H2G2 Storytime III: From Prussia with Love. Part LIV
Created | Updated Feb 11, 2007
Sebastain Grobsvaugh opened his locker, and holding a hanger aloft , neatened the lapels on his tunic; finally satisfied, he reached into the locker with the hanger balanced on two fingers and placed it on the bar that ran across the pole inside.
A sound behind him made him turn and stood in the doorway was the super-intendent tapping his foot, leant in through the open doorway.
"Come along Grobsvaughn." he remarked sternly.
"I'm coming." Grobsvaughn mumbled and grabbing his pilchard pendent off the table he inserted his ehad through the chain loop and jogged voer to the door being held open for him.
He emerged into a short, pale corridor and struck up a steady apce alongside his superior officer.
"Now listen," the old man said, "just relax out there."
"Yeah." Grobsvaughn said, hanging his head.
"Look...the boys devised a solution."
"Oh?"
The wirey engineer handed Sebastian a strip of thick cottony cloth.
"er..?" Grobsvaughn said holding it in a balled fist.
"It's for your eyes." the old man said sympatheically, you tie it around." and he mimed the action.
"Oh! Oh right. I get it."
"To stop you getting dizzy again. We need you in tip top shape...up there."
"Thanks. Sebastian smiled and held the cloth up "thanks for this."
"Aww shucks - it's nuthin' never had one of mine been selected for a mission as grand as this."
"It sure is something alright."
"Right we're here - let's get this on you" and the old man wrapped the strip around Sebastian's head, covering his eyes and knotted it firmly at the back, between his ears. "Now give us your hand."
The old man opened a door and led Sebastian inside.
The sign on the door, as it clattered shut, said. "Gyroscopes."
In the gloom of the tunnel, beneath the icey wastes above, Shawn Daltmooreby paced fitfully.
"So much has been lost." his voice echoed down the tunnel where it mixed with itself and became an indescipherable rumble.
"My wi - he brought a hand to his mouth as a spasm of grief swept through him. "my wife, my son. All I have left is myself. And You." He held up the diamond he had hidden in the satchel since he walked out of the desert.
"Why must we linger while others leave, why do we persist when others falter and die?" The diamond was barely visible and in the absence of light it appeared transparent and empty.
Daltmooreby came to realise this too. "Of course" he said. "There are no answers here either."
"nrrrgh!" groaned Von Trapp.
"Are we awake again?" Daltmooreby asked fiecerly standing over his stricken comrade, placing the diamond back into the satchel worn around his shoulder.
"Were are we?" coughed Von Trapp, his eyes barely fcoussed on Daltmooreby.
"We are betrayed but alive." said Daltmooreby sourly.
"my legs!" Von Trapp moaned.
"Broken."
Von Trapp was silent.
"Help is on its way." Daltmooreby lied.
"Home. No matter what" Von Trapp groaned and lost consciousness again, his head making a thudding noise on the tunnel floor as it dropped back.
"No matter what?" said Daltmooreby a sick grin spreading over his face. "Kill the cripple and make my own way back?" his voice rising.
"and why would you want to do that?" said a voice directly behind him.
Daltmooreby spun round. There were four monks in overalls stod behind him, two were carrying lanterns and one had a candle attached to his helmet.
Daltmooreby silently cursed himself for not noticing.
"Your from Alpha Complex?" Daltmooreby said, recovering from the shock of their arrival.
"Precisely so", said the man with the candle on his hat, "I am Intendant-Pastor Scorpio and these men" he indicated the three men grouped behind him "are apothecaries. We've come to treat your wounded." The monks had already gathered around Von Trapp and were hoisting him onto a stretcher.
"Listen to me." said "Daltmooreby a man called Vandeveer, he's very dangerous - he,"
Scorpio cut him off with a small chuckle.
"ha-hmph, Mr Vandeveer has already been dealt with."
"He. He has?"
"Indeed... unpleasent but necessary. Reto Vandeveer had outlived any useful purpose and was becoming an...irritant."
"Follow me." Scorio instructed
Daltmooreby turned back towards Von Trapp.
"Our physicians are quite skilled Mr Daltmooreby. He will be well tended to." Scorpio chided. We must return you to Alpha complex where it is safe."
"I'm sure Vandeveer felt the same way before you Rrkkk" Daltmooreby drew his finger across his neck.
"Do not concern yourself unduely Mr Daltmooreby, your clan has long stood by our community, your family name is amongst the most exhalted families within our Cult. You have an audience with The Grand Master upon your return. I am to take you to see her at once.
As they dissappeared from view, Daltmooreby was heard to exclaim surprisedly "her?" and Scorio to reply "hmmm...quite so."
A solemn prossession moved silently through rocky corridors, lit my lanterns carried on hooks were a troop of men, monks in low-slung hoods and bore aloft on a litter, the body of Reto Vandeveer. He was carried from The Inner Sanctum and through a network of tunnels and following the silent wake were Andrei Sreka and Annabel Smittington: recently installed Grand Master of The Cult of the Dying Pilchard.
"Your will is impressive cossack." Annabel feted him with admiration. "You strive to dominate like the gods of old. Few would have had the courage to do what you did."
"I do not suffer fools. Vandeveer was foolish. He tried to cross you."
"and you know better?"
"I do."
"and you swear your fealty to me?"
"Gladly."
A red glow began to iluminate Annabel as she passed from rocky outcrop to open chamber
"I think you shall thrive here, cossack."
A dimuinutive cultist head bowed low, approached The Grand Master.
"We are here Grand Master."
"Begin."
The Acolyte threw up his hands and giving a cry instructed the litter bearing Vandeveer be passed forward.
Sreka stood solemly against the rough rock arms clasped, head bowed
Annabel swooped forward, her robes fluttering on the super-heated updraft from below and walked out in front of the gathered monks and cultists. Her voice soared and echod in the vast chamber, just ebating the roar of the mountian itself.
"The passing of Reto Vandeveer shall mark the dawn of a new age in the Cult of The Dying Pilchard. Such a shame he did not live to see it. Let his earthly remians be consumed by the mountain - Throw him in!"
As if seen from above, Annabel was stood on the lip of a sheer rocky cliff face that stood high above a river of molten rock sliding past at incredible speed far beneath her. The lava tube from the active volcano was the beating heart of Alpha Complex - it was it's warmth that made the desolate wastes in Antartica habitable so far underground. For those who study the complex role mythologies play in anthropology, it will come as no surprise that the lava had come to be symbolically associated with life - and so also with death. There were no cemeteries in Alpha Base.
A lever was depressed, and a contraption tilted forward pushing the muslin wrapped corpse of Reto Vandeveer over the edge where he slid elegantly into open air and moments later dissappered into the streaming river below with a little whisp of flame.
As the cultists departed, Annabel paused alongside Sreka.
"Go up to the top level and keep a careful watch. Today will mark to start of the ascension of the Cult. Many of our teams are returning from operations out on the ice - we need to keep secure. I want an exact head-count."
"There were agents." Sreka said dolefully. "with us in the tunnel."
"What?" Annabel hissed.
"The were in the train crash with Daltmooreby."
Annabell paused to consider this.
"Alive or dead, in a few hours it won't matter, either way. The Cult of The Dying Pilchard has The Turqoise Moon now and nothing can stop us.
Meanwhile, far above from the the cremation of Reto Vandeveer, in a large industrial themed docking area a man pressed his face urgently into a small portal window and peered outside. His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus into the distance.
The man's breath condensed instantly aginst the glass creating a small fog that crept up and down the window exabcerbating matters, which he scrbbed away vigourously.
A fierce blizzard had arrived a short time ago and thick flakes of snow patted softly aginst the glass, making it next to impossible to see out into the gloom. Seemingly irregard of all this, he kept up his vigil.
Outside a glow appeared, yellow and flickering in the storm.
"I see something." he cried excitedly. "It's a light! Open the gate."
Above him on a high vantage point, a team of operators began to wind a huge winch which by means of a series of intricate cogs and pullies dragged open a hanger door the size of a largish bungalow, that retreated sideways into the mountainside.
As soon as the gate began to open the blizzard entered and the wind and snow blew in, causing men to hold the arms to their faces to shield the eyes, to shout instructions above the noise and some to hold on to heavy machinery to steady themselves.
Three horses entered at an unsteady canter. There were four riders, two on the last horse. The furry hoods of Alpha Complex branded artic gear were pulled down low over their faces
"Seal it shut!" a foreman screamed.
The door ground acrossways, as quickly as could be achieved, with each inch the strength of the blizzard decreased, until finally it was shut out once more with a decisive-sounding bang.
Figures emerged from around and behind machines to see the team who had emerged from the storm. It was not unheard of, but Antarctic winter blizzards are ferocious and unforgiving. It is rare indeed for cultist to return if they are unlucky enough to be caught out in one. As such, a moment of minor celebrity had settled on the four returnees, still sat almost motionless of horseback.
A pious looking fellow approached and took the reins of the first animal and stroking it's cheeks, looked up to the figure in the fuzzy cowl, hidden behind snow goggles.
"You are lucky to have made it back. Welcome home brother!" he said ernestly.
A clang on a metal gantry above, made the figure look up, as Andrei Sreka emerged from an elevator and surveyed the scene.
"Are you okay brother? - you have not yet spoken a word." the figure by the horse said, a note of genuine concern rising in his voice. "Is something wrong?"
The figure turned from Sreka to the man at his side. "The Dying Pilchard Bleeds under a Turqoise Moon." Arthur said, Praying to as many dieties simultaneously as he could remember that that would be enough to see them through this awkward bloody predicament.
