Oracle--Mutant Wood

by C. W. Trisef

  “No, but I don’t see any remains of most of the outer circle either,” Paige returned. The tourists were enjoying the debate. “All I’m saying is, could it be possible that there used to be a sixth trilithon?”

  “Nonsense,” the guide dismissed.

  “But if the outer circle was originally a complete circle, why wouldn’t the inner one have been, too?” Paige was winning over several of the tourists.

  “I’m sorry, young lady, but you are disrupting my tour,” the annoyed woman growled. “I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

  Paige thought that was an unusually harsh ultimatum to give to an inquisitive tourist. Actually, it made her suspicious that someone might be trying to hide something.

  “Come on, dear,” Mr. Coy gently touched Paige’s shoulders from behind, “let’s get going.” The trio walked off, much to the delight of the tour guide, her face unflinching.

  “But Dad,” Paige protested on their way back to the car, “don’t you see it, too?”

  “Of course I do, honey,” Coy whispered back. “But we weren’t going to get very far, so long as that battleax was on duty.” Once they had piled back into the car and closed the doors, Coy told them, “We’ll come back late tonight, after the place is closed.”

  “Where are we going now?” Ana inquired as they pulled out of the parking lot.

  Coy replied, “To get our costumes.”

  * * * * *

  It was a few hours after midnight when Mr. Coy and his two accomplices returned to Stonehenge—well, the general area of it, that is, for like most people about to engage in not-so-legal activities, they made sure to park a fair distance away. The full moon cast a bright glow on the English countryside, and the air had turned bitter cold, which wasn’t a problem since the three of them were covered in strips of synthetic fur.

  “I can’t believe I’m wearing this,” Ana complained as she and the Coys covered themselves in material they had purchased earlier from a textile shop in town.

  “Now remember,” Mr. Coy told them, “we’re trying to look like a family of deer, out grazing for an early morning meal.” The girls pinned up their hair. “It’s still dark enough that if we take it slow, we shouldn’t provoke any security guards.”

  “What are the knee pads for?” Ana wondered.

  “We’ll be walking on all fours,” Coy replied.

  “And don’t forget these,” Paige said, handing the others each a fake nose, tail, and pair of pointy ears, which were actually just variations of party hats.

  “You really think this is going to work, Mr. Coy?” Ana asked candidly.

  “I think we’ve got a good chance,” he answered, “especially thanks to this.” He brought out a headpiece of fake antlers and secured it on his head. Then striking a pose, he said, “What do you think?”

  “Oh dear,” Paige unintentionally quipped at the unusual sight.

  “I think you could double as the Exalted Ruler of an Elks Lodge,” Ana remarked.

  “Perfect,” Coy cheered, locking the car and preparing to execute his plan. “Come on, let’s get our deer on.”

  The fraudulent ruminants fell to their knees and began their unhurried crawl toward Stonehenge.

  “We need to walk like a deer,” Coy quietly advised, demonstrating his counsel by following no prescribed path and occasionally pausing. “We need to think like a deer.” He craned his neck upwards as if alarmed. “We need to act like a deer.” He put his face near the grass and pretended to eat it.

  “Oh no,” Ana refused. “I draw the line at eating grass.”

  It was slow going for the quasi quadrupeds. After passing the earthwork enclosure that encircled the site, they crossed the vast lawn until they finally arrived within the massive stones, which provided some degree of cover.

  Still in disguise, they roamed the prehistoric site. Paige automatically returned to the empty space at the top of the horseshoe-like inner circle. She was drawn to it for some reason. She took out the drawing of Stonehenge and studied it again. The illustration showed a sixth trilithon, exactly where she was kneeling. With growing certainty, she suspected a trilithon did, in fact, once stand there. And if that was true, then it had been completely removed, for there was no evidence of it ever being there, unlike the two dilapidated trilithons in the circle whose remains lay on the ground. But who would have done such a thing? How? Why?

  “Hey, girl,” Ana whispered, arriving at Paige’s side. “Is your fur starting to itch, too?”

  “A little,” Paige replied, without looking up. This was Ana’s first opportunity to compare the two-dimensional drawing to the actual monument. She could easily see the distinction that Paige had made earlier during the tour: there were six trilithons on paper but only five in real life. Ana counted again. Something was missing. Where was the sixth trilithon?

  One, two, three, four, five. Ana counted the remaining trilithons over and over again. One, two, three, four, five—then including the gap—six. Wait. Where had she seen this before? Her mind reached back to the health lecture at school. Then her focus changed from trilithons to food groups, and she had an epiphany.

  “Hello, my dears,” Mr. Coy joked as he joined the girls from behind. “Mind if I also take a look?” Paige held up the drawing for all to see.

  The mystery of the missing trilithon was distracting the three of them from the approaching dawn. At their backs, the eastern sky was gradually growing brighter, rapidly burning up the low clouds. The fading darkness, however, meant the effectiveness of their costumes was fading, too.

  “Freeze!” a threatening voice cried out. The mock mammals spun around in alarm. A security guard was running towards them.

  Huddled together, the trespassers were unsure of what to do. Paige and Ana looked to Mr. Coy for guidance. Just when they were about to make a run for it, the first rays of the morning sun appeared on the horizon. A blinding light engulfed them from behind, and the trio disappeared.

  CHAPTER 12

  SUBATOMIC PROBLEMS

  In an instant, Mr. Coy found himself in an entirely different setting. The grassy countryside that surrounded Stonehenge had been replaced by a rocky coastline along open ocean. Whereas a moment ago the sun had been rising behind him, it was now setting in front of him. A quick glance at his watch told him the date hadn’t changed but that the time was nearly twelve hours later. When he turned around, he recognized his new location immediately. He was at Waters Deep.

  Instinctively, Mr. Coy reached for Paige and Ana to protect them from potential dangers on this inhospitable island. But the girls weren’t there. In fact, he didn’t see either of them anywhere. He was about to go searching for them but immediately froze, figuring there were cameras all over the place. Then he realized he was still wearing his deer costume. He slowly fell to his knees and began to putter around, hoping the shadows of the approaching evening would help to obscure his true identity.

  “Paige? Ana?” Coy whispered, as he made like a deer and dillydallied in the vicinity, despite the lack of vegetation. He was in an exceptionally stony area, close enough to the sea that he could feel the spray of the large waves as they crashed into the jetty-like shore. He had arrived in the vertical cleft of a large rock, much taller than him. As black as all the others, it was a single boulder that had been worn through in the center so that it was in the shape of a roughly square arch, like a crude and miniature version of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, France. In fact, what it really looked like was a variation of a trilithon.

  Still no sign of the girls, Mr. Coy began to meander inland, knowing he needed to keep moving in order to avoid drawing attention to himself. Although he did not understand how or why he had come to be at the Deep, he marveled at a strange coincidence: for many days now, he had been deeply concerned about Jaret. Was his friend dead or alive? Was he still Coy’s secret link to Lye’s inner circle, or had he been brainwashed again? More than once in the past few weeks, Coy hadn’t been able to sleep at night, wo
ndering if it was his duty to sneak to the Deep and rescue the captive Cooper man. He had always decided against doing so, but now here he was, on the wretched island. It was almost as if Stonehenge had known what was weighing on his mind and heart.

  Night fell, and although the daylight faded, the warm temperature lingered, thanks to the many hot springs that dotted the landscape. A bright moon shone overhead, both revealing and concealing just enough. Mr. Coy was unsure of his next move. As much as he wanted to liberate his imprisoned comrade, he wasn’t fully prepared to storm the bastille, and there wasn’t exactly a neon sign that identified an entrance into the Deep’s underground facility. Besides, he didn’t know if Jaret was even on the island.

  Coy was contemplating the idea of trying to figure out a way to get home when he heard a plane touch down nearby. It was a small plane, judging by the faint noise the tires made as they skidded along the ground. Mr. Coy hurried to find it, following the sound of spinning propellers. He arrived at a long field, which apparently served as a runway. Hiding behind a bush, Mr. Coy watched as the far end of the narrow airstrip began to lower into the earth, hinging at the other end and becoming a ramp that served as an entrance into the Deep’s fortress. The plane bounced along as it rolled down the ramp.

  “Not bad,” Mr. Coy commented to himself as he observed the secret passageway, knowing he had a few of his own back at the Manor. “I like mine better, but not bad.”

  Reaching the end, the plane drove off the ramp and into the underground facility, at which time the ramp promptly began to close.

  “It’s now or never,” Coy said as he leapt from his hiding spot. He ran toward the ramp, hoping to slip inside the ever-narrowing crevice along the nearest edge, but it was closing too quickly. He entered a full sprint, now more than halfway down the runway. His best chance at having enough room was at the far end. Just as it was about to seal shut, he angled his legs and fell on his side, gliding toward the gap like a baseball player sliding into home plate. The ramp closed. He had made it.

  Well, sort of: his fake antlers had gotten caught, pinched between the ramp and the ground when they came together. Mr. Coy was stuck on the ceiling like a bat, hanging several yards above the plane. He was about to free himself from his headpiece when he was distracted by who got out of the plane.

  “Welcome to Waters Deep, Mr. Zarbock,” a pair of men greeted the world-renowned physicist, each extending a hand. Short and stout, they were identical twins, both balding and wearing oversized eyeglasses. Although Lionel wasn’t exactly their superior, they were intimidated by him.

  Spurning the handshakes, Lionel replied with displeasure, “Hello, Abacus,” then addressing the other man, “Hello, Aloysius.” Besides their parents, there were only two people who could tell the twins apart—every time, without fail: Lye and Lionel.

  In a patronizing tone, Lionel said, “Lye tells me you Foxx twins could use some help.” He began to walk away at a fast pace, knowing the twins would follow.

  Mr. Coy was surprised by how uncordial Lionel was acting. It was very unlike him. Of course, he did look rather worn out, almost stumbling once or twice. Lionel chalked it up to jetlag, but Mr. Coy wondered if his true colors were bleeding through.

  “We’re doing the best we can,” Abacus pled after catching up to Lionel, who he purposely stayed a step behind, assuming that was his place.

  “What Lye wants done is no small feat,” Aloysius sought for sympathy. “Most countries aren’t even capable of doing it.”

  “Your excuses are disappointing,” Lionel returned without mercy. “I can see why Lye is so frustrated with you two.” The brothers looked down in shame as Lionel turned and led them down a hallway, out of sight.

  Still dangling, Mr. Coy turned his attention to the pilot, who was the only other person in the room now. Coy not only needed to get by him unnoticed but was also counting on the pilot to break his fall. When the unsuspecting man exited the plane, Coy started to swing. Then, after the pilot closed and locked the cabin door, Mr. Coy aimed and unbuckled himself from his antlers, falling on the man and knocking him out.

  “Thanks for the smooth landing,” he told the unconscious fellow.

  Coy shed the rest of his deer costume, then followed after the Foxx twins and their guest. With great caution, he tiptoed through the dark hallways, stepping lightly on the glass floor, which seemed to amplify the sound of his footsteps. He was in a high-tech wing of the Deep, a scientific workshop of sorts that pulsed with a tangible energy, like the turbine chamber at the base of a hydroelectric dam. A subdued, throbbing noise—this lair’s heartbeat—was so pervasive that it seemed to reach in and beat Mr. Coy’s eardrums.

  When he could hear voices again, Coy reduced his speed to a snail’s pace. Nearing the end of the hall, he crouched down and peeked around the corner into a spacious room. This huge and hollow underground cavity was bustling with activity. There were plumes of steam where hot metal was being cooled in cold water. There were flashes of light from heavy machinery fabricating specialized parts. The honking of big trucks competed with the beeping of forklifts. Deliveries were being made, and shipments were being sent. Some workers used power tools and were filthy, while others used computers and were unsullied.

  Although Mr. Coy had an idea of what was going on here, his suspicions were confirmed when he saw what Lionel and the twins were standing in front of: the half-finished shell of an atomic bomb. Suddenly, Mr. Coy’s heart began to race. He needed to get closer—needed to hear what they were saying. But how?

  Just then, Mr. Coy heard someone coming from behind him. It was a worker arriving for his shift. Still crouched down, Coy pretended to be tying his shoe as the man strode by. He discretely watched the employee put on one of the white protective jumpsuits hanging up on the wall before entering an adjacent lab and getting to work. Mr. Coy did the same, stepping into and zipping up the suit, but instead of reporting to a lab, he headed toward Lionel and the twins, observing the different stations along the way.

  The entire uranium enrichment process, from ore to fuel, was being carried out under a single roof. It began with a chemical reaction that turned solid uranium into a gas. The gas was then put into cylindrical tubes called centrifuges. About the size of a person, these tubes were then spun at super high speeds to separate the heavier uranium-238 gas molecules (which were much more prevalent, though useless for nuclear purposes) from the slightly lighter uranium-235 gas molecules (which were fewer but could be used for fuel or warheads). The spinning pulled some of the heavier particles to the edges, leaving the lighter ones in the center, which were then put into another centrifuge to be refined even more. Apparently, this process was repeated over and over and over again, for Mr. Coy could see hundreds of thousands of tubes lined up. Once the uranium was refined enough, another chemical reaction converted it back into a solid, and it was now ready for use. Money and manpower, space and skill—the uranium enrichment procedure required exorbitant amounts of each.

  Arriving within earshot of his least favorite person and the identical Foxx twins, Mr. Coy turned his back to the party but tuned into their conversation, fiddling with some random devices to make it look like he was focusing on something else.

  “Why is this taking so long?” Lionel asked with a hostile air.

  “We’re working day and night, sir,” Abacus begged.

  “That’s not good enough!” Lionel sneered.

  “Perhaps if we had more resources,” Aloysius said, “then we could—”

  “You have everything you need,” Lionel retorted. “The creation of this bomb is Lye’s top priority. We’re running out of time.”

  “We will do everything in our power to have it ready for the attack on Coy Manor,” Abacus pledged. Mr. Coy clenched his fists.

  “This isn’t for the attack, you fools!” Lionel scoffed.

  “But I thought—” Aloysius started.

  “But what?!” Lionel interrupted. “Lye has asked me to lead the attack on the Mano
r; don’t you think I know what I’m talking about?” Mr. Coy gritted his teeth. “This weapon is for Ret. He has only one known weakness, and this is it. Why do you think Lye had you create the fission gun, hmm? That gun proved the boy’s vulnerability. The Oracle is moving fast; Ret is already within reach of the fifth element. This bomb must be ready before the Oracle is filled.”

  By now, Mr. Coy had stopped tinkering. The mention of the attack on the Manor was bad enough, but the fact that Lionel was the one who would be leading it was even more irritating. And now Lye was building an atomic bomb to destroy Ret? Mr. Coy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was livid.

  “And so I ask you again,” Lionel continued, “why is this taking so long?!” He banged his fist against the bomb’s empty shell, the deep sound echoing throughout the room. “The only limitation I can see is you two,” he pointed at them, “Tweedledee and Tweedledum. You are to blame.”

  “A thousand apologies, sir,” Abacus besought, as if his life depended on it.

  “Have you two mutinied also?” Lionel raged, his stress turning his hair grayer by the minute. “First, Commander Jaret tried to steal Lye’s cane, and now the Russian president has defected.” The twins gasped. “Is anyone still loyal to Lye? For all I know, that man over there has deserted us, too.” Lionel pointed to the man in the white suit whose back was turned to them. “That man hasn’t moved in ten minutes. You there, come here immediately.”

  Mr. Coy had been caught. Yet, strangely, he wasn’t worried. There was something he wanted to do, especially after what he had just heard but really ever since he had met Lionel in the prison at Sunken Earth years ago. And Coy figured now was as good an opportunity as ever.

  “You in the white suit,” Lionel repeated. “I said come here!”

  Mr. Coy looked down at the ground as if ashamed, then obediently trudged toward Lionel.

  “You see, gentlemen,” Lionel told the twins, “maybe if your workforce wasn’t so lazy, things wouldn’t be taking so long.” Mr. Coy was getting more fed up with every step. “Watch how I take care of this problem.”