Doctor Metropolis is many fine things: his knowledge of both the arts and the sciences cannot be argued; despite his bluster, I have personally seen him show great kindness to those in need; and his devotion to his daughter cannot be argued. But let it be said quite frankly: the man simply cannot drive. His sense of direction is, at best, a frightful thing; couple that with his unerring ability to strike every rock or pothole in the road and it made for a distressingly eventful trip.

  Nevertheless, what the doctor had to share with us was most intriguing. I shall endeavor to remember his words as best I can, though dear reader, please keep in mind that much of this was overheard while I was trying to hang on to my wife, my hat and my very survival.

  “Smithson told me that he had found a way to locate the exact location of Antichthon using a specially made telescope. Apparently, a layer of thick clouds obscures it from our sight, on those rare occasions when it would normally come into view. Smithson was startled to discover a series of flashing lights that seemed to encircle that globe. Being less of an ignoramus than most men, he quickly realized that was a pattern to these displays. They were attempting to make contact with us via some sort of code! Which he was convinced he could decipher!”

  “Astonishing,” I managed to say, in between gasps of alarm. “What sort of message were they transmitting?”

  “They are in dire straits,” the doctor said with a shake of his head. “According to the messages that Smithson deciphered, the residents of this other world are captives somehow. They are unable to leave their planet and traverse the spheric ether that separates our worlds. They claim that long ago they were trapped in this place and that some of their children were left behind on our own world – they wish to be reunited with their progeny.”

  “And they wanted Smithson to help?” I inquired, not quite sure where all this was heading.

  “Exactly!” the doctor bellowed, his eyes alighting with a renewed fire. “Zounds, but you are quick, aren’t you?”

  I harrumphed at that, sensing that Metropolis was having a bit of fun at my expense.

  The doctor seemed to have no guilt over his actions, however, and continued barreling along—both in terms of his driving and his speech. “Smithson immediately felt a sense of kinship with these people, one forged through a commonality of existence. They’re most likely a mirror image of us, Stanford. Oh, there will be differences to be sure, but at their core, they’re as human as you or I. When Smithson heard of their crisis, he decided to help them. That’s why he contacted me, of course.”

  “Of course,” both Gilda and I responded simultaneously.

  “Between the two of us,” Metropolis continued, “we were able to build a rocket ship big enough to hold a small group of men—perhaps four or five at the most. It was our hope to journey to this Counter-Earth and meet with those poor people, offering whatever help we could. Smithson hoped to gain more assistance from those blunderheads in the scientific community and that, no doubt, is what led to Marshall finding out the truth!”

  “How can you be sure it was Marshall?” I wondered aloud.

  “Because that damned fool was at Smithson’s home the other evening when I came by! I interrupted what was obviously a heated argument, though Smithson wouldn’t speak of it once Marshall was gone.”

  “Father,” Gilda asked, looking utterly calm during the harrowing ride. I could only suppose that she was far more used to his driving than I ever would be. “You mentioned that you and Mr. Smithson built a rocket ship? Where is it hidden?”

  That question brought about such a calamity that I feared death was about to overtake us all. Doctor Metropolis spun the wheel so hard that our car careened off the road and bounced along the grasses before settling gently at the edge of a large cliff.

  “By the gods,” Metropolis whispered. “I’ve been just as moronic as those jackanapes I hate so much. I was so fired up to find Marshall and get back those papers that I’ve missed the most obvious threat of all!”

  The doctor began pulling the car back onto the road. I noted with a pang of regret that my beloved car seemed to have acquired some new squeak that had never been present before.

  “We built that rocket ship at a small airfield not far from here. If Marshall has Smithson’s papers, then he’ll know all about it. I’ll be damned to a thousand hells before I let that thief steal this glory from me!”

  I held my tongue, though once again I noticed that Metropolis was letting his hunger for scientific achievement override his compassion. His friend lay dead and yet here was the doctor arguing that this glory would not be stolen ‘from me.’

  Despite this, I knew that Metropolis was a good man at heart… and that he was right in that we could not allow the first contact between our world and Antichthon to be carried out by murderers and thieves.

  With a new destination in sight, we sped along towards the airfield.

  ***

  The airfield was a rather unimpressive affair, consisting of several long hangers, a single airstrip and a small monitoring tower. It was the sort of thing that had been built in the heady days of the Roaring Twenties, when the entire world was convinced that the good times were never going to end. But then came the Crash, and all those who had partied through the nights suddenly realized that their empires rested on false dreams.

  The doctor parked our battered car a few hundred yards from the airfield and we approached with as much care as we possibly could. Several cars were parked in front of a hanger that Metropolis identified as being the one where Smithson’s rocket ship was housed. I managed, with great difficulty, to persuade the doctor to not simply barge in with fists bared.

  We pressed our backs against the outer wall of the hanger, moving close enough to hear several male voices from within. Their words proved to be conclusive proof of several things: 1) the mastermind behind the murder was, indeed, Whip Marshall and 2) the group was indeed planning to visit Counter-Earth. Their words were as follows:

  “Mr. Marshall, I think we’ve managed to figure out the controls of this ship. It’s pretty basic stuff, really. Not any harder than handling a small plane.”

  “Is it fueled?” Marshall responded. I noticed that his voice was very cold and monotone… almost reptilian in nature.

  “It’s ready to go,” a third voice confirmed. “I’ve already loaded on the weapons and supplies.”

  At the mention of ‘weapons,’ I looked with alarm at Gilda. None of us were armed, though Metropolis was such a bear that his fists packed more of a wallop than most small arms.

  “Good. I just hope that fool was right about what conditions would be like over there... the last thing I’d want to do is step off the rocket ship and find out we couldn’t breathe what passes for air on that planet,” Marshall muttered. “We need to leave plenty of room in the hold. When all is said and done, we’ll take whatever we can from the residents of Antichthon and abandon the rest!”

  Gilda’s hand came to rest on my arm. She leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “Marshall’s planning to betray them?”

  “But why…?” I wondered.

  “Any number of reasons, my boy,” the doctor said, having heard our exchange. “Perhaps he considers the residents of Counter-Earth less than human since they’re not from our world. Or he might simply be so desirous of personal glory that their plight is simply not a concern. I wouldn’t put it past him that he means to eventually put whatever weaponry he can find there to use on our world: set himself up as some sort of dictator, where we’ll all have to pledge fealty to his magnificence.”

  “That’s an odd conclusion to jump to,” I replied. “It’s one thing to plan to go to another planet and consider taking it over… but to work against your own people back home? I can’t fathom how evil that would be.”

  “It’s less evil to conquer others, just because they’re not your own kind?” Metropolis wanted to know, staring at me critically.

  With my cheeks growing crimson, I recanted immediately. He was right, of course.

  “What should we do now?” I asked, already fearing that I knew the answer. Given my druthers, I would have immediately called for the authorities and allowed them to handle things in the manner for which they had been trained, but Doctor Metropolis considered police officers to be barely a rung above chimpanzees when it came to the evolutionary ladder.

  Metropolis smiled savagely at my question, his clean white teeth poking out from beneath the thicket of beard he possessed. “We break up their little party, Stanford.”

  Without another word, the bear of a man who was my father-in-law let out a roar that sounded akin to that of a savage barbarian. He ran around the corner, Gilda and myself close at his heels. There were two men within that wore gray suits and who bore the looks of hired guns. The third man was obviously Marshall, for he was dressed in finer clothing and possessed an air of detached superiority that only those of supreme confidence could wield.

  Beside them rested a massive rocket ship, lying in such a manner that its nose was pointed at angle that would take it straight out the side of the roof. The ship was red and white in color, its metal hull riveted together. A solitary window located at the front would conceivably give its passengers a view of their journey.

  Metropolis did not seem fazed by the appearance of the starship. He snatched up the nearest of the men and lifted the gunman off the ground. He whirled about, still snarling like a beast, and tossed the fellow across the hangar. I was once more struck by how powerful my father-in-law truly was. I turned my attention to the other fellow, who was drawing a pistol. Gilda sprang forward, showing herself to be her father’s daughter. She delivered a powerful kick to the man’s gun hand, causing him to discharge his weapon. The bullet ricocheted off the floor, mere inches from my foot. I let out a surprised squawk that did nothing to enhance my masculinity.

  Gilda, meanwhile, was finishing off the surprised thug in the most impressive of fashion. She gave him a fast chop to the throat and then drove a knee into his midsection. As the fellow doubled over, she finished him off by grabbing his collar and driving him headfirst into the hull of the rocket ship.

  Metropolis had wasted no time in taking advantage of his daughter’s actions. He advanced upon Marshall, who backed away in sudden alarm. Marshall’s fine clothing and noble bearing made Metropolis look pale in comparison but there was no denying that the doctor’s squat, broad-shouldered form was the more powerful of the two. In this confrontation, there was little doubt that Marshall’s financial empire would avail him naught.

  “Metropolis… calm down, man!” Marshall exclaimed, raising his hands to try and ward off the doctor. “We can talk this through! There’s no reason we can’t share in this glorious find!”

  “Did you make that same offer to Smithson before you murdered him?” Metropolis demanded, driving Marshall back until the well-dressed man was pressed against the wall.

  I could see several thoughts pass through Marshall’s mind: should he attempt to lie and cover up his actions or admit the truth? In the end, the latter won out. “Smithson was a fool. You know that! It takes men of vision to determine that action is needed!”

  Metropolis wrapped a massive hand about the man’s throat and began to apply pressure. I could see Marshall’s eyes begin to bulge and he awkwardly tried to push the larger man away.

  Metropolis hissed out his words between clenched teeth. “Nod your head once for yes, twice for no, Marshall. Do you fathom my meaning?” One nod. “Tell me this: have you made direct contact with the entities of Counter-Earth?” Another nod. “And were you planning to take advantage of their plight, to your own benefit?”

  At this third nod, Metropolis seemed to lose control. He squeezed until Marshall’s face began to turn blue and I cried out for him to stop.

  Metropolis tossed aside Marshall’s body and I was forced to examine the prone form to make sure that a murder had not been committed. A slow but steady pulse assured me that the killer would yet live.

  When I looked up, I saw that Metropolis had lowered the access ramp to the rocket ship and was peering inside.

  “Gilda,” the doctor said, sounding very calm for a man who had just throttled a human being into unconsciousness. “I want you and Stanford to wait for me.”

  “Nonsense,” my wife declared. “I know you’re planning to go to Antichthon and I refuse to let you do so alone.”

  I strode up to them, confusion warring with excitement within me. “I agree. You must take with you people you can trust, people who can handle the sorts of dangers you might face!”

  Metropolis grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Excellent!” he proclaimed, slapping me hard on the back and nearly causing me to lose my footing. “The three of us it is!”

  I stammered something in reply, about how my meaning had been lost, but Gilda was smiling at me with pride and my protestations fell silent.

  I stared at the rocket ship and sighed quietly. Another adventure had begun!

  Dear reader, I hope to continue with more details soon but for now, this book must remain behind, lest it possibly be lost forever. I will endeavor to return and reclaim it soon!

  Chapter VIII

  The Solaris Protocols

  In the two months since they had returned from Shanghai, the members of Assistance Unlimited had read and re-read the Stanford diary so many times that it was now in danger of falling to pieces. Agnes Drake had tearfully accepted that her sister was most likely dead, especially after hearing more sordid details from Whip Marshall’s lips. And Kelly, though still angry over having been sent back from the mission early, was mollified by the discovery of the Soul Stones and the resulting publicity for the museum. She was already knee-deep in planning for a second expedition to retrieve the rest of the stones.

  Sporrenberg had been granted permission by his government to remain in the United States until he could find a lead on the whereabouts of Die Glocke and there had no visible fallout from his encounter with Lunt. He had remained as a closely watched guest at Assistance Unlimited headquarters and since he now wore plain clothes, it was easier for Eun to forgive him his political allegiances.

  Lazarus was tapping the cover to Stanford’s journal when Samantha entered the room. Lazarus had taken to spending time in one of the old sitting areas. It had several large windows that let in a lot of sunlight and gave an unobstructed view of the small garden the team had put up in the rear of the old hotel building.

  “Are you reading that again?” she asked, taking a seat on a nearby couch. She was wearing cream-colored slacks and a clinging white blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, giving her a youthful appearance that wasn’t far from the truth. Lazarus sometimes forgot that almost all of the team—with the exception of Morgan – were still in their twenties or thirties.

  “I was,” Lazarus admitted. “There’s been so sign of Stanford, his wife or Doctor Metropolis since that last entry. A cousin of Stanford’s had a series of particularly vivid nightmares the summer after their disappearance—she said that her cousin and his friends were suffering in great torment and that their flesh had been sliced from their still-living bodies. Stanford beseeched her to find all traces of his notebooks and destroy them, lest anyone attempt to follow in their footsteps.”

  “How horrid! So you think they really took off in a rocket? And these dreams… could they really be some sort of message from Counter-Earth?”

  “It wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Samantha adopted a pensive expression, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees and her hands clasped together. “I was wondering… are you ready to talk about whatever had you in a funk a few months ago? Before we got involved in all this?”

  Lazarus looked at her and his eyes softened a bit. “I’m sorry I kept you all at arm’s length. Something had sparked a memory of mine… about a woman. She died and it just reminded me of the things I had lost. I don’t even know that some of them are gone because the way my amnesia works. Did you know that I’ve looked up all the information there is about my parents but I don’t remember them at all? When I see photographs of them, it’s like looking at strangers.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. I’d forgotten that briefly before Christmas but I remembered it during our time in Shanghai. I like where I am and I consider all of you my family now.”

  Samantha smiled and it seemed to brighten the entire room. “We love you, too.”

  Sporrenberg cleared his throat from the doorway. Despite the fact the he wasn’t in uniform, he stood ramrod straight, with hands clasped behind him. “I’m sorry to interrupt but I have information that may be of interest. Some of my contacts here in the United States believe they may have found Die Glocke. Strange lights and sounds that are consistent with those reported at Der Riese have been reported coming from Locust Mountain, Pennsylvania.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Samantha said, looking towards Lazarus.

  Her employer nodded, though he looked quite thoughtful. “It’s the site of the big underground mine fire. The entire city was condemned by the governor back in ’28 but they expect the fire will continue burning for another few centuries.”

  “I remember now!” Samantha exclaimed. “It was an anthracite coal fire, wasn’t it? No one’s sure how it got started but they said that temperature below ground is well in excess of 1,000 degrees Fahrenheit.”

  “That’s right. Clouds of heat and carbon monoxide seep out from holes in the ground, giving the entire area a misty appearance. The people who have refused to move have suffered from such terrible health problems that many of them walk the streets wearing gas masks.”

  “But why in the world would the Circus have moved Die Glocke to such an awful place?”

 

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