*****
A little after 1200 hours, we make our way out of the green dome – the southernmost one. A balmy 2°C (35°F) greets us. Korzhak points to the sky and angrily grumbles something in Russian to his team, but the rest of us understand nothing of what he tells them. As the descent suit does not have room for a crazed Russian homme to somewhat sane French femme dictionary, I cannot look his words up. Although still a 400-meter walk or so ahead of us, we can already see a towering drill rise up above the wintery desert as if its own mountain ridge. With each step forward, this silver and forest green drill becomes more magnificent. Now close to it, we all gasp as our heads crook skyward.
“She weighs only eighty-four metric tons,” Korzhak says proudly in his thick accent. With each next word, he grows more excited. “294 segments of pipe ten meters long; as of now, she can go 2,940 meters deep. How far we can drill down, only a matter of how many drill pipes we have. After we drill, we take pipes out, and then, like magic – now you have hole!”
My head tired of gawking at the sky, I look to the ground from where this monstrosity rises. A thick, perfect square made of steel covers what I guess is the opening to the drilled column. As if a train to a track, the metal square’s edges have wheels on them that embed into two massive steel rails. These two rails, about thirty meters apart, run for at least one hundred meters in each direction. To the east – my left – about halfway down the rails sits the huge drill. Almost the whole length of the rails in the opposite direction awaits a crane painted in deep orange. Although nowhere near as tall or massive as the drill, it is still as big as any crane I have ever seen. Many times more Russians than I have seen to this point busily work on this crane and other equipment.
“If you have courage to, in the hole here you will go.” Korzhak smirks as he points to the steel square now slowly making its way along the rails toward the drill. As if an attempt to offer me fair warning, the wheels below the metal square now in motion squeak loudly, almost painfully.
“Yes, well, as I did not see you volunteer, one of us had to have the courage to do so,” I unwisely wisecrack back. With a sly smile, Dr. Korzhak walks away; his clumsy strut suddenly reminding me just who is in charge of my well-being.
Out of the corner of one eye, I notice Dr. Ravensdale and Dr. Leitz approach. The other eye still focused on Korzhak, he now mutters to himself and points to the sky once more. I find this odd. As it is Antarctica, aside from the sun, there is not a whole lot else high above.
A silent signal given by Alistair to do so, I fumble for my headpiece and clumsily put it on. It is now 1230 hours. The drilled hole now exposed to the open air and the approaching crane (its engines are quieter than I would have expected) close to it, final preparations can begin at last. I take a long swig of water once Alfred hooks me into my harness. The water bottle put away, I next pull a pair of remarkably thin gloves over my hands. A sleek hardhat appearing as more of a helmet covering my head; the camera atop it steady and lights lit; my darkened glasses wedged onto my face; a crimson good luck charm in my descent suit’s right front pocket – I am ready.
“As if Alice … down the rabbit hole,” Dr. Ravensdale jokes with a fatherly grin.
“Yes, my friend, I do indeed feel much the same. This time, however, perhaps I can do what Alice could not.”
“And what is that?” Dr. Leitz asks with a warm, cheery smile.
“The looking-glass I will be returning through – that pesky white rabbit is coming back with me!”
Both chuckle and work to strap on my oxygen mask. Alfred disconnects the microphone piece to my headset and tosses it to the frozen ground. He then plugs the piece of wire still left into the bottom part of my mask. With lime green electrical tape that clashes horribly with my silver descent suit, Alistair tapes any leftover slack from the wire onto the front of my suit. The result is beyond ugly, yet perfectly practical. Warm grins for a job well done meet my queer stare and they step away.
I gaze at the huge crane one last time. Its driver and Korzhak exchange words, but from what I can tell, Korzhak does most of the talking. He appears a bit heated, but with this bitter man, who knows? Others I guess are mechanics point at and walk around the machine that will keep me from falling to my death – hopefully. To come back up alive, that is the plan at least. The driver looks a little young to be operating a crane, but aside from noticing this and the scurrying mechanics, I think little else of them.
With a deep breath, I tug on the cable attached to my harness; it gives me about two meters of slack. I step down a ladder bolted to the lip of the drilled hole, say a silent prayer, push away from the ladder, and let myself hang freely. That I do not immediately tumble to my death ––
This is a good first sign!
“Let’s do a communications check everyone,” the Admiral orders through our headsets.
“Saddlebirch, checkin’ in.” Drs. Ravensdale and Leitz do so next. After I check in as well, there is an unsettling pause.
“Victor! Are you there?”
“Da, I am here,” Korzhak blurts. “Busy working, busy working.”
“We are at zero meters … 1246 hours … begin descent,” announces a Russian voice I have yet to hear. His accent nowhere near as thick as that of Dr. Korzhak, he speaks near perfect English. The crane now starts to lower me in. “Total depth is 2,685 meters. Descent speed – one meter per second. We will slow to half speed at 2,000 meters.”
As I think of the near-endless iced chamber’s true length for the first time, the calmness of this voice suddenly becomes unsettling. I already know the drilled out column is deep, but never asked about the exact depth.
For my own sake, maybe it is best to leave the rabbit holes to Alice!
I want to speak, but realize I will do little more than squeak if I try. I suddenly have no moisture in my throat to do so easily. Not comfortable enough to reach for water, I instead decide to save what saliva I have left for when I truly need to talk. My insides shake wildly. A search spanning twenty-nine years and counting – it all comes down to this.
“100 meters down. All systems lit green … no errors … no warnings.”
The sounds from above too faint to hear, only the rhythmic wheeze of my oxygen mask keeps me company. Just as my breathing reminds me of the Star Wars villain I sound like, none other than Admiral Vanderbilt speaks.
“We have you, honey, everything is under control,” he proclaims confidently. “Don’t be scared.”
“No worries, Grandfather,” I announce in equal, but false, confidence. “I am not scared.” Not my intention, but powerless to stop it, my voice slips into a moisture-starved, cracked whisper. “Only terrified….”
The motion downward is wholly different from potholing. That my descent is steady and I have no control over it are the two most obvious differences. The speed of the crane lowering me rattles me a bit at first, but I quickly adjust. Despite this, the whole experience still feels rather creepy. Lights and cameras cleverly embedded in the nitrogen-cooled mesh that line the wall of the ice column soon come into view. These cameras, no thicker than a finger, appear as if snakes that now peek at me from all sides. The width of the drilled ice column more than sufficient, I have a surprising amount of room to move about.
“500 meters down. All systems lit green … no errors … no warnings.”
My heart races only slightly less wildly than when I had first started out. My descent suit designed to keep me comfortable – I am sweating like mad! Unable to hold off a moment longer, unsteady hands reach for my water jug and I drink half of it. The water’s coolness soothes more than just my throat. Lastly, I pull off my glasses and hang them over one of a handful of metal rings around my waist.
“1,000 meters down. All systems lit green … no errors … one warning.”
I have no clue as to what this ‘warning’ indicates. In our final meeting, Korzhak informed us that any system warnings would be minor. System errors or a system going from green to yellow is w
hat worries him. Curiously, he never mentioned if a system went from yellow to red. The more systems, the more worry; fourteen separate systems suggest that plenty can go wrong.
“A hundred bucks, Admiral,” Saddlebirch whispers through my headset. “Give you even odds she bails before the bottom.”
Not so much to my liking, Admiral Vanderbilt not only fails to defend me, but also chortles at this. And I give him more than enough time to do so.
“We can all hear you, Dr. Saddlebirch,” I lecture calmly. “Feel free to bet against me – the thought of sending you back to Texas penniless warms my heart.” Heartless words spoken into the microphone plugged into my oxygen mask pass through the headset clearly, but carry no emotion. I sound as if a repelling robot. Radio silence follows.
“Um, yeah – that’s right,” Admiral Vanderbilt stammers finally. “I was just about to tell him those exact same words.”
Many Russians immediately break out in howls.
“KORZHAK!” I shout through their giggles. “There are cracks in the ice column wall! Why are there cracks in the ice column wall?”
The laughs immediately cease. Next, four or five different Russian voices banter about my headset for at least a minute. Finally, their chattering stops and Korzhak speaks.
“Er – describe the cracks.”
“Did you just say ‘describe the cracks’?”
“Da – that is what I say.” His question thicker than his accent, my sarcasm appears to have no affect on him. “Describe the cracks,” he repeats again.
I make the most twisted of faces for my own bewildered amusement at this stupid request. “Um … okay,” I return seriously. “Describe the cracks: A separation of parts of ice, a fissure that would strongly suggest these nitrogen spider webs you have hanging along the walls are – not – working! You have cameras all over the place – take a look with them!”
Forgetting about the camera perched atop my head; I reach into the mesh, pull a camera out a bit, and point it to the largest of many cracks around me. For now, at least, they are not growing larger.
“Eh, do not worry about them. No big deal. Trust me, you are good. You are safe.” And just as he finishes saying this.…
“1,500 meters down. One system lit yellow, two errors, eleven warnings.” Not panicky for sure, but saying this more quickly than before, the voice is no longer so calm.
A flurry of questions and answers, some in Russian, but most surprisingly in English, now buzz about as if bees trapped inside my headset. To speak in the midst of all this can only cause more confusion so I keep quiet. The voices soon turn quiet as well. My descent so steady and rhythmic, I feel myself begin to fall into a sort of trance. The darkening of the drilled core, the ring of lights coming into view, and then dark again help little to combat my dreamy state.
“We have found the issue,” Admiral Vanderbilt radios after what feels like hours. “Working on it.”
“Yes, yes, you are okay,” Korzhak cuts in soon after. “Just some things on the crane not working right. We fix it now. Open ice column is … eh, intact.”
“Well, that is good news,” I lie with an awakened gasp. ‘Open ice column is … eh, intact’ – even more good news?
Am I the only one who realizes the crane will be at least SOMEWHAT necessary to pull me out of the ice core?
Saying no more, I listen carefully as others continue to discuss random technical issues. This goes on for several minutes until the crane’s cable suddenly stops. Now suspended in midair two kilometers below the surface, this is more nerve-racking than the descent.
“2,000 meters down. Time … 1326 hours. One system lit yellow … one error … four warnings.” The smooth calmness in the voice returns – if only my own nerves would settle down as well. After a long pause, he speaks again. “Restart descent … one-half meter per second.” As if magic, the crane obeys. Down, down, down – only the last fifth of the rabbit hole remains.
A faint light below turns into a warm glow. My arrival the main attraction, extra lights and cameras come into view. Aside from this, sweating more than I can ever remember and my heart pounding not just wildly, but to the point it hurts, the last 500 meters are relatively dull. A random question or answer here and there, our headsets are mostly silent during this time as well.
“2,500 meters down. One system lit yellow … one error … one warning.”
“Presque ... presque ... presque ...[4]” I chant softly to myself. A distance a little more than a football pitch remaining, I almost cannot breathe. The iced bottom close, it appears much like the radar image, becoming clearer … clearer….
“2,684 meters down. Time … 1350 hours. One system lit yellow … one error … one warning.”
“C’est ici,” I gasp.
The crane stops – I am now barely a meter above the bottom. This is on purpose, as I will need the extra space. I unlock the harness keeping me upright and flip upside down. With a dull thump followed by what sounds like someone eating crunchy cereal, I smash the top of my head into the column wall across from me. The perched camera – now in more than a dozen pieces – falls atop the iced vault.
“What did you do to my best camera, Rothschild?” Korzhak shouts into my headset.
“Forget about it, Victor,” Admiral Vanderbilt shoots back. “I’ll buy you a better one when I get back to the States.”
As Dr. Korzhak says nothing more, it appears this promise finally gives the grumpy Russian a reason to be happy.
Upside down and not caring in the least about the ruined camera, I relock my harness. A sudden shearing sound pulls my head to the left. The crack this shearing left behind catching the corner of my eye, my heart nearly stops. As if sneaky and meaning to hide its intentions, once I lock both eyes onto it, the crack quiets. I look away and then stare back again – nothing. Fear for the moment shelved and paranoia pushed out of mind, I refocus on my prize.
“A coat of ice remains atop the vault’s cover – I will take care of this now.”
I withdraw a canister of de-icing spray from my harness and shake it. A little more popping, a few more cracks in the walls, for now I ignore them. With a thick spray of the chemical onto the ice, after ten minutes or so, it starts to work.
Most of the ice gone, this time my heart does stop. Luckily, this is only temporary. Once my wondrous eyes meet the massive bronze disk the ancient ice leaves behind, I begin to hyperventilate. Its diameter is nearly as wide as I am tall! Five simple, yet elegant, raised engravings sit atop the circular border – just like in the radar image. Closest to the hinges at the most northern point shows the outline of a Sapien. Evenly spaced and moving clockwise around the circle are similarly raised outlines: An Arachna Majora comes next, then a Centaur, then a Gryphon, and lastly, a Mermaid.
“A vault that keeps safe the key to unlock a world before the one we now know – we have found it!” I crow. As if they are all dead – or simply stunned into silence – not a single voice crows back. I am as if all alone. AND I LOVE IT!
Now in control of an extended cable along my harness, I slowly lower myself to within a whisper of the ancient vault. Still upside down, I next run my gloved fingers over the raised bronze carvings. The only colors are of brilliant gems for eyes set in each engraving. From the top and moving clockwise, I first touch those of the Sapien. Unlike the others, the bejeweled eyes are not identical – its right eye a sapphire, its left one is a gem the color of orange flame.
I cannot believe the similarities!
With no choice but to promise myself I will revisit this shocking dilemma later, I next feel the pair of obsidian stones set atop the Arachna Majora, then the brown quartz eyes of the Centaur, and then the Gryphon’s sparkling diamonds. I take in a deep breath. Finally, I trace over the emeralds of my favorite, the Mermaid, and an avalanche of emotion hits me as if this vault had fallen out of the sky and landed on top of me.
“C’est magnifique,” I sob more than once into my mouthpiece. Tears of joy gush from my e
yes and I pray inwardly that what I seek rests just under this lid. Cheers that now roar through my headset break the last few minutes of complete silence. The cameras are clearly working well.
“Great job,” Admiral Vanderbilt gushes. “You were born to find it, honey. All along, it waited patiently just for you.”
“Congratulations, Dr. Rothschild, but we are not done yet!” Dr. Ravensdale and Dr. Leitz say as one. Although they are over two kilometers away, I nod as if they are right next to me.
“Indeed, we are not,” I whisper back.
Just above me, a gaggle of hooks and other fastenings meander downward as if the tentacles of a squid. I will need these to lift the cover. Even if not still frozen in some places along it and me standing right side up for added leverage, to open the bronze cover would be impossible without these tools. As I latch on the hooks, I notice a small chunk of the vault missing. This is no doubt from the core sample referred to in my orders. Luckily, this minor damage is on a side of the vault and not the middle. I apply more de-icing chemicals to the edges for good measure and raise myself.
“Everything is set. The fastenings, the hooks – all ready to go.” I say quietly. This process has taken about fifteen minutes. I am giddy with anticipation, yet almost sad at the same time that I have found the vault and now stand ready to open it.
“Raise back into your harness,” Korzhak commands. “Move to south column wall.” I do as told. “When ready, give the order to raise it, Rothschild.”
“Open the cover,” I croak, suddenly barely able to speak. Through my headset, I can hear the whirring sounds of the crane’s second pulley. Every part of me trembles as the echoes of the lid now breaking its icy seal bounce about the drilled ice core. Its hinges creak, but stay sturdy. The lid ever so slowly separating from the vault.…
My world stands still to watch in awe as the portal to an ancient one opens.
Chapter Five
AN UNEXPECTED GUEST
“NOUS L’AVONS! NOUS L’AVONS! NOUS L’AVONS! WE HAVE IT! WE HAVE IT! WE HAVE IT!”
The Fifth Codex Page 4
