Splendid Apocalypse: The Fall of Old Earth (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 5)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  Miller nodded. “Oh, I see. Makes sense. Like not getting started with bad feelings?”

  “Succinctly put,” said Mahalanobis. He switched his radio into verbal mode, and spoke into it. “Hello, Brother Subotai? Yes, we’ve made contact. Yes, I think we might come to some arrangement. We’re going to meet their leader now. Yes, if we don’t come back you have my permission to kill them all. Oh, and by the way, they appear to be Cthulhu worshippers. What’s that? Spell it? Yes, C T H U L H U. Yes, Lovecraft, that one. Yes, about the dialog. Can they speak English, you say? Yes, they are not that far gone, they do appear to have the ability to think and speak in complete sentences. Yes, thank Dewey for small favors. I’ll report back when we’ve learned more. Mahalanobis out.”

  They walked out of the tunnel and into the main subway station. It was dimly lit by a handful of tiny solid-state lights hanging from the ceiling. There was a smell to the place, like a chemical toilet. The tracks were recessed a meter below the level of the main station, and these recessed places were filled with garbage.

  People caught sight of them, gasped, and ran off to tell others. Mahalanobis and Adenour just waved and smiled. Presently they were met by a dozen armed men. They were nearly as scrawny and poorly dressed as Miller, though older and taller and some had bits and pieces of real muscle. They all had string necklaces with rubber tentacles, and these varied from one to twelve per neck. They were mostly armed with home-made spears and salvaged fire-axes, though three had antique pistols, and another – the tallest - had a pump-action shotgun.

  “Hello, my name is Brother Mahalanobis, from the order of the Librarians Temporal. This is my colleague, Brother Adenour. We would like to meet your leader – I believe that he is a high priest of some kind? We might have a deal for you.”

  The tallest man pointed his shotgun at Mahalanobis. “You. Give us your stuff... Maybe we let you live. That a deal.”

  Mahalanobis didn’t move. “No, I’m sorry. We are not going to give you anything. I seriously doubt that the ammunition for that shotgun is still good. And even if it is, and you manage to take us, my brothers will kill you all for revenge.”

  The man with the shotgun didn’t lower his aim. “I just see two of you. You got fancy guns, look like, but just two. We take you.”

  Miller piped up. “I heard another on their radio.”

  “Maybe three then,” said the tall one. “Not impressed.”

  The standoff was broken by the appearance of a man wearing a hideous mask covered with plastic tentacles and rubber worms. He had long greasy gray robes, and a pair of small cardboard bat-wings pinned to his back. “I am the high priest of Cthulhu. I speak here.” He turned to the tall man with the shotgun. “Johnson, let’s hear the man out before we kill him.” Johnson grunted.

  “Thank you,” said Mahalanobis. “As I said, we are Librarians. Things are getting tougher on the surface. A lot tougher. Soon we think it will be too hot for anyone to live up there. We decided to move down here while we could. The deal is, we have a lot of technology and resources, but we need manpower to help us set it up. We need people to carry stuff, and work on the hydroponics gardens, things like that. If you’re not interested, there’s plenty of space down here, and we’ll find someone else to set up. But, you’re here, we’re here, and it seems like a good place to start.”

  The high priest took off his tentacle-mask. Underneath was sallow face with a long scraggly beard, and the kind of crazy look that was normally associated with 19th century Russian mystics. “So what kind of deal you offer?”

  “Anyone does a full day’s work, they get a full days’ rations. 2,500 calories, minimum, plus vitamins. We could also throw in a couple of extras. For example, we’ve got portable fusion reactors and we could get you some better lights.

  The high priest furrowed his brow. “But none of us know hydro-what-you-said. I think you’re trying to put one over on me.”

  “We’re not talking complicated work. What you don’t know we’ll teach you.”

  “Teach us?” said the tall man. “We don’t have the money to pay for no classes. And we don’t have any credit rating stuff. You’re funnin us for sure.”

  “I assure you that I am not. We need the work done, and we’re willing to do what we need to get it done. It’s that simple.”

  The high priest thought about that for a moment. “OK, we give it a try. I find out you’re trying to trick us, we kill you, and Great Cthulhu – the unspeakable nameless dread from regions that the mere human mind cannot encompass - will eat your souls. But I got another condition. We get an advance. Three days’ rations, everyone here. Or no deal.”

  “And how many might that be?” asked Mahalanobis.

  “254,” said the high priest.

  “One days’ rations.”

  “Two.”

  “All right then two, but we get to set up part of our tech in the far half of your station. And we get to start the training on day one.”

  “Deal.”

  Mahalanobis walked up to the priest and offered his hand. After a moment, the priest took it and they shook. “A pleasure negotiating with someone who knows how to bargain. I thought it was a dying art.”

  --------------------

  It was three weeks later, and Brother Adenour was trying to get the Cthulhu cultists to install a distribution manifold for the water pipeline. They had put in better lighting, which made it easier to work, but reinforced just how grubby and full of junk the station was.

  “This section too heavy,” said one of the cultists. “Not even three of us can lift it. We need to rig up a winch.”

  Adenour looked at the pipe manifold. He took off his red Librarian robes – he was wearing plain gray shorts underneath. Compared to the half-starved cultists he was muscled like a lion. He took hold of the manifold with both hands, and with a smooth clean-and-jerk lifted it up over his head into position.

  “Well, stop staring at me, you idiots. I’m getting tired. Fit the bolts in place and tighten them like I showed you!”

  Lucas Miller was watching, eyes wide. “When I grow up, I wanna be a Librarian like you!”

  The cultists had gotten the bolts in place, and Adenour was able to release his hold on the pipe section. He tousled Miller’s hair with one hand. “Some decent food and some honest work, you’ll grow up stronger than I am.”

  “Promise?”

  “That you’ll be stronger than I am? Well, that depends, but you’ll be strong. How strong is up to you.”

  “You never just say stuff, do you?”

  “Say stuff? What do you mean?”

  “I mean you never just say things because they sound good and are what people wanna hear. You’re always going on about well yes, but only if such and such. It’s weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “Well, not weird really,” said Miller. “But sometimes it’s kinda stiff. Like stuck up sorta.”

  “Oh. Sorry. It’s just how we are.”

  “No, it’s OK. You’re cool. Just weird, sometimes.”

  “Well, OK then. By the way, Lucas Miller, I was wondering. How old are you?”

  “I be 10 next month!”

  Adenour frowned.

  “Excuse me,” said Miller. “I’m going to be 10 next month.”

  “And where is your father?”

  “Died four years ago.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Died two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why be sorry? You didn’t know them. And I’m still alive.”

  “OK, then. By the way,” said Adenour, “I need someone to take these control circuits to the far tunnel, about a kilometer off in the other direction. Can I trust you with them?”

  Miller stood up straight and saluted. “Absolutely! They will be delivered, or my name isn’t Lucas Miller!”

  --------------------

  Later on that day, Brothers Mahalanobis and Adenour were sitting in a makeshift tent at the edge of the abandon
ed subway station, sipping water from scuffed plastic bottles.

  “So,” said Mahalanobis. “How are things on the ground with the cultists?”

  “Well,” said Adenour, “Considering their background, surprisingly well. We might – just might – be at the point where the work we are getting out of them is worth more than the food we are providing them.”

  “You disapprove?”

  “No, not at all. I thought it would take months. It’s just that their strength and endurance are so limited. I would have thought that survivors like this would have been tougher.”

  “Don’t be too hard on them,” said Mahalanobis. “They are stronger than you realize. Lacking in education, and nutrition, yes, so of course they are physically weak and their grammar is poor. But to survive down here, on such limited resources? It would have been a challenge even for us. We must respect their accomplishment.”

  “Agreed. You know, I have been going over how they did manage to make it. A lot of it was scavenging and stealing from the surface. They have a widespread network of tunnels, but it’s dangerous work, and takes a lot of skill to make it up there and back. Then, just to maintain the lights? They used to have a parasite tap into the main grid, but that was cut off years ago. So now they steal batteries, and ration the power. They also have a supply of pilfered vitamins, which they carefully dole out to the children. And water? They collect it at seeps, but they have carefully plotted which sources are polluted and which are clear. The biggest accomplishment: none of the children are illiterate. I’m still not sure how they managed that.”

  Mahalanobis drank some more water. “Yes, that is impressive. Some of that must be due to the omnipresence of video games, which even down here means that it’s almost impossible to grow up without some exposure to the written word. Some of it is possibly due to their native abilities. They do have a school, you know. Presumably so they could read their holy writings - but they have a school. In this purgatory? I am chastened by any thought that I might be superior.”

  “Agreed. Now, changing the subject, how is the budget doing?”

  “Ah, the budget.” said Mahalanobis. “Well, it is doing about as well as it ever does. For whatever that is worth. So far it’s balancing. So far.”

  “I know that it’s going to take a while for the hydroponics to start to produce. How are we with that?”

  “Yes, that’s the main thing. We are fortunate that most food is already grown intensely in hydroponics units, so that the technology has been perfected and our branch already owns a lot of the necessary equipment. In the long run when everything is up and running the accounts should balance. Nevertheless, we are expending a lot of resources moving here, and getting past the short run will be tricky. So far I think we will make it. But it will be tight.

  “Let’s just be glad that the cultists have not developed a taste for wine.”

  “Yes,” said Mahalanobis. “Something to be grateful for. I’m not sure the budget could handle that.”

  “Oh, and there is one other thing.” said Adenour. “I’m worried about the priest.”

  “Worried? Why, what can he do?”

  “Well, in theory, not much, but he was the leader of these people, and he did save them. I’m concerned that if he thinks that he’s losing his position, then he might be a problem.”

  “That’s why I am careful to always respect his authority, and all deals go through him. Surely there is no issue here?”

  “In theory, but I have noticed that more and more of the cultists are coming directly to us. Some of them are not wearing their tentacle necklaces anymore.”

  Mahalanobis sighed. “Then I will have to find a way to make this work. Perhaps I can come up with an official position for him.”

  The flap of the tent was ripped open. It was Lucas Miller. “Hey! Hey! The high priest is going to wake Cthulhu! I thought you should know.”

  “Excuse me,” said Mahalanobis. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “I mean that the high priest is going to wake up Cthulhu! He’ll drink your blood and eat your souls! You should run!”

  “So where is the priest going?” asked Adenour.

  “To the temple of Cthulhu! You’ve never been there. It’s creepy.”

  “And why,” asked Mahalanobis, ”is it creepy?”

  “Well,” said Miller, “it’s behind all these black plastic sheets. And it’s dark in there. And in the middle, is like, Cthulhu himself! I’ve only been there once – I shouldn’t have, you’re supposed to be older – but I snuck in before they found me and threw me out.”

  “And what does this Cthulhu look like?” asked Adenour. “Some giant statue with rubber tentacles, like your high priest’s mask?”

  “Well, not really,” said Miller. “I mean, it’s big, and it has tentacles on its head, but they are more like machines than worms. They’re metal. And they’re shiny. And there are all these glass lenses – you know, like the things on cellphones and cameras and stuff – sticking on the ends of the tentacles.”

  Mahalanobis put down his water bottle, and seemed to pale. “Did you notice any writing on this statue?”

  “Well, yeah, there was. But it was strange. It said “geepixvee.” I don’t know what that meant.”

  “Could it, by any chance, have been G P X I V?” asked Mahalanobis.

  “Uh, maybe. It coulda been GPXIV. Or GPIVXX. Something like that. I didn’t see it long. What’s that mean?”

  “Oh mis-filed Neoliberal hell,” said Mahalanobis. He stood up and grabbed his radio. “Hello, anyone. The high priest, if you see him, stop him. Now! It’s urgent! What? You say he went into the temple two minutes ago? Then stop him! I don’t care if we’re not supposed to go in there, go in there and sit on the bastard until I get there. Really. Now!”

  Mahalanobis rushed to get his gun and started to run out of the tent. “Adenour. Get your weapons. Follow me.”

  Adenour grabbed his carbine, and moved to follow the older Librarian.

  “What’s up? What I say?” asked Miller.

  Adenour stopped and looked at the boy. “Miller, I’m not sure, but it sounds like trouble. Do you trust me?”

  Miller nodded.

  “Then,” said Adenour, “stay here. Do not come out unless I give the all clear. It’s important. Do you have the discipline to do that? A Librarian would do that.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Miller.

  “Then good lad. See you soon.” And Adenour raced out of the tent. He made it about 50 meters and then a powerful keening sound stabbed him through the skull, and he fell to his knees. He tried to cover his ears with his hands, but it didn’t help. The sound was like a dental drill boring into his brain.

  Mahalanobis was standing a little ways father on. He was calm and appeared to be completely unaffected by the noise. “By the Great Library,” he said. “We’re too late. The damn fool has gone and done it.”

  Adenour started to feel sick. “Done what?” he gasped.

  “Activated it.” Mahalanobis saw Adenour kneeling and starting to dry heave. “Brother. Remember your lessons. Recall Ur-Smith, and Protonicus, and Brother Aldred. It’s all in the mind. Focus.”

  Adenour thought back to his readings on mental self-control. It was difficult, at first, trying to remember the lessons when his cerebral cortex felt like it was on fire. But he forced himself to try, and perhaps the simple effort of trying helped him to remember the lessons. He could still hear the noise, but it did not cripple him any more. It was only a noise. He stood up.

  “Well done, brother,” said Mahalanobis. “But that’s just the sonics. The visuals are an order of magnitude more powerful.”

  “What is it?”

  “You know the story of the rogue artificial intelligence that they called Globus Pallidus Fourteen? Although for some reason they usually use roman numerals. More impressive sounding, I expect. Anyhow Globus Pallidus XIV itself was almost too horrible to contemplate, but it left behind a few minor units – compared to the
main event they were more like party favors – but still more than nasty enough for such as you and I. I believe that what we are faced with is a basilisk. It is a machine that can jam the human nervous system, and induce insanity or even death. It will not be easy to put down.”

  “Can we use seeker grenades on it?”

  Mahalanobis shook his head. “I fear that its emanations will jam most machine guidance systems as well. Ideally, we would use a heavily-shielded missile guided via inertial navigation, but that would take days to put together.”

  At the other side of the subway station, something ripped apart the plastic sheeting surrounding the cultist’s temple. Light shone out from the break, and Adenour reflexively turned and looked away, but it was too late, he had gotten a brief glimpse of the thing that had emerged. Compared to the sound, the visual image was overwhelming. It felt like a worm made of light was boring into his head, and he felt panic begin to overtake him. Calm, focus, think. Gradually he brought himself out of it, but it was vastly harder than it had been for the sound.

  Adenour took cover behind a concrete pillar – at least, it shielded him from direct sight of the thing from the temple. Mahalanobis was sheltering there beside him. Above the horrible sound, he heard additional screaming. He saw Brother Seneca, frothing and writhing, take his rifle and shoot himself in the mouth, blowing bloody pieces of his brain out the back of his head. A cultist was bashing himself against the concrete floor of the station, over and over until he passed out.

  The high priest was also there, howling and wailing. In a fit of manic strength, he reached up and dug into his scalp with his fingers. He tore the very skin from his head, peeling it down and revealing the slick bare bone underneath. Without the connections to the rest of the head, his face fell down and collapsed into a fleshy mass dangling from his cheeks and jaw. Then, mercifully, he had a heart attack and fell over dead.