The Voyage

by Douglas Falk

  “I agree, and it most intriguing. Although to play devil’s advoc—”

  “Here we go again.”

  “The average Joe on the street would just dismiss everything you just said in a heartbeat and write it off as half-baked indices and a severe case of cherry picking to weave a tale that works with your theory.”

  “They might. But the average Joe is of little interest to me. I will concede that a cryptic message beyond the grave by the NASA chief wouldn’t hold up as incriminating evidence if this was a court case, but it is another piece of the puzzle, in my mind.”

  They groaned as they saw a line of text appear on the television screen. DUBAI—luggage expected in nine minutes.

  “We’ve waited like fifteen minutes already!”

  “Patience is the name of the game, John. We’ll be at the hotel soon enough. And I wasn’t finished.”

  “Of course you weren’t. I am positive you couldn’t bleed this topic dry if you so had a thousand years to talk about it.”

  William chuckled. “Speaking of von Braun. Have you researched Operation Fishbowl?

  “I’ve heard it mentioned in some of the clips I watched…might have been a Globebusters video. Is it the project when they launched nukes straight up, a long time ago?”

  “That’s the one. The Americans and the Russians for whatever reason decided to fire nuclear bombs straight up into the sky in the early sixties. The project was, on the surface, nothing out of the ordinary. A logical continuation of the Manhattan Project. Simply put—they wanted to measure just how powerful their weapons of mass destructions were when unleashed on mother nature. But as I have taught you, John, history is a lie. And every sliver of important historical milestones needs to be looked at with a fresh pair of eyes, including this one. I am convinced that they fired the nuclear bombs up to penetrate the dome.”

  “So you believe there is a dome?”

  “I am leaning that way, yes. A pressurised system needs a container, and it would explain many an optic phenomena in the sky, like sundogs. But hear me out, now. It was called Operation Fishbowl…and the project itself was titled Project Dominic. Do you get it?”

  John was confused.

  “No, what do you mean? What’s special about Dominic?”

  “Dominic, my friend, means of the Lord in Latin. So, when you add them together…”

  “The fishbowl of the Lord.”

  William smiled. “Just so. Another coincidence? Even the most sheepish of souls must admit that the circumstantial evidence is stacking up. There is mystery to this story.”

  John closed his eyes and pictured the azimuthal equidistant projection in his mind’s eye. “The AE map does resemble a fishbowl, when you think about it. Eerie…”

  “Yes, it does! What if they spent years and years trying to pierce the ceiling above, but failed? They eventually called it a day, because it was impenetrable…or so I would venture to guess.”

  “Speculation is your bread and butter.”

  William shrugged. “I rest my case.”

  Their luggage finally arrived, and they both sighed a breath of relief. They made their way out of the airport and found themselves once again facing the merciless western Australian Sun, and this time, there was only a hint of that cool breeze in the air they had felt just after getting out of the plane. William reached for something in his bag and revealed it to the world.

  “Ray-Bans? Who do you think we are, Men in Black?”

  “I’ve been blinded by the light all my life, John. No more,” he said and put the shades on.

  “I don’t like sunglasses.”

  “No surprise there. You are far too stiff to sport them in the first place. Taxi!” William waved his arms and a yellow taxi pulled over. The cab driver rolled the passenger seat window down.

  Why does he want to pick us up if the cab is taken already?

  “Oy, mate,” yelled William, and John cringed.

  You’re off to a good start here…patronizing the locals with a Crocodile Dundee accent.

  “Can we hop in?” he asked.

  The driver peeked his head out from the passenger side. “Sure, where are you fellas headed?”

  Ah, right. It wasn’t the passenger seat…left side traffic. We’re in the Commonwealth now.

  “The Treasury Hotel. 1 Cathedral Avenue.”

  The scruffy-looking cab driver nodded. “It’s only the finest hotel in Perth. I’m called Silky, by the way. Get in!”

  Ah. We’re booked at the most luxurious hotel in Perth. So much for discretion, William. Although, I wouldn’t mind a little bit of luxury to compensate for the mind-numbing amount of hours on the road.

  William gave him a look just then, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. “What? I have standards.”

  “You sure do.”

  “Hey, I could have taken my father’s private jet here. I mean, we could have. But I chose not to. After enduring twenty hours of flying coach…well, we deserve a treat.”

  Spoil away, my friend. Spoil us away as if we were Vikings who just looted a monastery…given that you have a plan for the days to come. Do you have a plan, though? Or are you just making this up as you go along? Whatever the case may be, it’s too late to abandon ship.

  The beautiful coastal scenery whisked away in no time on the freeway. He looked outside the window and took in the sights.

  A part of me wishes that we’d just call quits on this dubious mission and spend a couple of weeks here under the Sun, like any average tourist. But then again, we did not travel all this way for an average reason.

  The driver pulled up on the driveway of the extravagant hotel, and they both stepped out of the cab. William paid Silky in cash and threw in a little extra tip for making it to the hotel five minutes ahead of the Google Maps time planner’s projected time of arrival. Just as the taxi had left them both and drove away, the hotel bellhop came running and helped them with their luggage. They walked right into the lobby of the Treasury and checked in at the counter. After receiving their room key, they went straight towards the elevators, with the porter scurrying along behind them. They stepped into the elevator and held the door for the bellhop, who dragged behind with their heavy suitcases.

  “Did you see any kangaroo on the way here, John?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me neither. What a let down. Monumentally so.”

  “Well, spotting a wild kangaroo isn’t what we came here for, is it? Were you finished with your von Braun stor—”

  “Hush,” William whispered and glanced at the bellhop. “Once we’re alone,” he added.

  The bellhop pressed the button for floor twenty-one, which appeared to be the highest floor in the building. As the elevator doors opened with a ringing sound, they saw a long hallway with just one door at the very end of the corridor.

  “After you,” William told the sweating bellhop who led the way.

  They got to the door, and John read the sign above. 237.

  The young bellhop put their suitcases down and fumbled with the keys. “Penthouse suite, gentlemen. I’m sure I have the keys here somewhere…”

  “Hey, pal. Don’t worry, they gave us the key in the lobby,” said William.

  The bellhop found the key and unlocked the door, and the three of them walked inside. John was awestruck by the unimaginably spectacular view—the suite had a clear view over Perth and panoramic windows 360 degrees around.

  I could get used to living here…

  “If you want something, don’t hesitate to ask!” the bellhop said kindly.

  “Thanks, we will. You look stressed out, kid. Don’t let them treat you like cattle. Here’s a buck for you. What’s your name?”

  “Wolfie, sir.”

  “Wolfie? That’s an odd name. But hey, who cares…I’m not judging your parents, kid. Here’s fifty quid for you to spend on something of your choosing. Off you go, now. We have some business to attend to, Mr. Wilander and I.”

  The bellhop abided his w
ish by scurrying quickly out the door, and William closed it. John spun around the suite, still in awe of the room. He looked down at the city, which bathed in Sun, and let his eyes wander towards the deep blue sea and that distant horizon.

  The horizon. Right. The horizon always rises to eye level, they say. Well so far, so true. We are not here for sightseeing, after all.

  John started feverishly searching for a hidden stash of alcohol, and to his joy he found a drinks cabinet and a minibar in the kitchen. The cabinet was filled to the brim with liquors of all kinds. He poured himself a shot of Jameson and downed it in a heartbeat. As he felt the drops of the water of life slowly make its way towards his digestive system, he felt that familiar fiery taste in his breath. It soothed him.

  “So, here we are. What’s the plan?”

  William was bent over behind, rattling through his suitcase. He murmured and swore to himself. “Blast. I can’t seem to find my brooch. Ah, there it is.”

  “Which brooch? I didn’t know you wear brooches.”

  “It’s a dire wolf brooch.”

  “A dire wolf brooch? What’s that?”

  “Never mind about that; it’s not important. I found it. The plan, yes. The plan. The plan for now is to sit tight, relax, and mentally prepare ourselves for the days to come. A time for us to steel our minds and lick our wounds.”

  “That’s your grand plan?”

  “Right now it is.”

  John poured himself another glass of Jameson and waltzed around the suite.

  “Don’t be so antsy, John. Take a breather. Relax a little bit. Look at the view.”

  Well, I’m not complaining about the view. It’s otherworldly.

  “I just might,” said John and walked up towards the panoramic windows and leaned his arm on the glass separating them from a free fall several storeys below that would lead to certain death.

  William walked up next to him and looked at the setting Sun over the sea. “Do you see that lighthouse over there, John?”

  John squinted. “Which lighthouse? Where should I look?”

  “Not towards the beach, silly. Look there, where I’m pointing. Look at that tiny island at the horizon. There’s a tall building rising up there by the shoreline. Do you see it now?”

  “Yeah. Now I see it.”

  “Good. That isle over there is called Rottnest Island. I ran the numbers while you were on the prowl for booze. Well, not in my head. I went to Metabunk and typed in the coordinates for our location and punched in the coordinates for the lighthouse on Rottnest Island.”

  “Metabunk? Might as well cite Snopes while you’re at it and hand in your badge…forsaking your title as the conspiracy prince. I thought you’d shy away from debunker websites.”

  “Oh I do, and it grieves me to have to crawl to the cross and use the services provided by government shill extraordinaire, Mick West. But the website does have an excellent Earth curve calculator tool.”

  “Okay, so what about this island?”

  “That lighthouse you see over there, that whole island? It should not be visible. It should be hidden behind several hundreds of feet of curvature. John, it’s there. It’s right there. That is what is so liberating with being a flat-Earther. I can look at that lighthouse and go, ‘There is the lighthouse and I see it.’ If I was a glober, I would have to believe that the lighthouse is being levitated by atmospheric miraging, and what we are seeing is just a hologram of sorts. I reject the hologram, John. I reject the looming explanation. The globe and observable reality are at an impasse here. I see the lighthouse, and it is right there. It’s a relieving feeling to see things the way they are. What do you think, John? Is the lighthouse really there, or is it being magically lifted up over the curve?”

  “I don’t know. I want the truth; that is all that matters to me. If the Earth is flat, then I want to believe that. If the Earth is a globe, then that is what I want to believe in. Don’t be married to an idea, William. Don’t be married to the flat Earth. If we do run into unquestionable proof along the way that we have indeed been chasing our tails with this expedition, if it turns out that we live on a sphere after all…then we both should walk away and accept reality. Promise me that.”

  “I promise to walk away if so. But that day will never come, I am sure of it. Not until I am facing absolute proof that our ancestors fell out of the rear end of monkeys and landed on a spinning ball. It would be hard for me to let go, I will concede that, because I am absolutely certain that the model we’ve been taught exists only because a certain belief system of a select few has decided it to be so. Edwin Hubble once said that the thought of the Earth being geocentric was a horror. And that we needed to escape the horror of finding ourselves in a unique position. They’ve sold us a pre-packaged mathematical construct to counter observable reality, John.”

  William spun around from the panoramic window and took a seat on the couch while John drummed his fingers impatiently on the glass.

  “Honestly, I thought you would have it all mapped out by now. Are we going to hang out with the surfer dudes down by the beach, or head out on a safari? What gives?”

  “Antarctica isn’t going away, John. It’s not going to be swallowed by the ocean like the city of Atlantis—it will be there by the morning still. As we both know, there is no tour guide out there that could possibly prepare us for our undertaking, so we will have to do this methodically and gently.”

  He sighed for himself and looked at John.

  “Will planning this out be super easy, barely an inconvenience? No, but I have it covered. Be a good lad and pour me some of that whiskey, will you? I wouldn’t mind joining in on this pre-game party you’ve kicked off without my consent.”

  John did as he was commanded and poured his friend a glass of whiskey and took seat right next to him.

  “Thanks,” he said while raising the small glass to his lips.

  William can act casual and flippant about this, but I see through it. He doesn’t have a plan. What are we even doing here? I put my life on the line for this endeavour; this will be a complete disaster if we continue walking this road in such a haphazard manner. I might be on the brink of a momentous mistake.

  William took another sip and slouched back into the comfort of the couch. He looked at the horizon and saw that the Sun was about to set. “I think we should bring as few crewmembers along as humanly possible. The more folks we bring, the more mouths there will be to feed…and the element of risk will be more severe. I want a select, trustworthy few on this.”

  “How do we find them?”

  “I’m working on that.”

  If staring at the Perth sunset equals working, then yeah.

  “And the icebreaker?”

  William brushed it aside. “That was just a crazy idea. Mind you, I wouldn’t exactly mind jumping aboard a titan like that and cleave right through the Antarctic shoreline as if I was Moses at the Red Sea. But it would not help us much—we can’t cleave the ice forever, as it extends for thousands of miles inward. We will have to walk. Also, an icebreaker is hardly a subtle beast. We will keep this as low profile as humanly possible. We haven’t done anything illegal—yet. An icebreaker will attract unwanted attention from the agencies monitoring these waters. I will spend my money on a smaller vessel,” said William.

  “But we are about to traverse Antarctica. A task which is deemed to be nigh impossible unless one’s commanding a whole military unit there, like Admiral Byrd. Is it even possible to be subtle about this when we are going to need to bring resources that will have to last for weeks, or even months?”

  William’s flickering eyes showed signs of concern. “You are right. What we are about to embark on doesn’t exactly reek of subtlety. And…the rightful concerns for the logistics isn’t the only demon we have to face. I am weighing the options on something else.”

  “Which demon are we talking about?”

  “My father. He’s here, in Perth, like I told you before.”

  “I remembe
r.”

  “He’s partially the reason as to why we are here in Western Australia and not somewhere else. Ideally, I don’t want to reach out to him, but I thought that if a situation arose where we would find ourselves on the verge of this project being stalled, or if there was no other way of doing this on our own, that he would be a nifty ace in the hand to play. A lifeline. Of course, involving him would entail lying about our motives and going under the assumption that he would play ball and not rat us out about that fake trip to Ystad of ours, looking at imaginary Mark Twain houses. I’m guessing that is what Mother has told him, anyway. Should I take the risk, John? He could halt this entire project if he could, and if he knew what we are really up to…I think he might. No responsible parent would ever let their child wander off searching for the ends of the Earth.”

  John allayed his fears. “I don’t think you should worry about him blowing the whistle on that. Our destination is so far beyond the average person’s mental capacity that it literally isn’t even on the table for them. Even a sharp man like he would never dream of guessing where we want to tread, unless he’s looked into this as deeply as we have, which I doubt.”

  “Oh, he hasn’t. It would be the equivalent of Elon Musk looking into the flat-Earth theory. It’s all so beyond people like that in position of power to even toy with this as anything more than a joke, concocted by bored kids trolling on Reddit or 4chan,” said William.

  John nodded in approval. “I will say, though, I am a bit concerned by how leisurely you have planned this voyage. I would have thought that you had this figured out right down to the finest detail.”

  William suddenly had a fiery look in his eyes. “This is no field trip. This is for real, and we need to proceed with caution. And we will go all in, worry not, when I make the call that the coast is clear. And John, we will go all in. You have my word on that. It’s now or never. Who knows how this screwed up world will look like in a year from now? They are going to play their final card in the deck soon…very soon. And John, by all the gods I swear to you this: That we will do our absolute best to prevent that card ever being played. The power elite will unleash their deus ex machina weapon. A dormant weapon, and we have been programmed for its inevitable awakening for decades.”