The Secret of Excalibur

by Sahara Foley

  *Cecil, its Arthur. Can you hear me?*

  No response.

  *Cecil, you have to fight this, we have to go on. You must wake up.*

  He weakly rolls his head around, becoming more aware. I pick up the loud HUMM.

  *Cecil, Ruth and I are temporarily deaf, so you probably are too. That humming, don't let it bother you. You must focus, bring yourself to the surface.*

  His lips move, but I don't perceive any mental images yet, just a blur of jumbled colors.

  Ruth touches my arm. TAP –You're taking too long. Can you focus on the medics?-

  I try to locate them. Damn, not that far away. If I could hear, I'd be listening to rotor blades.

  I point, and Ruth goes, TAP –You have to get him awake before they land. If they sedate him, you'll have to go see the PM.-

  Dobie's in deep shock. His mind won't reconcile what he saw with his long-held beliefs, so his subconscious decided it was safer to stay in denial and unconscious. I focus directly into his mind, the conscious part. Blurry. The conscious part of his brain is where he'll have to come back to. Unless, like others in severe shock, his mind is on overload and will stay that way, all or in part, forever. We can't let him do that.

  Dipping into someone's unconscious mind always reminds me of that old game, dunking for apples. Except instead of water, it feels as though I'm dunking into slimy, thick oil, and not all the apples float or are the same size. I don't want to go in there. I could do more damage than good. The EGO never accepts another presence. Ever.

  How much can I push him without causing permanent damage? I have no idea how his mind works, and he's very susceptible to my mental probes. I could push him deeper into himself where we'll never be able to get him back.

  *Cecil, it's you and me now. We need you, man. Your country needs you. Even the PM needs you. Get off your lazy ass and get moving.* I mentally push him, hard.

  In a hot rush, I feel, -Who does this fucking freak think he is?-

  *Cecil, you're lazy. You don't care about your country, or about MI6. You're lying here on your ass while Nichols is dead, and I'm in charge of MI6 because you won't wake up.*

  Brain activity leaps out of him. -NO BLOODY WAY. I AM IN CHARGE HERE. GET AWAY FROM ME.- His limbs flail around, trying to fight us. We firmly hold him down. His eyes pop open, the size of saucers.

  *Relax. We're here. You're probably deaf as we are, but don't worry, it'll pass. Can you sit up?*

  We release him, and he slowly sits up. He looks around in confusion, then up, and at me.

  I acknowledge, *Yes, we saw it too. Don't dwell on it now, just get yourself together. The medics will be here in a minute. Get a grip on yourself.*

  Blood's trickling from his ears, so Ruth touches my arm. TAP –He has a severe concussion. Did you aggravate it?-

  How the hell would I know? To Ruth, I say, *No idea, kid. Maybe.* To Dobie, I say, *You have a severe concussion, old man, so take it easy.* He slightly nods with a grimace of pain.

  I assist walking him to a chair Ruth is setting back up, and he plops down in a lump. He looks as bad as, or worse, than we do. His immaculate, expensive suit is covered with muddy sand, water stains and scorch marks, toupee hanging half off his head.

  I kneel and tell him, *You have to hold on. You need to meet the PM and tell her what happened here, what we saw. Then, you need to get this whole area cordoned off. If you don't, the press will learn what happened here, and your name will be linked with a story about a UFO. Do you want that?*

  He violently shakes, NONONONO, then grimaces in pain, putting his head in his hands. Feeling his toupee out of place, he readjusts it on top of his head, glaring at me in defiance.

  I stare him squarely in the eyes. *Actually, I'm surprised the press isn't already here. You've been napping for hours. Relman must be doing a good job. Cecil, Ruth and I will investigate the cavern, and whatever we find we only let you know, no one else. You'll get to decide what to do with whatever we find. Okay?*

  Slight up-and-down motion.

  *But, if you don't get this area sealed off, the whole fucking world will be in here, and we'll lose everything.*

  He gives a more energetic nod this time. Yes.

  It's strange to watch six helicopters land, sand blowing all over, trees whipping from the rotor wash, men jumping out and yelling to each other, and not hear one damn sound. But here they are, settling on the sand, and the medics running to the bodies in the water. I could've told them. I lower my head, mourning for all the senseless deaths.

  I suddenly remember Colonel Ferguson, but I'm not picking up any mental images from Ferguson. Trying to focus on him, I'm distracted by an officer jumping out of one of the helicopters with two aides, the officer is a Brigadier General. He glances around, then stomps off towards where Dobie and Ruth are sitting. I'm sure he meant to stride purposefully, but in that soft sand, it looks like stomping. He reminds me of an English bulldog, squat body, bowlegged, and hanging jowls.

  Resuming my mental search for Ferguson, I move off fifteen feet, concentrating intensely. Finally, I see him and his troops among the trees, bodies lying around. Not one spark of life in any of them. Sorry, Colonel, I think with a heavy heart. Too many good lives lost today.

  I begin striding back to where the General's standing, waving his arms all over, red-faced, extended neck veins and yelling at Dobie. Of course, we can't hear him.

  Holding her hand up, Ruth does a small curtsy to him, and says, probably pretty loud, as a newly deaf person would, “He can't hear you. We are temporarily deaf. Please write what you want to say to the Commander.”

  The General looks down his priggish nose at her, impatiently tapping his fingers against his thigh. Even though she tried to make herself more presentable by washing in the bathroom, Ruth still looks a real mess. Scorched and stained clothes and singed auburn hair jutting in all directions. Apparently not measuring up to his standards, the asshole shoves her backwards, and she falls in a tangle of aluminum framing and webbing from her chair.

  “Well, you bastard,” I think, but I must've yelled it, because everybody turns to look at me as I rush towards the General.

  Each of his aides draw their revolvers, aiming them at me, but I keep coming, my face etched with hate and anger. He orders something, because his lips move, and each gun fires with muzzle flashes. I can't hear the reports, but I feel the impact of the bullets, Plip! Plip!, each bullet stopping me in my tracks for a second. The two flattened bullets fall off into the sand. Now, I'm really mad. How dare they shoot at me with no provocation?

  Reaching them, I hit the two aides with a hard, sweeping blow, backed by an equally hard telekinetic push. They fly off their feet, landing ten feet away with sand geysering into the air. As I grabble with the General, he's struggling to remove his pistol from the holster. Snatching him up by the front of his uniform, I toss him back by our tent. He lands against the side of the tent, continuing through the wall, disappearing inside. I couldn't hear that either, but it felt like GOOD. I start stalking towards where the General disappeared, when I feel a vise-like grip on my arm. Even before I look back, I know who it is, I recognize that grip.

  TAP –No, Arthur! Leave him alone. Let Dobie handle this, or we'll have the damn military all over us, then we'll never learn what really happened here.-

  I scowl at her, shaking with pent-up rage, hands clenched into fists by my sides.

  She stares back at me, just as unrelenting, face drawn in fear. TAP –Really. I'm alright, leave him alone, please. Let Dobie handle him. Just calm down.-

  I look at Dobie, gray-faced, sitting like a lump. Rolling my shoulders, unclenching my fists, I let out a loud sigh. I sternly tell him, *Okay. Handle it, Cecil*

  I glance over at the aides. They're still sitting where they landed, not the least bit interested in getting up. They have vacant eyes and one is drooling, slobber dripping from his chin onto his uniform. He still has his pistol in hand and as he's drooling, he's drawing small circles in the
sand with the barrel.

  Ruth shakes me violently. TAP –He's getting ready to go over. Knock him out. Hurry.-

  Mentally focusing on him, he goes down like a limp towel. His Weatherby .45 discharges right then, sand and shrapnel flying everywhere. The other aide is suddenly covered with blood, rolling in the sand, holding his chest and arms. He's probably screaming, but we can't hear him.

  Two medics scurry to the wounded aide and calm him enough to work on him. One medic administers a shot; the other medic begins putting compresses on his wounds. The medic who administered the injection, a tall, thin, silver-haired man, wearing the rank of Major, strides to me. He stops five feet away, giving a smart salute. He begins using sign language I can't make heads-or-tails of.

  Holding up my hand, I gently focus on his mind. *If you think what you want to say, I'll hear it. Just tap your temple when you want to speak, Major.*

  I can feel Relman had briefed them about me, so he wasn't overly nervous with the telepathy. TAP –I apologize for General Rangovick, but he is the military liaison, and as such, in charge of this operation. I'm Major Paber, in charge of the medical detachment. Can you tell me what the hell happened here? Uh, and who are you, uh, and your authority, sir?-

  I give him a shark grin. *Certainly, Major. I'm Mr. Merlin, and that's Commander Dobie, of MI6. I work for the Commander. No, I can't tell you what happened. That asshole General is NOT in charge, Commander Dobie is, and in his absence, I am. As of right now, you're in charge of your people, Major, not that asshole.*

  Paber's head wags back and forth for a negative, uncertainty reflected in his hazel eyes.

  I continue. *Major, the Commander has a severe concussion, but he can't be put into a drug induced sleep. He has to see the Prime Minister, posthaste. Will you arrange the transportation for him? Also, I'm sorry to say, you'll find a hundred more bodies, over there in those trees. Will you see to their reclamation?*

  Paber stares at me, wide-eyed, ashen faced. TAP –Sir, what in hell is going on here?-

  I firmly shake NO.

  Looking around at the carnage, he turns back to me and reluctantly taps his temple. –Am I dismissed to get everything arranged?-

  I nod YES.

  The Major drops back, salutes sharply, then turns and yells to his men. That's strange, to see the man, mouth wide open, cords on his neck standing out, as he yells over the noise from the choppers. You never notice any of this when you can hear. Believe me, it's surreal to watch. His men heard him though, as they hurry off following orders.

  Four of the medics sprint off into the trees, big bags slung over their shoulders. Too late for Ferguson, probably the only Colonel I'll ever like.

  The asshole General is untangling himself from what's left of our tent. I glare at him and focus, not gently either. *If you ever touch this lady again, I'll scatter your guts all over this fucking beach. Do you hear me, you bastard?*

  I don't know whether he jumped, or was thrown back into the tent, but he disappears in a tangle of brown nylon and shiny aluminum poles. I focus on him, he's out cold, must've been too hard. Tough shit.

  Ruth pulls on my arm, pointing. The Major's listening to his radio. I focus to listen in.

  “… one here is dead, sir. It looks as if they died from massive coronaries, instantly, without warning, or pain. Probably never knew what happened. Sorry, sir.”

  “Captain, collect one tag, then return.” Major Paber looks at me tight-lipped, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

  *Yes, Major. I heard most of that exchange. I'm sorry.*

  TAP –What the hell happened here, mister?- Even with the mental contact, I can hear his voice breaking with emotion.

  *Major, if I told you, you'd have to lock us away for a very long time. What happened here still doesn't make sense to us, and we were here. It's better to tell you that everything we saw is classified for now. Believe me, you don't want to know anyway.*

  His radio must've gone off, because he has that look human beings use for intense concentration. I eavesdrop on him again.

  “… sign of the other three. But these three ships are badly burned, and floundering on the rocks. All hands aboard are dead, sir and the whole coastline is littered with bodies.” There's a pause with the sound of hitched breathing and the clearing of a throat. “What the hell is going on, sir? My God, more than three hundred dead. Wait, sir … okay, we located the other three ships. They're at the bottom, in the shallower water near the cliff face. Three ships sunk, three ships burned, and bodies everywhere.”

  The Major has tears in his eyes as he stares at me in grief. “Any reading of radiation, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir, but only five rads above normal background.”

  “Recover all bodies, Captain. Remove the three ships from the rocks, stow the bodies aboard, and tow them into the lake bay over here. We have to reclaim each body for proper identification.”

  “Aye, aye. Will do, sir.”

  The Major taps. –More than three hundred dead at sea, another hundred dead in the trees, forty dead here, and only two survivors, the ones you sent to the Lodge. Of course, there are you three from MI6, alive, deaf and telepathic. Hell, we even have a dead Admiral. I'm sorry to say this, but whatever happened here is starting to sound like a bad movie.-

  I focus. *I'm sorry too, Paber. But right now, we have to get the Commander to the PM. Do you have his transportation arranged yet?*

  He's thinking, “What a cold-blooded bastard.” Either he doesn't realize I'm reading him, or he doesn't care. TAP –Yes, we'll fly him to the Lodge, then his people will take him to the House pad. He should be there in about an hour. Will that do, Merlin?- He doesn't salute, just wipes his eyes on his sleeve, turns and stalks off to help load the last of the bodies. I can't even get upset.

  I kneel to ask Dobie. *How you doing, Cecil?*

  -Not good, Arthur. Pain in my head like a vise, loud humming, and now, hot chest pains. I think I'm going to join Reggie. My tickers giving out.- No panic in his thoughts, or eyes, just a calm resolve.

  *RUTH,* I mentally shout, looking around for her.

  Ruth clutches her head, grimacing in pain. -Ahhh! Easy Arthur, easy-

  *Dobie's having a heart attack. Get the medics.*

  Focusing on Dobie, uncertain what I can do to help him, I notice Ruth putting two fingers in her mouth, then making a puckered face. Of course, a loud whistle. I don't hear it, but the medics do, and two begin sprinting in the soft sand with their bags, as she points at Dobie. I'm telling Dobie to hold on when she jerks on me to face her.

  -Tell them coronary so they don't waste time. Tell them!-

  The medics are trying to run in that loose sand, when I tell them, *He's having a heart attack. Hurry.*

  They flounder and falter a few steps, but begin running again, staring at me intently. They kneel by Dobie, and in seconds have his shirt ripped open, a needle inserted in his chest, and one medic's doing something with a bag. Then out of the chair, and down on the sand. One medic pounding on his chest, the other adding a shot here, or there, as needed, and squeezing a bag over Dobie's mouth. The air bag, CPR and shots go on for a few minutes, then the medics stop. I refocus on them.

  “Gone, Mick. Must've been massive, but he ain't young either. Did all we could.”

  The other one nods as he collects the equipment they used, putting them into the bag. They look up at us and shrug. One of the medics places a jacket over Dobie's face, then they slowly stride off.

  Ruth latches onto me, spinning me around to her. TAP –Arthur, you can restart his heart.-

  *WHAT?* I stare down at her. What the hell is she talking about?

  -AHHH. Easy, Arthur, please take it easy.- She's making the DOWN sign. –You can restart his heart, like you make me have orgasms. I know you can. You have to try. Please?-

  There's that “look” again I can't seem to refuse. With a sign, I reluctantly kneel on one side of Dobie, Ruth on the other. Ruth removes the jacket, rolls it, placing it under Do
bie's head. He has a calm, peaceful look on his face.

  I probe his mind; it's just as Ferguson's mind. No. There's something there. But it's faint. Disjointed, but he has a few thought processes left. His mind is overshadowed by a gray/brown color, quickly fading to black around the edges.

  *Cecil, listen to me, you aren't dead yet. We need you, man. Concentrate on my voice, Cecil. Concentrate on my voice.*

  I'm pushing at him hard now. He latches onto my thoughts like string to Velcro, but he's fading fast. I concentrate on his heart, seeing it lying there, quivering.

  *Come on, Cecil, force yourself to breathe.*

  Nothing. Nothing at all. He's so far gone; even my mental pushes are failing.

  Ruth jerks me face-to-face with her. –Arthur, go into him, switch bodies with him. I know you can do it. Nuclear Expansion, remember? Go into him and bring him back to life. Do it.-

  Now I know she's crazy. Teleport into a dead man? What if I can't get back out? He'll be alive in me; I'll be dead in him. No fucking way. My mind recoils at the thought of it.

  Ruth's shaking me like a ragdoll again. –Hurry, before it's too late to help him.-

  My subconscious is screaming at me that I'm crazy for even thinking about what Ruth is suggesting. Why bother? It's only Dobie; he's been a pain in the ass since we met. Ruth is looking at me with her gorgeous jade eyes, biting her lower lip, and I know I can't refuse her. Besides, how else are we going to discover what other secrets might be hiding in the cavern? If Dobie dies, we'll be shuffled out of here like unwanted relatives.

  So, against my better judgment, I probe Dobie's subconscious. Deep … slimy … blackness … cold. There, a hint of warmth, but not much and disappearing fast. The warmth is the last spark of Cecil Dobie, his EGO. I pull his EGO towards me, and it comes readily. It's not ready to let go of life yet. I push my conscious into the darkness.

  Cold. So cold. Can't feel anything. Cold. So cold.

  * * *

  Ruth is still shaking Arthur's body, when it slumps like a bag of wet laundry. The eyes flicker open, and Dobie is there peering out at her. Neither of them can talk with each other, but she knows its Dobie in Arthur's body. Arthur is trapped inside the body that's quickly growing cold on the warm sand.