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The Water Life System by Geminiah (c)2000
Chapter One - The Steam Condenser -
Marshal Carabid lifted his head upwards as the cold wet spray blowing off the tops of the gray Atlantic waves stung his face. The motion of the sea platform nearly lifted him off his feet, forcing him to grip the handrail tighter as he squinted his eyes against the bitter sting of salt spray. Towering above his head, the large silver uplift tube disappeared into the swirling black clouds that gathered overhead like hungry crows.
This was going to be some storm he thought turning his head sharply as a thin voice almost lost in the growing gloom caught his attention. "Marshal, we really have to move, Fletcher wants the flow regulators locked down now. I can’t get the damn solar generators housed yet till you do it, so for God’s sake, move man".
Bennett turned and hurried back inside, closing the solid iron doors of the main blockhouse to the restless sea laced air. Marshal grinned to himself, as he positioned his body ready to exert enough pressure on the rusting steel taps, to close the flow of sea water into the reactors.
Bennett always did have a flair for the dramatic he chuckled to himself. Bennett wasn’t a bad man to have around in a fix and Marshal had a gut feeling this might well be one hell of a fix.
Inside the main blockhouse of Steam Condenser 200/97/68 there was frantic activity on the bridge as various weather reports continued to stream down from a vast array of satellites in orbit high above the Earth. The large, foreboding dark spiral that formed the composite satellite picture of the anti-cyclone dominated a huge flatscreen, that sat on the main console that ran down one side of the bridge. The entire running of the Steam Condenser could be controlled from here.
Monitoring the internal pressure of the reactors and the water levels inside the condensers, various crewwork sat like magpies perched along a telephone wire. Their headsets and input modems connected to the console like so many umbilical cords.
Maxwell Fletcher nearly toppled head-first into the flatscreen as a huge swell lifted the sea platform into the air before slamming it back into the restless ocean. Fletcher was a sun-baked flinty old ex-AMCOMS pilot who liked to run things with military precision.
As Chief of Operations he had a reputation for being a hard man, but his crew knew he was also a fair man. The main complaint the crewwork had, was that Maxwell Fletcher thought of himself as a ‘funnyman’.
It is hard to tell your boss his jokes are old, his delivery zero and his sense of timing delusional. But ask any of the crewwork about his character and they would all say he was a good man, in fact if praise was gold, Fletcher could retire an extremely wealthy man. He threw down the folder he had been reading in disgust and shouted to the nearest crewwork he saw.
"Get me revised climatic readings, I need more detail on that front and try and find me some predications that don’t sound like the imaginary ranting of a drunken asshole taking a wild guess while pissing into the wind, is that clear?"
"Yes sir" barked the spotty red faced station- hand. He turned and was briskly heading towards the door that led to the climate forecast station before he realized he didn’t actually know what the C.O. had meant.
He was about to ask the Chief exactly what it was he wanted, when a large subsonic thunder clap shook the room and resounded off the icy walls of water building up outside around them. It felt as though the entire crew of Steam Condenser 200/97/6 could taste the growing pressure, as real as the lunch most of the crewwork had already thrown up as the heaving sea sent people and objects lurching in a dangerous drunken dance.
Outside, Marshal closed off the last tap and started to head for the safety of the main blockhouse, he never saw the dark wall of steel gray water that lifted him off his feet and threw him head long into the cold dark raging ocean that sucked him under.
Marshal struggled to the surface, his heart racing as every muscle in his body fought the panic raising within. The strength of the sea and its mind numbing coldness would drain the life blood in a matter of minutes. Marshal knew this as he struggled to hold his breath.
Around and around the driving surge of dark water pulled him, turning and twisting his body. The ocean was like an angry child throwing a temper tantrum, and he was her rag-doll, bearing the frustrations of a powerful and determined toddler.
Cold fingers, cold face, cold hands groping, reaching, flailing as the surging waves crushed and teased. Three times he felt the slime-covered access ladder slip from his grasp. He broke the surface of the boiling ocean and gasped for precious oxygen before being battered back under again.
Slipping from his reach, the ladder, the main- blockhouse, his life. Marshal started to lose consciousness. He struggled one more time to reach the bright light of the surface as another huge wave crashed down upon him with the fury of one thousand jilted lovers battering him into submission.
Out of the dark depths of his sub-conscious mind a beautiful face appeared, with long flowing hair and a gentle smile. The image of this angelic beauty shone softly with a phosphorus green glow. Fluorescent, translucent and haunting. She faded in and out of his vision as his lungs gave out their last breath and he felt his life slipping away, as painless and subtle as it was cold and lonely.
Inside the bridge a small red light started to flash above Marshal’s crewwork number as the life sensors incased into his uniform began to register his rapid drop into hypothermia. Bennett noticed the warning light, the red flashing color, thrown across his face as the main lights dimmed, flickered and went out for a split second before the emergency overheads kicked into life.
Bennett shouted above the noise of the battering waves, "Montase, grab a survival pack, Rickleman tell Flemming to get the resuscitator heated up. Bennett watched briefly as both men responded quickly to his instructions. Pointing to the solid figure that stood in front of him, Bennett continued. "Marshal’s in trouble Lippy so that means I need you out on sea side with me now".
Bennett didn’t look back as he hurried to the main door with Montase and Lippy following closely behind.
Lippy Davis was a huge man, he had served during the War for Independence of the New Claimed- States and had served with distinction. It was during the Battle for Bardock Rise that Lippy received his nickname. A piece of shrapnel no bigger than a dime tore the top lip right off his face.
Doctors weren’t able to do much in the field and from that day on his buddies called him Lippy. Most of the crewwork on Steam Condenser 200/97/68 had a military background. Ex- pilots like Fletcher and ground force troops like Lippy, Montase and Bennett had become part of a new community.
They were on the front line in humanities battle to extend into the reaches of outer space. It was a battle they were winning, for now.
It was a battle Marshal was in no mood to keep fighting as his unconscious body was dragged out of the grip of sea and cold. Montase bent over the prostrate form, administered Valrodium- Sulphate and watched as the warmth returned to Marshal’s face.
" Next time you plan on leaving us, at lest say goodbye you asshole". Marshal managed a crooked grin and muttered into the battering wind. "As if it wasn’t bad enough drowning once today I got to wake up to your ugly mug".
"He’s back alright, lets get inside". The three men bent and lifted Marshal easily between them. "Ok you guys but this doesn’t mean were going steady". "Yeah, yeah, save your strength wise guy" cracked Montase, "or I might just throw you back in".
The C.O. greeted them by the main door. "Good work crew but I’m sorry to say I need all hands on reactor shutdown so no time for medals. Bennett take Marshal over to sick bay and you two come with me".
"Sir, I’ll be fine, I’m still active for duty". Marshal looked at the four dismayed faces staring back at him. "Shall I throw him back sir?" asked Montase. "Yes damn it" roared Fletcher and they all laughed heartily. The release of tension added an edge of insanity to their laughter, a kind of desperate manic quality people can only find in adversity.
A loud siren cut them off, sending the entire crewwork to their various tasks with renewed urgency. "Turn that fucking siren off now" screamed Fletcher. A nervous crewwork moved forward with his report file clutched firmly in his grasp, he looked like he wanted to cry.
"Sir, water has breached the number three-condenser, we have been unable to activate the dator pump and one of the main doors to the solar generator housing has jammed, sir". "Ok boys, looks like were in for some fun and games. I’ll need a four-man active repair unit on board and kitted and Montase see if you can’t get the dator-pump working on number three".
Fletcher turned away, filled with nervous anticipation. Guts tightening and sweat forming on his wrinkled brow, he stood in front of the large flatscreen gripping the console tightly as he tried to concentrate.
Outside, storm and sea plotted their destruction with ancient patience and timeless power.
Chapter Two - Montase -
The dark interior stairwell was dimly lit by the emergency backup system as Montase descended towards the number-three pump control station. The low lighting cast slippery shadows on the wet, green algae covered concrete walls.
Montase felt as if the incredible pressure of the entire Atlantic ocean was straining to crash through the thick walls to crush him as he continued to descend towards condenser-three.
Stopping momentarily to catch his breath, Montase closed his eyes and fought to control his trembling hands. Above him, in the bridge, the rest of the crewwork set about shutting down the four main reactors and sealing the solar generators in their concrete shelters.
Montase could hear the huge engines slowing and winding down until they became as silent as the stairwell he was in. “Almost there” he told himself. He could make out the large steel door through the heavy gloom, the faded white lettering stated that this was indeed Condenser 3 - Level 8.
Sometimes when conditions were rough, too much water rushed into the reactor- chambers and caused the large condenser tanks to overflow. Automated pumps usually quickly relieved the pressure on the system by pumping the overflow back into the sea through a system of one-way valves.
Montase wasn’t sure what had caused the general failure of the dator pump, but he knew it was crucial to the survival of the Steam Condenser that he got it up and running again as soon as possible.
Passing his
If water had entered the control- room then he didn’t have much time left at all. “Fletcher, Fletcher do you read me?” the voice that crackled back over Montase’s head-set was as welcome as it was rough.
“What’s happening Montase?” “I need an element scan on condenser-three, we may have lost it completely”. “Ok, but I hope your wrong, that would set us back weeks on our expected delivery”.
Montase couldn’t help thinking that if he was right it may take a lot more than a few weeks to remedy. “Running the scan now, yeah, looks like we have a breech alright, showing water to a level of 83cm and rising.
" How tall are you?” Montase shook his head slowly in the dank twilight of the stairwell. It was easy for Maxwell Fletcher to joke, warm and dry and a hell of a lot closer to the escape-pods than he was.
“Ok captain, I’ll get that room drier than your sharp wit, keep your eye on my bio-indicator though wont you”. “Of course, ‘Malcom’ wasn’t it?” Montase felt the smile spread across his face, even though he wasn’t sure it was a laughing matter.
“Your just cracking me up down here, ok, I’m going in”. The rush of cold water took his breath away as the large heavy door to the pump-control station slid open allowing the buildup of water to rush violently past his legs and swiftly rise to the tops of his thighs as Montase struggled forward into the large darkened room.
Montase looked quickly around the semi-flooded control room, a chair and table floated past, upturned by the flowing water and various pieces of floating debris tried their best to slow his progress towards the main control-panel.
A large window separated the panel and the dator pump that was attached to the large steel body of condenser-three by a series of pipes. He could see the water steadily flowing around the condenser.
The pipes were all leaking violently and the whole place looked ready to burst like an over-ripe peach. Montase quickly tried the manual over-ride switch, hoping to fire the pump into life. Instead of the comforting sound of humming engines, the sounds of creaking pipes and flowing water filled the room.
From where he stood Montase could see the connecting uplift valves were in the open position. Sometimes if these valves were not closed properly the pump would fail to recognize that the input of water was not being sucked into the reactors.
Opening the connecting door to the pump dock Montase unhooked the multi-socket wrench attached to his utility belt and made his way as quickly as the tide of icy water would allow, towards the side of the condenser.
At first the handle on the uplift valve seemed determined not to co-operate, Montase bent his whole body into the effort.
It happened so fast Montase didn’t notice how badly cut his hand was until the stinging salt water made him winch in pain. Slipping off the wrench his knuckles caught the sharp edge of the uplift valve just as the handle decided to comply and the valve closed with a solid clang.
Montase looked down at his bleeding knuckles as he turned and hurried back into the control room. Sucking the bleeding wound as he stood at the panel, Montase hit the over-ride switch again and smiled as the pump sputtered into life.
“Fletch, we have regained dator pump three". “That’s one hell of a job Montase now I suggest you get up here as soon as you can and get that cut seen to, your bio-indicator nearly jumped off the scale when it happened. We thought we might have to send down a recovery crew, but your read-outs normalized almost immediately”.
“That’s odd, it’s just a scratch, maybe my life sensors need an upgrade”? Montase stood and watched as the pump started to drain the unwelcome seawater. “I’ll just see if the pump holds, then I’ll be straight up”.
Montase didn’t notice a tiny phosphorus glow start to grow brighter around the uplift valve. Luminous sponge-like tendrils growing all around the tightly sealed uplift valve seemed to reach out towards the spots of blood left by Montase’s wound as a small cloud of green spores floated above the valve.
Drifting lazily upon the drafts of cold air blowing into the pump dock from the stair- well. Glowing pale fluorescent green, they danced in the dim light of the pump dock. Around the torn flesh of Montase’s knuckle the same green glow slowly began to intensify and pulse before suddenly stopping as quickly as it had started.
Montase stood in the dank twilight and closed his eyes. He imagined the whole world bathed in golden light, like a beautiful hot summer’s day.
A completeness of spirit almost overwhelmed him as the cold water swirling around his numbing legs began to recede. He felt as if the entire life force of every living creature on Earth pulsated within him, with every thump of his heart.
The pain of his bruised and torn knuckles cut through the euphoric feeling of completeness that surged through his body. Montase stood for a few moments longer savoring the warmth of his day-dream before he turned and made his way slowly up the stair-way into the noisy bustle and bright light of the bridge.
The high pressure jets of hot water worked their way slowly up and down Montase’s naked body, easing the tension out of the muscles along his back and neck as he closed his eyes and tried to empty the thoughts from his mind.
He felt as if the dull throbbing of his ripped knuckles had found a sympathetic friend inside his skull, the pounding behind his eyes beating in unison with the steady throb of pain from his damaged hand. Eyes tightly shut against the steaming water.
Montase reached for the large red button situated half way up the stainless steel wall of the shower unit. The jets of hot water stopped instantly as Montase pushed the button and quickly became blasting streams of hot dry air that evaporated the water that remained and sent small rivulets running down the curves of his face and body before spiraling down the drain between his feet.
Montase dressed slowly, standing in front of the full length mirror he straightened his uniform before turning to face the door. He paused momentarily, turning his face towards the mirror again.
Montase felt strangely disconnected from the image staring back. He stared harder and his reflection stared back with equal intensity. Closing his eyes he tried to capture the feelings of oneness he had experienced in the pump dock, but when he opened his eyes again the feeling that he was looking at someone or something else remained.
Outside, the storm continued to intensify, high winds whipped the sea into a formidable and unforgiving enemy.
Battering the sea platform and crashing into the central reactor tower with brutal force, huge waves sought the complete destruction of everything in their path.
The entire complex had been tightly sealed against the continuing onslaught of the storm, the solar generators had been locked into their concrete storm shelters, and the reactors had been successfully shut down.
The energy of sea and winds, although terrifying to behold, had no real chance to fulfill their destructive potential. It was now just a matter of sitting tight and waiting for the calm that would inevitably follow, after nature had vented her wrath and once again found peace.
As soon as it was clear that the dator pump was performing its intended duty, Fletcher had ordered Montase to stand down and report to sick bay to dress his wound.
The jet shower had helped relieve the headache but his hand was stating to swell badly and continued to throb as he made his way down the corridor towards the hospital wing.
Doctor Flemming Olsen was a striking looking man, he stood well over 6ft tall, his dark eyes shone with a depth of understanding and intelligence.
His rugged good looks seemed much better suited to the café society of Central York, sipping cappuccinos with all the other beautiful people, instead of tending to the aliments of human flotsam that constituted the crewwork of 200/97/68.
“Come in, sit down”. Flemming looked up from his desk as Montase looked around for a chair. “Lets see what damage you have managed to do shall we?” Unable to see a chair anywhere, Montase remained standing and held out his hand, the ragged edges of the cut dark red with congealed blood.
“We better take a closer look at this”. He motioned for Montase to place his hand under the tissue scanner that stood on one corner of his desk. The blue light that the instrument emitted made the torn skin and open flesh look purple.
Flemming leaned his head closer to examine Montase’s out stretched hand. “It looks clean, that’s good, I don’t think you need stitches so I’ll just put a dressing on it, I’ll just give you a body basic first”.
After using a hand-held scanner to check all his vital signs and examining his eyes, ears and throat Flemming seemed satisfied that everything was normal. He opened a small drawer and removed a new bandage and a tube of antiseptic cream.
“I’ll give you some Banderill to apply twice a day and some Ridlon for any pain and to help reduce the swelling. It should be fine in a couple of days once the Banderill starts to work”.
The doctor turned to speak into a small microphone next to the scanner. A blur of motion caused Montase to turn his head sharply, a small service robot rolled past Flemming’s desk and came to an abrupt halt in front of Montase. The medicine Flemming had just prescribed was dispensed into two small containers and offered to Montase by the little robot.
Placing the containers into his jacket pocket Montase turned to face Flemming. “Doctor, how is Marshal doing? Is he still in the Resuscitator?”
“Marshal? Oh yes, sure he’s fine. I think he’ll be back to full duty fitness by tomorrow’s watch, but we’re going to keep him here for tonight”.
Flemming’s tone became serious as he smeared the white cream from the tube onto the wound and began to wrap Montase’s hand.
“You make sure if anything changes with your condition to report back here immediately. You make sure of that now, ok?” “Yeah sure thing doctor, but it’s just a scratch really”.
Montase turned and was about to leave when Flemming quickly caught his arm. “Look I’m not sure what happened in that pump dock, whether there was a problem with your bio-sensors or something else, but I’ve never seen a read-out like this before”.
Flemming held up the printed sheet of paper he had been studying before Montase had arrived as if to emphasize his point. “It looks like a massive electric shock or something, by the indicators here you should be dead right now. So if anything, and I really do mean anything happens, let me know, ok Montase?”
“Sure, I will doctor, but it was probably just a glitch in my life sensors”. Flemming watched as Montase turned and headed for the door, he stopped momentarily and looked back, then disappeared around the corner with a grin of flashing white teeth and a casual wave.
Flemming continued to stare at the empty doorway, as if the answer to the mild unease that nagged at his sub-conscious might suddenly appear before him and say “this is the answer, you can let it go now, there is nothing wrong”. But no answer appeared and Flemming slowly turned away from the doorway and sat back down, a worried look briefly cast across his brow like the shadow of cloud on a sunny day.
Just then a particularly large swell hit the sea platform, threatening to send the various things scattered across his desk crashing to the floor, Flemming quickly grabbed the tissue scanner with one hand and slammed his other hand down hard on top of a stack of bio- reports.
As the initial force of the wave began to dissipate, Flemming stood slowly and steadying himself against the motion of the sea platform began collecting some of the folders that had fallen to the ground.
Picking up Montase’s file, he sat down again. The feeling of unease, briefly forgotten in the scramble to save his equipment from smashing onto the hard tiled floor of his office returned with a renewed sense of urgency.
Flemming opened the cover and made a brief note next to the name at the top of the print-out as another huge wave lifted the platform into the air and slammed it back into the sea with enough force to turn the little service robot, the pile of files, the instruments on the desk and doctor Flemming Olsen into a tangled mass of equipment, paper, metal and limbs.
Chapter Three - The Sickness -
The purple cloth spread before him, on one side of the table three black candles burned brightly. Shadows cast by the naked flames danced across the blood red walls that seemed to press inwards as if seeking comfort from their heat.
A large goat’s head, eyes bulging from their sockets floated above the table. Blood from it’s severed neck flowed freely, running in crimson streams onto the floor. A large circle of bright light appeared behind the grisly apparition that seemed to be bleeding more and more profusely, the blood collecting in deep pools of gore around his bare feet.
Bursting open with such violent force that bits of brain matter and skull fragments were sent flying across the room in all directions, the goat’s head exploded into large pieces. A soft pale hand, so delicate and perfectly formed appeared, emerging from the center of the glowing circle of radiating light.
He stood, watching, transfixed as the thin white arm stretched into the room. Reaching into the skull cavity long slender fingers closed around a large purple amethyst crystal that lay exposed amongst the bloody pulp of brain and bone.
"Three equals one, one equals zero, zero equals completeness". A woman’s voice so soft and clear repeated the mantra again, "three equals one, one equals zero, zero equals completeness".
Montase looked down at his naked body, the candle light made his skin glow, soft golden brown. The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere.
From within the walls, the bloody pulp on the table, from inside his head and at the same time, he could hear her chanting far away, lost in a distance he could not see, a place he could only feel.
Suddenly he was outside, all around him people wept, the wailing of men and child, woman and beast was almost deafening. A woman, her face and head covered by a white veil fell sobbing at his feet.
Montase bent down to help her up, to comfort her, to try and do something, anything, but she was inconsolable.
A man stepped forward, blood running freely down his cheeks like tears and Montase could see two dark sockets where his eyes should of been. "Heal me for this must be done, oh sir, I beseech thee, heal me".
Montase touched the man’s face and immediately the bleeding ceased and where once there had been nothing but empty sockets two clear blue eyes appeared.
Above his head a large black crow began to circle, growing in confidence the bird dived aggressively, launching itself with fury it repeatedly attacked the man who did not resist. Plucking first one eye then the other from its socket the crow did not stop until it had rendered the man blind once again.
The man turned towards Montase, "You had helped me then away from me you take your grace, are you nothing but a thief?" All around him people started to press forward. "A thief in our midst, strike him from this place" Hands reached out to beat him, pulling his hair, scratching his face as he tried to flee.
Stumbling on the loose ground Montase lost his balance and fell forward landing hard on one knee, as a large stone hurled with murderous intent just missed his head.
Another stone struck him with bone crushing force between his shoulder blades causing him to fall onto his stomach, his face and hands cut and grazed as more missiles were hurled at his prone body.
"No, please no" but his cries for mercy were lost in the angry roar of the mob.
"He came as a thief, he came as a thief, he came as a thief".
Montase opened his eyes, the twilight blue of dawn mixed with the harsh light that sliced into the sleeping quarters from underneath his door. He could hear the muffled voices of the night watch heading to the dinning mess for a hot breakfast.
The dream clung to him like a cold misty fog, he lay still almost too scared to move in case it wasn’t a dream after all and there really was an angry mob crying for his blood.
He shivered under his blanket and closed his eyes again. He tried to remember the last time he had ever had such a vivid nightmare but he just couldn’t think. The images still haunted him, refusing to let him go just yet.
Marshal sat at the large table chewing his breakfast slowly, other members of his watch were enjoying their break by consuming vast quantities of coffee as they chatting amongst themselves.
A pretty radio operator named Lantana Soul sat opposite Marshal smiling shyly. "Have you got any plans for your shore leave?"
Marshal cringed at the sound of his own raspy voice. "Nothing solid yet, what about you?" "I really don’t mind where I end up, just as long as there is no ocean, no reactors and defiantly no Fletcher".
They both laughed as Montase entered the dinning hall "Montase what about you? Where are you going to spend your leave?" Montase looked at the two figures seated at the table, without any change of expression he turned and walked briskly out of the room.
"Well talk about getting up on the wrong side of your hammock, I better go see if he’s ok". Marshal pushed his plate to one side and followed his friend into the corridor. "Hey old man, where are you going so fast?"
Montase turned to face Marshal, he managed to lift the corner of his mouth into a half smile causing the dimple in his cheek to deepen slightly. "Oh, I’m a bit lost actually I was looking for the bridge". "Well you won’t find it over here, how are you feeling? You don’t look too good buddy".
"I’m feeling great, the best I’ve been in years, your back is still sore". Without saying another word Montase spun Marshal around with ease and placed his hand on the small of his back. A warmth started to radiate around the sprained muscles that ran down either side of Marshal’s spine.
"How did you know?" Marshal turned to face his friend but was confronted by an empty corridor. Marshal was still standing in the middle of the corridor when Fletcher and Bennett burst around the corner animated in heated discussion.
"Look I tell you it was the season of ‘34, the Raiders won it by 31 to 23". "I have no idea what game you were watching my senile old friend, but Larry Sutton scored twice in the third quarter to take it 35 to 23 to the Bridgetown Warriors".
Marshal nodded his head and raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of his two companions. "Hey Marshal, who won the Camden Cup in ‘34?" Marshal was about to mention his strange encounter with Montase but instead answered Bennett’s question.
"Warriors, 35 to 23". "Ha, I told you Fletch". Bennett gave Marshal a wink as both he and the C.O. continued down the corridor, still arguing they disappeared into the dinning hall.
Marshal started to walk towards his post in the main blockhouse before stopping suddenly, a look of amazement on his face as he realized that the dull pain he had been living with for almost two weeks had completely gone from his lower back.
The oval table was spread with an assortment of food. Fish and loaves of bread, wine in large earthen jars, olives and fruit. Seated around the table, twelve men, spoke to him in a language he had never heard before, their faces obscured by thin cotton scarves.
Slowly their words started to enter his sub-conscious and became feeling. This hint of understanding grew to awareness until their words became as clear as English.
"Stand with us now, we must fight". "Please do not turn from us this time, we love you, all of us love you". Montase closed his eyes yet the image remained imprinted on his eyelids like pictures on a page.
He slowly opened his eyes to see that half of the men now stood, their naked bodies glistening with shark oil, caught in the bright sunlight that crept across the room with long tenacious fingers, restlessly seeking out the dark.
One by one they lifted their white cotton scarves. Shafts of sunlight illuminated their faces. They wore their hair long and had thick dark beards. There eye sockets, black as pitch, reflected no light.
Looking towards the other side of the table Montase could see that the other six men remained seated. One of these men raised his hand as if in greeting, bursting forth from the center of his upraised palm, a swarm of bees poured into the room and gathered above their heads like an angry dark cloud of malice.
Another man lifted his hand and spewed forth a tide of crimson blood, thick and dark red it washed over the table and began to soak into the hard pressed earth of the floor. Slowly these six strangers also unwrapped the material that covered their faces.
Montase watched in amazement and horror as his own face was revealed six times. Staring at these faces, each identical to his own, Montase could taste the bile rising in his throat as one by one each man’s head melted and slowly transformed into the dark brown head of a goat. A pair of large horns sprouted from each side of their skulls, that were now covered in coarse stiff brown hair.
Long ears hung limply, directly under each massive horn. Yellow eyes radiated brightly from the six grotesque figures that now studied him.
An almost feline quality to their inquisitive expressions. Six goat’s heads sat joined onto six human bodies as all twelve beings raised their voices in harmony.
"Three equals one, one equals zero, zero equals completeness"
Montase awoke with a start, sweat clinging to his brow he tried to shake the dream from his head. He started to weep, as his sobbing grew louder he tried to smother the noise of his crying with his pillow, covering his face as the tears and sadness threatened to overwhelm him.
He remembered all the pain of his life, the day his father died, the time he fell out of a tree and broke his leg. It didn’t matter when it was or even the exact circumstances. He wept for lost friends and for anything that had hurt him. Montase lay in his bed and cried in a way he had never thought possible, the pain in his chest almost more than he could bear.
It seemed like an age before he could sit up and an eternity before he could stand. Montase looked hard into the dark orbs reflected back at him from his dresser mirror, his eyes seemed almost black, the pupils lost in the darkness of the iris.
He half expected them to be red and bloodshot from all the crying but they were the color of coal. He examined his face, first one side then turning his head slightly he checked the other. The stubble of three day growth sprouted roughly from his chin.
Rubbing his hand across his brow he breathed deeply, labored and heavy. His skin seemed a sallow gray and hung off his cheek bones like sails on a windless day. Montase clenched his teeth and peeled his lips back, a thin yellow film coated his teeth.
"Three equals one, one equals zero, zero equals completeness" his voice sounded hollow and empty in the confines of his room. Montase felt like he was losing his mind, then the thought passed from his consciousness as quickly as it had entered and he felt at peace with the entire Universe.
He opened the door to his sleeping quarters and stepped into the brightly lit corridor, crewwork and service robots filled the passageway. The walls resounded with the sound of their voices. All around him people started to point and whisper to each other, others stopped and turned to stare. Montase strode purposefully, his eyes fixed on a horizon only he could see, completely oblivious to the stunned crewwork all around him and the silence that had descended upon the corridor.
Montase headed into the main blockhouse walking tall and proud....
and as naked as the day he was born.
The sharp hot flash of pain, worried faces appeared above him as he lay strapped to the hospital bed. Harsh lights burning and boring into his skull. Flemming’s face floated briefly into focus as Montase felt the sedative injected into his shoulder start to take effect.
The distant sound of muffled voices ushered in the heavy dreamless sleep of the drugged.
Flemming sat by his unconscious form. Heavily sedated Montase was attached to a series of instrument designed to monitor his every-body sign. After walking into the blockhouse Montase had tried to launch an escape pod. It had taken five men to restrain him until Flemming could administer the Ziclorium.
The black outline of the Steam Condenser stood on the edge of the horizon. The shuttle craft headed smoothly towards the dark silhouette that rose above the gray waves, growing larger and more defined as the shuttle approached.
Lantana looked up from her console and reported the imminent arrival of the shuttle to the Watch Commander Te Rina Taylor. After docking, the shuttle crew reported to the bridge.
Te Rina led the team towards the sick bay. "I hope the flight over went well?" The Captain of the recovery crew answered with military precision. "Yes Ma’am, no problems at all. We encountered a little turbulence about 1000 km out, but it wasn’t too bad". They passed the dinning hall and continued along the corridor until they reached the main doors to the sick bay.
Doctor Olsen greeted them at his desk. "Hello there Rommy, long time no see". Flemming quickly stood and extended his hand in greeting. Smiling broadly Captain Rommy Brown shook the doctor’s hand warmly. "Well I see you guys have already met, so if there is nothing else? I’ll get back to my Watch".
Both men watched as Te Rina turned to go. "Thank you Commander Taylor". Rommy, still smiling watched as Flemming ushered the rest of the recovery crew into his office.
The Captain pulled up a chair and sat down as his crew stacked the equipment they had brought with them and then stood by. Leaning against the stark white walls or standing with arms folded they watched as the doctor handed their Captain a case file.
Flemming waited as Rommy scanned Montase’s case notes. "Well he seems to be exhibiting the right symptoms. You say in your report it may be connected to something that happened in condenser-three? Can we get an escort to the condenser?"
Turning to his team, Rommy issued orders while Flemming paged for security over the intercom. The armed security squad quickly arrived and were soon leading the recovery team down the stairwell towards condenser- three.
Flemming and Rommy remained alone in the office, "Do you think this could be real?" Rommy looked down at the floor before answering "I’ve been in this situation before my friend and every time it wasn’t, but lets just say that I believe one day it will be real".
Flemming nodded slowly then abruptly asked "want to meet him?" He was at the door leading into the ward before Rommy had even answered in the affirmative. Montase was sitting on the edge of his bed as the two men entered his room.
"Montase I’d like you to meet Rommy Brown from the Institute of Meta Physics, he and his team have come to take you back to the mainland for a rest and to see if they can help you".
Montase looked hard at Rommy then without tearing his gaze away he spoke "Thall Bairn, I greet you once again, my friend, my brave strong friend how can I ever thank you for the sacrifice you made when you gave your life to save me that day?"
Standing before Montase, huge and powerful the solid frame of Thall Bairn filled the space occupied by Rommy Brown.
His long golden hair hung in thick plaits, protruding from underneath his bronze helmet. A large wooden shield hung by straps on his broad back, the ancient rune sign of victory boldly painted across the center.
At his side he held a sharp iron sword. Flemming spoke softly to Montase, "What can you see? Please, tell us Montase". "This man, I owe him my life" Montase fell at Rommy’s feet, lowering his head to the floor Montase began to weep uncontrollably.
After his tears were spent and he had exhausted his grief, Montase slowly raised his head. The image of the Viking warrior was gone, in his place stood Rommy Brown, a look of concern across his face. The two men sat with Montase for the rest of the afternoon and talked about this and that. Nothing of importance, just the small talk of idle friends. Montase never spoke of Thall again that day.
Inside condenser-three the rest of Rommy’s crew set up various sensors and devices for monitoring any abnormal activities, atmospheric conditions and other pieces of data.
They collected samples from the uplift valve, examined the control panel and the wall surfaces. Searching with methodical precision the recovery crew scanned the entire pump dock and control room.
By the end of the day they hadn’t found anything, either unusual or alien. Seated in the dinning mess the crew relaxed over their meals and discussed their progress so far. "I think were just wasting more of my valuable time, he’s a section 12, no doubt about it. Just another burnt out crewwork. Pack him up, ship him out and lets go home".
Will Dember looked around the table, some of his colleges nodded their approval. Earl Dylan shook his head in animated disagreement, "I’d have to say Will, that as precious as your time my be I am still happy ‘wasting’ it here a while longer yet. I have a good feeling about this one".
The roar from his team mates turned every head in the hall towards their table, "Earl you ‘always’ have a good feeling about every job we do".
Earl ducked and tried to protect himself as four bread rolls thrown in unison bounced off his arms and head. The little dough missiles landed onto the table in front of him.
"No really it’s different this time I just know it". Earl sat upright and grabbed one of the rolls, taking a big bite he muttered, his mouth full of bread, "and besides the food is good here, even if you guys don’t want it".
Outside, the huge orange orb of sun slipped gently below the horizon. Casting darkness onto the water and a fresh chill into the air.
Dr Flemming Olsen entered the ward just as Lantana came bursting through the door leading to Montase’s room. "Lieutenant Soul, what are doing in here? This area is restricted access only".
A look of frozen horror twisted her pretty features into a mask of terror as she almost knocked Flemming over. Pushing past him she hit the main doors leading out through the doctors office.
Flemming opened the small utility pocket on his uniform and opened the box that contained a small cylindrical syringe of Ziclorium. His hands trembled slightly as he pushed the door slowly open with his foot.
Glancing quickly around the room he nearly missed the two bare feet that poked out from underneath Montase’s bed. "Are you there? Montase can you hear me?"
Flemming knelt down and peered underneath the bed, he could see Montase curled into a fetal position. "I need you to come out from under there, come on now it’s ok, nothing will hurt you". Montase slowly lifted his head to meet Flemming’s eyes,
"I am sorry Karl, I am so sorry. It was not your fault your father had to die on that day. It was his time, and we all have our time".
Montase reached out his hand. Flemming could feel the slight dampness of Montase’s palm and felt the trembling of his body as he held tightly onto the hand offered to him.
A flash of light startled Flemming, disorientating him. Montase gripped the doctors hand more firmly as Flemming felt the room slipping away.
Flemming opened his eyes, he was no longer surrounded by the familiar ward of the hospital wing. He stood beside a large open fire place that dominated one side of a comfortably cluttered living room.
A large picture of an austere looking man with a large moustache hung upon the wall. All around him the trappings of a very well to do family filled the shelves and cupboards that occupied the spacious room.
There were china ornaments and polished brass vases filled with freshly cut flowers. Finely crafted chairs with deep red velvet cushions stood on either side of a tall walnut grandfather clock, a mahogany gramophone occupied one corner of the living room.
Flemming could hear the sound of distant bombing, shells exploding with thunderous volume seemed to be falling closer and closer.
His father rushed into the room carrying a leather briefcase. Flemming did not know how he knew that this stranger was his father. But he felt it was true, deep within his heart he knew it was so. His father was busy taking papers from out of his briefcase and hurling them into the fire.
He wore a black uniform the silver piping on the sleeves caught in the fire light. The silver cross fixed at his throat reflected the dying shafts of sunlight that streamed through the broken window as he continued to feed the fire with renewed vigor.
Memories flooded into Flemming’s mind and with the memories came a swelling in his breast, almost choking him with crushing emotion as he remembered the overwhelming love and pride he had for this man. This man who now turned to face him dressed in the uniform of an SS General serving in the German High Command in the summer of 1945.
"Karl, I have told you, hurry, go now. You must join your mother in the shelter". The sound of the shelling outside intensified almost drowning out his father’s voice.
Flemming turned and ran for the front door. "No, not that way!" He heard his father cry out but it was too late he was already through the door and standing on the front path that ran between the gardens down to the narrow village lane.
He turned around as he heard his father shout his name again. The high pitched scream of a falling shell threatened to pierce his ear drums.
He saw his father disappear behind a huge burst of dark smoke, the force of the blast knocked him flying into the hedges that formed a natural boundary between the neighboring houses that stood like rows of broken teeth, blackened and abandoned.
Lying on the floor of Montase’s room Flemming cried hysterically with guilt and grief, calling out his father’s name.
The scene that greeted Rommy as he rushed into the room was disturbing enough. What made it ‘incredible’ was the fact that for the next three days Flemming could only speak in perfect German.
A language he had never studied, a language he had never ever spoken before, yet for three days it was the only language he knew, as fluently as if it were his Mother tongue.
STAY TUNED FOR COMING CHAPTERS .........