I thought I felt a slight wind, but it didn’t seem . . . physical, somehow. It didn’t hit me, so much, but passed through me, like a wave.
We stood in blank silence for a second or two.
Then, suddenly, after a slightly bemused hiatus, the crowd below began to cheer and sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
He grinned. And as I stared into his eyes, I realised with deep sadness and not a little dread, that the Darius I knew had gone.
‘Happy Old Year,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty
Private Diary of Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill: Sunday the 6th of January, 1952
I positively skipped over to the dark archway where my men had concealed the field telephone. My hand was uncharacteristically steady as I raised the receiver and jauntily cranked the handle.
‘Hello? Is that the Air Chief Marshal?’
‘ It is, Prime Minister. Awaiting your orders. ’
I gleefully savoured every syllable: ‘I’m activating Plan 43. Scramble the newly formed Advanced Laboratory-Blasting Squadron.’
‘ I’ll need the code phrase, sir. ’
I gave it to him. And feeling capriciously frivolous, I added: ‘Oh, and toss in the massed bands of the Royal Scots Dragoons, to give the attack a more carnival atmosphere.’
‘ Acknowledged! ’ and he yelled, off the phone, ‘ Scramble the Lab Busters! ’
I slowly clicked down the receiver. ’Twas done. And done well.
Tonight, once and for all, that maniac Quanderhorn’s laboratory complex shall be wiped from the face of the earth!
6
Trinitrotoluene
There will come a time when our descendants will be amazed that we did not know things that are so plain to them. Many discoveries are reserved for ages still to come, when memory of us will have been effaced.
Seneca, Natural Questions
Chapter One
From the journal of Brian Nylon, 6th January, 1952 – [cont’d]
It took a mite longer than anticipated, suiting up. We all had to undergo a rather thorough and degrading hosing down, except for Guuuurk, who’d avoided the worst of the drains. But he still managed to keep us all waiting as he squirted on lashings of his disgusting gentleman’s aftershave – Ladykiller ,– which he’d got in a job lot from the ironmonger’s, though beneath the handmade label, the square can looked suspiciously like 3-in-One oil.
It would have been unkind of me to say so, but I had no doubt the fumes would certainly kill any lady foolish enough to venture too close to it!
Troy had somehow found a pair of corduroy shorts, which he thought made him look much ‘hepper’ than his duplicate, and no amount of cajoling could persuade him otherwise. He refused to wear his safety suit at all. Or any kind of shirt.
I even saw Gemma surreptitiously brushing her hair! She would never previously have done that in public. When she caught me looking at her, she unexpectedly smiled.
I smiled back as I spent a sensible scant twenty minutes practising my knots in the climbing rope, just in case the situation called for a quick taut-line hitch with a double fisherman up the other end.
Still, when we were finally ready to go, we were well and truly ready, and chomping at the bit to face the challenge. We stepped out of the tent.
Up the platform, I spotted the duplicate crew heading into the ziggurat. ‘Come on, chaps – we’re falling behind already.’
Troy grabbed the flaming torch.
‘Wait a minute,’ Guuuurk protested. ‘We can’t let the Man With No Brain carry the flaming torch! He’ll incinerate us all!’
He reached to grab it, but Troy lifted it away. ‘But I want to hold it. Look! I can hold it highest.’
‘It doesn’t have to be high .’ Guuuurk rounded on Troy. ‘Wherever it is, it’s not going to get any brighter . Just like you .’ He used this little moment of triumph to snatch the torch for himself.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Gemma grabbed it off him. ‘It doesn’t matter who holds the flaming torch.’
‘Actually, it does,’ I corrected, taking it gently out of her hand. ‘If Troy does hold it too high, it could ignite the ceiling.’
I was suddenly drenched by the entire contents of a fire bucket.
‘I thought I’d better put it out before we use it,’ Troy explained, taking back the black, smouldering stick it had now become. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
I brushed off the excess water, to no great avail. ‘Now I’ll have to go back and change again!’ I grumbled, but Gemma had ignored the event and was marching resolutely towards the gaping mouth of the edifice. We really had no choice but to follow in her lovely wake.
I felt the strange thrill of trepidation as we gingerly entered the jaws of the ziggurat. Immediately we were inside, the sound took on a deadened, claustrophobic feel, draining away our bravado. For a moment we stood at the top of the steps and stared down into the gloom. Of the duplicate crew, there was no sign.
‘I believe,’ Guuuurk broke the silence, ‘that this might be a good moment to invoke the “No Claustrophobic Alien Ziggurat” clause in my contract—’
‘ Or ,’ Gemma raised her eyebrows, ‘we could invoke the “Compulsory Martian Vivisection” clause . . .’
‘Oh!’ Guuuurk slapped his thigh. ‘Let’s not get bogged down in picayune legalese. We’re all in this together, chaps.’ He still didn’t move.
Troy peered down the staircase, holding out the dead smoking twig in front of him. ‘Can’t see a darn thing down there. This torch is almost useless.’
‘May I remind us all,’ I said, ‘if we don’t beat the duplicates to the relic, we are literally dust. And they’ve got a head start.’
‘That’s not an advantage.’ Gemma started boldly down the stairs. ‘They’ll encounter the traps first. They’ll either neutralise them, or get snared. Either way, we’ll easily catch up.’
‘ Traps? Nobody said anything to me about traps !’ Guuuurk followed her closely, clearly feeling that proximity to Gemma might be his safest course. ‘How are we all meant to see these bally traps without that flaming torch?’
‘No problem.’ Troy raced ahead, overtaking us all. ‘I’ll just pull down my corduroy shorts a smidge—’
‘ What? No!’ Guuuurk yelped.
But the darkness below was suddenly chased away by a glowing incandescence emanating from Troy’s posterior!
‘Good heavens!’ Gemma started. ‘Are those sort of glow-worm buttocks you have there, Troy?’
‘I had no idea Troy had a light-emitting bottom!’ I exclaimed, partly in admiration, and partly in horror.
‘There’s lots about my bottom people don’t know.’ Troy smiled. ‘This way!’
We carefully descended the slippery stone treads one by one.
‘Actually,’ Guuuurk whinged, ‘there’s precious little I don’t know about Troy’s bottom, after that year we spent sharing bunk beds. And, frankly, I’d rather forget most of it . . .’
I knew why he was burbling on like that. There was one thing on all our minds we didn’t want to verbalise.
Traps.
What were these traps? And when would we find the first one?
Chapter Two
Outprint from Gargantua, the pocket Quanderdictoscribe. Dateline: Sunday the 6th of January, 1952 00.59 hours
NEW BRIAN: The other group is squabbling, as usual – they can’t seem to move two paces without falling into some contretemps or other! We’ve stolen a march on them, and entered the ziggurat first. The air is slightly warm, but surprisingly fresh. Hard to believe it’s been sealed for many thousands of years. We’ve been descending these stone steps for four or five minutes, now. Levelling off into a short corridor. I can see a tiny portal at the end . . . I presume we’re supposed to enter it . . . Oh! It’s much bigger in here! We now find ourselves in a circular vault. Watch out!
NEW TROY: Woah!
NEW BRIAN: Gemma – take my hand. There’s a pit of some kind right in the centre, lea
ving only a narrow ledge running around the perimeter! We’ll have to inch our way around, keeping our backs to the wall . . .
[SOUND OF HUGE STONE GRATING]
NEW BRIAN: A heavy door just slid shut behind us, along some sort of greased channel carved into the floor! No turning back now!
[SOUND OF BOOTS SCRAPING AGAINST STONE]
NEW GEMMA: Brian! I’m scared.
NEW GUUUURK: Why is your subordinate sex so decorative and frail? Our females are ugly and terrifying! As you will see on the Day of the Glorious Invasion, when you’re all dragged, chained and screaming, into their tents!
NEW BRIAN: Pay no attention to him, lambikins! Keep holding my hand. I can see an exit on the far side now.
NEW GUUUURK: Wait! If your Earth eyes weren’t so feeble, you’d see some of the ledge stones ahead of us are hinged – they’ll send us straight down into the pit!
NEW BRIAN: You may be an unpleasantly outspoken fellow, but bless your Martian low-light vision, you’re right!
NEW GEMMA: Brian! I can hear something scurrying around down there in the pit!
[UNKNOWN SOUNDS, REMOTE]
NEW BRIAN: What is it?
NEW GEMMA: I can’t tell! Whatever it is, I think it’s heard us!
NEW TROY: I could lure it away by throwing it a piece of liver.
NEW BRIAN: Troy – remember what I told you before? Your liver has to stay . . .
NEW BRIAN/NEW TROY: (TOGETHER) . . . on the inside!
NEW TROY: Yes.
NEW BRIAN: OK, everybody, nil desperandum . Just put your feet exactly where Guuuurk’s have been, like good King Wenceslas’ page! All the way round – that’s right . . .
[FURTHER UNKNOWN SOUNDS, SLIGHTLY LOUDER]
NEW GEMMA: I can still hear those things scuttling down there . . .
NEW BRIAN: Come on, everybody – nil desperandum!
NEW GUUUURK: I think I can almost reach the handle . . . thank Phobos! If I had to listen to any more of that caterwauling, I’d throw myself into that (PROFANITY EXPUNGED) pit!
[SOUND OF STONE DOOR SLIDING OPEN, WITH DISTANT WATERFALL BEYOND]
NEW BRIAN: This way, everyone – before this door closes too!
NEW GUUUURK: I’m through!
NEW TROY: And me!
NEW BRIAN: Gem-gem?
NEW GEMMA: Ow! I can’t make it! I think I’ve turned my ankle! You’ll have to leave me.
NEW BRIAN: Nonsense! I’ll just pick you up. Here!
NEW GEMMA: Woo! Thank you, kind sir. (WHISPERED) I haven’t turned my ankle at all! I just wanted you to hug me!
[SOUND OF STONE DOOR CLOSING]
NEW BRIAN: You little minx! Come on – we can’t let those old fogeys catch up!
We are entering a vast—
[SHEET ENDS]
Chapter Three
The Daybook of ‘Jenkins’ Jenkins, RQMS Royal Fusiliers (Empite Medal of Consticuous Gallantry and bar), Sunday the 6th of January, 1952
I arrive back at the lab in treble quick time, thanks to the Prof’s rubber band car and an entire packet of fast-motion garibaldis. ’Course, there’s a number of cats embedded in the radiator, but that’s just the price of progress, I suppose.
I have meself a little chuckle thinking of them frozen in the headlights, going: ‘Me? – Ow! ’ Ha ha. You’ve got to laugh, or you’d cry.
That’s what I tells meself when I finds meself a few moments later lying at the bottom of the secret cellar service stairway with a broken leg.
Bad, too. It’s bent over backwards.
I agonisingly fishes out the walkie from my back pocket and calls the Prof. ‘Professor? Jenkins here, over.’
He shoots back with: ‘ You took your time, dammit! Are you down in the cellar yet? ’
‘Yes, sir. But small problem in that department. The good news is: I’ve found the invisible shield. It was lying across the stairs. The bad news is: I lost it again when I tripped over it, fell down the steps and wound up at the bottom with a compound fracture of the lower tibia. It’s rather painful, actually, sir. It’s bent over at a bad angle. And I think I can see a piece of bone protruding through my trousers.’
‘ Dammit, Jenkins – I’m relying on you. ’
‘I’m very sorry, sir. Dragging myself along the floor as best I can, sir. Anything you could do that might alleviate the situation would be most appreciated.’
‘ Alleviate the situation? I can’t be in two places at once! Wait! ’ He thinks for a moment. I wonders what’s going through his head? Meanwhile I bites on my key fob and pushes the bone back as best I can. I’m almost blacking out as I hears him say: ‘ Yes – I can be in two places !’
‘How’s that, sir?’ I grunts through gritted teeth.
‘ Years ago, I created a duplicate of myself for just such an emergency. ’
I tries to say ‘Splendid news, sir,’ but all I can manage is: ‘Gnnnurrhuuurgunhuurnur!’ as I shoves it right back in.
‘ Did you hear what I said, Jenkins? ’
I ties a stair rod into a makeshift splint using my regimental tie. ‘Yes, sir, splendid news. Where is this other you?’
‘ He’s in suspended animation, in a cupboard just down the corridor. It’s marked “ Under No Circumstances Open This Cupboard! ” ’
‘I see it, sir. Dragging myself over to it now, sir.’
‘ Hurry up, man! We haven’t got much time! ’
‘Still dragging myself, sir . . .’
I hears him sigh, more than once.
‘Still dragging . . .’
Dragging goes on for some time. As does the sighing.
‘ Are you there yet? ’
‘Yes, sir. It’s right in front of me. This is the one, isn’t it, sir? “Do Not Open This Cupboard Under Any Circumstances!”’
I reaches up, unlocks it and manages to tug down the handle. The door springs open, and I’m face to face with a huge yellow-and-black striped buzzing winged monster insect, hovering menacing-like, staring at me with red-eyed fury and a sting on its arse like a Cossack’s sabre.
Well, I seen some pretty big mosquitoes when we was liberating the Philippines, but this beauty knocks ’em all into a cocked hat.
‘ What’s all that noise, Jenkins? ’
‘It’s a giant psychopathic wasp, sir!’
‘ Don’t let it out! Shut the door! Shut the door! ’
‘I’m trying, sir!’ Believe me, I was, and all. ‘Only the wasp don’t want me to.’
I was putting my shoulder into it, but the bloomin’ wasp was the size of Rocky Marciano. I pulled the stair rod out of my splint and started beating the blighter with it. He goes to sting me, and I manage to slam the door shut. The sting comes straight through the wood and misses my head by a whisker. I hammers the barb crooked, so the varmint can’t pull free, and locks the door again.
‘ What’s going on now? ’
‘Just putting my splint back on, sir.’
‘ Why on earth did you open the giant psychopathic wasp cupboard? ’
‘Because it said “Do Not Open This Cupboard Under Any Circumstances!” sir.’
‘ What idiot would open a cupboard that said that? ’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but you told me to.’
‘ No, no! I said: open the cupboard marked: “Under No Circumstances Open This Cupboard!” ’
‘Ah! That would be the other cupboard, sir. Just dragging myself over . . . Still dragging, sir . . . Still dragging . . .’
‘ For goodness sake, can’t you drag yourself any faster? ’
‘Nearly there, sir. Nearly there.’ I decide it’s best to make some conversation. ‘This other “you” I’m looking for, sir: have you in any way . . . “altered” him at all?’
‘ Only slightly. ’
Oh dear.
‘ I’ve given him ethics. ’
‘But don’t you always says that thing about ethics, sir. How’s it go? “The pursuit of Scienticifal Truth, and that, is the only Ethical Poppy—”’
‘ The pursuit of Scientific Truth is the only Ethical Boundary one ever needs; the rest is just poppycock. ’
‘That’s it! So what did you want to give him ethics for, if I may be so bold?
‘ To weaken him. He has to be weaker than me, in case he should try to usurp me in some way. But he should be more than capable of helping you for the present. ’
‘Very foresighted, sir. Ah! Here I am. “Under No Circumstances Open This Cupboard!” Do you really think I should open this cupboard, sir?’
‘ Yes! Yes! We’re wasting time! ’
‘Fingers crossed then . . .’ I says, hauls meself as upright as I can, and opens it.
And there he is! The Professor himself! Or rather his ringer. Covered all over in a big cellophane sheet, like dry cleaning.
I tears off the wrapper and looks at him for signs of life. Nothing. He’s like a waxwork. Then, just as I’m peering close at his face, his eyes pop open! Just like he’s just been having forty winks.
‘Jenkins!’ he says.
‘Thank heavens, sir,’ I says into the walkie. ‘The duplicate Professor is all right.’
‘ Duplicate? ’ snaps the Prof in front of me. ‘I’m the real Quanderhorn, you idiot! It’s that charlatan who’s the imposter!’
Chapter Four
From the journal of Brian Nylon, 6th January, 1952 – [cont’d]
After descending the stone stairway for a good few minutes, we found ourselves in a short corridor with a tiny portal at the end. Troy’s buttocks disappeared into it, and we had to scramble after him to avoid being left in the dark.
It led to a large, round chamber. We narrowly avoided falling into a dark pit in the centre, and found ourselves balancing precariously on a four-inch ledge.
The Quanderhorn Xperimentations Page 27