”

  “Never heard of such a silly thing,” Saddlebirch drawls. Chance’s tone sounds confident, but how he looks warily at the spies makes clear that this is a ruse.

  And how could he feel anything but?

  Unlike Admiral Vanderbilt, Dr. Leitz, and me, the other three have not a clue as to the true nature of these snakes. My men, of course, have seen plenty, but keep perfectly silent. Despite nearly two dozen bodies gathered in the CIC, there is still a good amount of open space – but the temperature is rising fast. Beads of sweat dot every face aside for Gaunt’s own face and mine. Truth be told, I would rather die than show him even the smallest hint of weakness a first drop of sweat would reveal.

  “And you never will,” Director Gaunt pushes back. “You will not find my name, my picture, or even a reference to me splashed about online or in publications for one simple reason: I do not exist. I, Dr. Saddlebirch, am the one who makes the hard decisions when my president – the visible leader of the free world – is too afraid to do so. When I sleep well at night, so does the world.”

  I despise this vile scum of a man. I hate Gaunt not just because of what he is, but because the world I so desperately love needs him and his slippery ilk. That our lives intertwine to the point one probably could not survive without the other – this simply makes it worse. More than once, I had one foot firmly on Hell’s doorstep because of these spies and their schemes. And just as many times, they saved me.

  Despite his lack of height, skin a snake would swoon over, and thinning hair, Gaunt owns a skill no one else I know possesses. On a stage not of the theater, but of the world, he sees events unfold that others cannot see until it is too late. As do many, Gaunt plays chess at a world-class level, but only he has the courage to do so with pieces that have a pulse. The Admiral and I are not mere pawns, more like bishops or rooks, but we are not the king. Only Gaunt is and he knows it. And just like a king on the board, he needs others or else he will die. But even if alone, as long as he has a gun and bullets, he would not meet his own end without a fight. According to Admiral Vanderbilt, Gaunt might not be the best marksman in the world, but he is certainly in the conversation.

  “C’est ridicule![18]” I call out with a sneering laugh. Hands thrown into the air proceed to say as much as my mouth does. “You are nothing more than the slipperiest of shepherds leading your sinister flock of sheep! Stealing about the world to seek out fresh, unspoiled fields of discovery in which to sow your wickedness – careful, Gaunt … you just might find that the grasses in this field fight back.”

  Sudden silence shrouds us. No one says another word; all barely breathe. As I keep watch of the other eight, I begin to pace in a tight circle around the Director.

  “All the usual suspects accounted for.…” Both my speech and pace are purposely slow and sarcastic. “MI-6 … CIA … Aussie SIS … and my personal favorite, Mossad. The only ones brave enough to not hide behind an acronym.”

  A rambling chatter quickly erupts between the other scientists. Fidgeting a bit and his eyes darting about, it is obvious that Director Gaunt very much wishes to regain control.

  “Perhaps we can work toward a fragile peace between us … an olive branch of sorts ––”

  “Ha! An olive branch?” I mock with feigned disbelief. “Dripping in poisonous vomit and coated with anthrax, no doubt!”

  As for why I can spit such spiteful words at so powerful a man, it is only because my father, a former officer of the Armée de l’Air, once saved Gaunt. Shadow wars leave many dead behind who are never officially included in the body count and one had almost done the same to the Director. Father, however, would not allow it. And when I was a prisoner in Angola nearly two years ago, neither would Gaunt. A gauntlet of meat cleavers at my head; surrounded and too exhausted to fight the mob of prisoners off anymore; the prison guards laughing wildly – these guards opened fire. Every prisoner around me shot dead, only I still stood. The prison yard more of stone than grass now a slaughterhouse, my soldiers hurriedly scaled the outer wall of this prison and ‘stole’ me away.

  A Mossad agent had paid off the guards and waited to greet me on the other side. This same man now towers over his fellow spies in the shadows ten meters away from me. At Director Gaunt’s insistence, he had disavowed a direct order from his own Defense Minister to save me. The furious Minister then confronted Gaunt personally. Scandals, a line of mistresses a block long, and a
flurry of corruption charges to come next – punishment followed soon after. A plumb cabinet post suddenly open, the former Defense Minister would continue to rot inside his jail cell long after another filled his old post.

  “Come now, Dr. Rothschild … Vanderbilt – enough tit-for-tat.” Gaunt’s mannerisms and voice border on pleading. By far, this is the closest to begging I have ever heard from him.

  Perhaps it really is time to temper my tone. Besides, I have run clean through my list of prepared insults. Recalled suffering of the past suddenly makes me thankful for the present. I am alive, my men guard all five codices, we are in the process of translating them, and I possess both the crimson gem I arrived with and its infinitely more powerful sibling. In short: WE HAVE WON. My shrugged shoulders and weak nod giving in to him, I let out a heavy sigh.

  Gaunt now speaks faster than usual, “No mere discovery; none of us, including myself, has ever seen anything like this. The rules, Dr. Rothschild, have changed. And changed forever. You above all people know that those with power make history, those with knowledge write of it, and of those who wield both … they interpret history to their biased advantage. These have always been the ways of the past, but it is up to you and your team to determine if this continues to be the way of the future.”

  As I and the other four scientists whisper amongst ourselves, the Mossad spy steps forth. As he does so, Gaunt retreats into the shadows with the others and I feel a gentle coolness rush into my body. My eyes immediately drawn to what the Mossad spy holds out in both hands; his smooth, steady voice wraps a welcome calm around the CIC.

  “This is the Allan Hills 84001 meteorite. Along with many thousands just like it, it fell from the sky more than 13,000 years ago. Now, I think all of us have already concluded that these meteorites had a hand in bringing about the ‘awareness’ of those you discovered. That this was the start of it all. Am I right?”

  “Oui ... le début de tout cela[19],” I gasp. The Mossad spy slowly walks before each of us and silently encourages our greedy hands to touch the meteorite. With trembling fingers and awe-struck stares, we all do so.

  “Others have found what they believe to be ancient microbes embedded in this meteorite and others like it.” His excited tone suggests that our fascination with ALH84001 has emboldened him. “Could some of these microbes have survived their journey across the heavens? Taking place many thousands of years ago – why not? Exposed to oxygen and no longer confined to their rocky prison, what became of them? Our governments have a valid purpose here; we think we know what happened next. Alive, even after impact, these bacteria were then free to roam the depths of a large lake. By our direction, Dr. Korzhak drilled in a few locations to find this body of water. And he found it. Water we expected, yes, but the stunning amount of Uranium 234 – no, not at all. The living microbes from long ago mixed with the water, oxygen, and this uranium to create a very ‘unnatural soup’ if you will. In this most welcome environment, it was not long before they spread about the lake.”

  The Mossad spy passes off the long ago fallen space rock to another spy and addresses me directly.

  “You are right, Dr. Rothschild – although the Rise of Sapiens and creation of the Gryphons is beyond fascinating, to leap forward into the future of the past is indeed the proper path to lead us on.”

  As no one aside from the Admiral, the other scientists, and my men have yet to hear a single word regarding our translations, I immediately realize that the spies have somehow bugged and snuck cameras into the CIC, and probably the translation room too. They very well could have even hacked into my systems and learned everything I have. We had done precious little to secure the equipment or the room itself.

  Considering these rogues, what would have been the point?

  Even if my men and I had put forth the greatest of efforts to do so, these shadowy spies and their digital ilk would need to put forth barely any effort to breach them. No walls, no protections, nothing I have control over has the power to combat their will to slither about and spoil. But this revelation does not make me angry – just the opposite. I become almost giddy as I consider that these spies would go to such extremes to learn and not simply seek the quickest path to corrupt both themselves and others.

  A rush of energy forces its way through my body and a sly smile creeps across my face. My leather bag in hand, I step over to the map that, for the moment, is rather bare. Seas to the north, mountains to the east, volcanoes to the south, and golden prairies in between its only features – this is about to change. My back to the group, I turn to face them, point to the dark circles Alfred had asked about in the morning, and hold the leather bag up high.

  “The right path chosen,” I tease, “concerning our map of Terra Australis, we can finally learn what the pieces I hold in my hand are for.”

  More grumblings, others finally come to my side.

  “I trust her,” Dr. Korzhak blurts. “She tells us what she thinks is best, and we will like it!”

  “My granddaughter is the storyteller here,” Admiral Vanderbilt adds. “Come on, give her a chance.”

  “Well, what you have told us already was pretty amazing,” Alistair mumbles through bits of pastry stuck in his normally ready-for-the-camera smile. “Could anything else really be more interesting?”

  “More than you know!” I shout excitedly. As I dearly want to put these pieces in place, I shake the bag impatiently. Ready to offer a protest of my own, I pause to consider how best to explain more methodical madness.

  “This may come as a shock, but what you have heard so far is barely a speck of all that I hope to tell you.” Finally, some stern stares turn softer. “Remember back to your childhoods. Sitting by a window in a dusty room on a bright summer day and gazing in wonder as thousands of tiny specks floated about the air in a beam of sunlight – the ancient words I have revealed so far are but a single one.”

  “A single speck among thousands – really?” my usually reserved Major calls out. I cock my head and throw him a puzzling look. He smiles back sheepishly.

  Great confidence suddenly swells inside my bosom. I no longer have to reach into a pocket to clutch my crimson gem for inspiration – it is now around my neck. I had returned to my barracks during afternoon tea and slipped it on then. Words cannot describe how the thin gold chain felt against my craving skin when they first met. The long, slow breath I took in once diamond touched flesh was as if the first time I had ever breathed. My jewel now flush against my heart, I feel as if it can almost touch my soul. The CIC kept quite cold, no one sees it as suspicious that I wear a turtleneck – a black one, of course – to hide the gem.

  “We can continue on in order of events and simply pull back a layer at a time,” I declare in my strongest voice, “or we can immerse ourselves not only in the story of this world, but in its purpose. Come now, tell me – just what path shall we pursue?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  INTO THE FUTURE OF THE PAST

  “Into the future of the past – ONWARD!” Admiral Vanderbilt proclaims. His eager grin and extended arm as if pointing forward draws a handful of chuckles. The Admiral’s words perhaps reminding them of the boldness of our mission, most of the others finally agree with a wave of nods to embark with me on my desired path.

  I beckon Dr. Leitz to join me. Next, I offer the contents of the leather bag to him. He pulls out the first modeling piece, but I swiftly swipe it and motion for him to choose another. I will save this largest one for last. Although Alfred’s look suggests he is somewhat puzzled by this, he says nothing and withdraws a second piece.

  “Hakleddamm,” I announce. “Home of the Gryphons, they are Terra Australis’ miners and most talented jewelsmiths.”

  I point to the empty circle at the southwest corner of the map. Dr. Leitz about to place it in its fittings, Dr. Korzhak leaps up, rushes toward us, and throws his saddest puppy eyes in our direction. This plea to be involved granted, with a warm smile Alfred hands him the piece and steps to the opposite
side of the map from where I stand. The giddy Russian then clicks this piece in place and slides to the side as well. Next, the kind German reaches for another.

  “Atagartis!” I point to the empty circle at the map’s northwest corner. “This is the Mermaid capital city. Admired artisans, Mermaids also wield a great gift bestowed by Sapiens in the fleeting hope to temper the cruel terms of their crooked creation. They provide most of the seafood that feeds the many thousands of hungry mouths of not just Mermaids, but every nation. As we will soon see, these harvests from the sea are crucial for getting those who lived in Terra Australis through their sunless winters.”

  “When the translations started to come in,” Korzhak blurts unexpectedly as he sets the model piece in place, “Dr. Saddlebirch told me that Mermaids could hold themselves upright – even move on land! Is this true?”

  “It is true, my friend.” As I turn to face the others, I pause just long enough to let a handful of whispers find their way out of the CIC. “By way of ringed muscles, Mermaids could indeed stay upright on the lower third of their powerful tails. Using their flukes for balance, they could also move along the ground about as fast as we slowly walk. To go a little faster, they used what we have translated as ‘walking sticks’. If we saw them today, I believe we would describe these walking sticks as something akin to elegant crutches.” With a proud chuckle, I feel a sly smile slither across my face. “Near naked, defenseless little Mermaids, these lords of Atagartis most certainly are not!”

  Alfred staring off into nowhere, I nudge his elbow; with a start, he refocuses on me. He then reaches into the leather bag, pulls out another model piece, and hands it to Victor.

  “As we continue clockwise … the Agathis Australis. These the wooded lands of the Arachna Majora, at its center sits a bustling city bathed in the shadows of Kauri tree canopies. We already know about the treasured Kauri wood they provide; we will soon learn of their invaluable silk as well. Although it sounds almost impossible, in time Arachna also become the best-trained medics to all – basically, this ancient world’s doctors.”