Desperate for a better look, I writhe about in my harness. All at once, scared shouts ripple through my earpiece.
“What’s going on down there?” the Admiral demands. “What happened?”
“Dr. Rothschild, are you there?” Alistair begs. “Do you copy?”
Baffled by all this, I realize my hand is over my mouthpiece. The vault lid only half raised, the cameras cannot show those above what I have already glimpsed. Before shouting into it, I had grabbed the microphone and still not let it go. I now remove my hand and give the all clear.
“The haystack has revealed its needle!” My tone is triumphant and impossible to confuse this time. Cheers – much louder than the first – fill my headset a second time.
“We have it, Grandfather! We have it! It is here, waiting for us.” My swollen eyes tired of shedding tears; they happily do so again. “After all these millennia, waiting … just as you said it would be.”
The lid almost fully open, the fifth codex greets us all. I suck in a flurry of deep breaths and again lower myself until stopping just above the vault’s bottom lip.
“Bonjour, mon ami ... bienvenue dans mon monde[5],” I whisper.
This sincere welcome spoken, I extend my hands toward the revealed codex. And then freeze as if part of the glacier I am at the bottom of. A second object tucked against the eastern edge of the vault stuns me even more than does the codex itself. At least I expected to see the codex.
A twin? My crimson jewel has a twin?
How I do not blurt this thought aloud for others to hear, I will never know. I hurriedly shift my body to hide what I see from the spying cameras above. As I sneak a peek at the scattered camera pieces no longer attached to my helmet – what a bold stroke of luck!
Or is it fate?
Fiddling in my descent suit’s right front pocket, I withdraw my own crimson jewel. The spherical red diamond in its pendant attached to an overly thick, yet handsome gold necklace cradled in my right hand, I stare at them side by side. The two gems nearly the size of my palm and set in identical pendants, there is but one difference: This buried one owns a dainty, elegant gold chain. My mind already racing, I hurriedly pocket both; the gem I arrived with stuffed back into where I had pulled it from, I tuck the other in the suit’s left front pocket.
Barely able to breathe and beyond speechless, I again focus on the fifth codex. Just as with the vault cover, I next run my gloved fingers along the gold top. Aside from being at least three times taller and the differing gems on its cover, this magnificent codex appears much like the other four.
“Alright! It’s time for Dr. Leitz to show off for us,” Admiral Vanderbilt announces.
More cables coming at me from above, the last cable holds a large pack. I gather this pack while still suspended, lower myself, remove the harness, and now stand atop a small patch of ice with barely enough room for my two feet. With a couple of deep breaths, I step into the insides of the vault.
“Is everyone seeing this? The vault is a hollowed pentagon a little more than a meter deep … made of dark stone.”
“The black granite found only in the mountains,” Admiral Vanderbilt answers back, “just like I wrote in your orders.”
“This is better than expected!” Dr. Leitz declares. “The rigid sides will be perfect for the pneumatic lifts in the pack. Do you have all four of them, Dr. Rothschild?”
“Yes, yes I do.” As if a robot under his command, I pull out each lift and then attach thinner than a credit card, but impossible to bend, titanium metal clips to all four lifts. Set against the base of the codex, but flush with four of the five walls of the pentagon, they are ready. “Finished,” I let him know a few minutes after I had started. “Careful! That is pure gold you are pressing into.”
After the pneumatic lifts raise the codex just a touch off the granite floor, much like wrapping ribbon around a most precious gift, I begin to crisscross strips of flexible metal coated with rubber around it. This takes another fifteen minutes. Sheer genius combined with robotics, brute force, and technique as old as time itself – the fifth codex is ready to depart its world and meet mine. Lifted slowly by the crane and level with my wide-eyed stare and codfish mouth, I run outstretched fingers along the edges of the copper plates. Salty tears stray into my mouth – none were ever sweeter.
Having shed so many tears already, if I run through today’s worth, is it possible to borrow ones from tomorrow?
The Sapien Codex now beyond my reach quickly moves higher. Too quickly. It is not long before small chips of ice begin to rain down on me from above. The answer why is obvious: The codex is swaying against and bumping into the column walls. As I consider the danger of the codex hurtling back down, an even more horrid danger dawns on me: the stability of the ice column.
“You are raising the codex too fast!” I screech into my mouthpiece as the chips turn into chunks. “Pieces of ice are falling on me!”
“Get back in your harness – hurry,” the Admiral says quickly after a pause. Realizing the hint of fear in his voice, I keep things short.
“I am doing that now – should only take a minute.” As I work furiously to strap myself back in, the lights flicker on and off above me.
“Depth 2,685 meters. Time … 1442 hours. Two systems lit yellow; three errors; nineteen warnings.” Once again, the calm voice is not so calm. More breaking systems – more errors – more warnings: JUST PERFECT!
Instead of wondering about borrowed tears, maybe I need to start wondering about borrowed screams!
“The excitement never ends,” I seethe. The crack that played hide and seek with me when first de-icing the vault cover hides no more. A sound eerily like popcorn popping behind me, I spin around. The crack is not only twice as large as before, but has brought along friends as well – lots of them.
“READY!” Along with my shouted plea, a flurry of voices I find hard to keep track of run through my headset. Sirens, bells, whistles, and every manner of sound we humans use to warn others when intent goes awry mixes in most horribly with these panicky voices.
“How fast is the codex moving, Korzhak?” the Admiral snarls.
“Six to eight meters per second,” the winded Russian shoots back. “Halfway up.”
“Make it ten and get her up here now!”
“Ten meters per second?” I gasp. “By cable? That is too ––,” more popping, larger cracks surrounding me, the ground beginning to shake, “allez, allez, allez; you can go even faster if you ––”
Jerking me so fast that I bite my tongue as I scream, the cable reels skyward with me in my harness at the end of it.
“Depth 2,000 meters. Two systems lit yellow, one system lit red; six errors; thirty-four warnings.”
Ever larger chunks of ice now hurtle down at me. Same as with the codex, the cable is moving so fast that my body begins to sway. With each smash into the column walls, I take a good many lights and cameras with me. The danger presented by the nitrogen-cooled webs meshed against the walls grows with each crash into them. I hold my arms and legs in as much as I can to keep them from tangling me up.
“Depth 1,500 meters. Four systems lit yellow, two systems lit red; eleven ––.”
“No more errors or warnings, Matvei!” one of the Russians shouts angrily. “We just need depth!”
More ice hitting me, an especially hard smash into the wall – the oxygen mask ripped from my face is now gone. This dazes me to the point my eyes blur as well. Using a curse word with every second one, Korzhak starts to shout. Along with the many languages that I know well, I understand the crudest words from dozens of others. Pounding on metal as if with a sledgehammer, grunts, groans, maybe even a punch – if not for so much ice and debris now pummeling me from above, I might have taken more of an interest in this.
“Depth 1,000 meters.”
“Alexys Élisabeth, are you there?” the Admiral wheezes, as if out of breath. “Come on, honey, talk to me, do you copy?” Although my mind fades in and out, his quaki
ng, unsteady voice soothes me.
“Barely …” I answer back in little more than a whisper as ever-larger chunks of ice crash into me. A heavy one slams into my head. My chin pushed into my chest from this hit, I notice the frayed wire where my microphone once connected.
“Are you there?” he shouts. “Alexys Élisabeth! COPY!”
Although ready to pass out, I want to scream, cry, anything but stay silent. If not for Admiral Vanderbilt’s angered screams already rattling my headset, I would have. All alone and in pain near everywhere, my own end suddenly seems possible. No one to hear my words no matter how loud, I cannot even ask the ‘final’ question.
“The codex is secure!” one of the Russians declares.
Now, Korzhak, now! PUNCH IT!”
With the screeching whir of the crane, I hit what has to be close to terminal velocity – upward.
“500 meters … 400 meters … 250 meters … 150 meters.…”
All around me, sheets of ice shear off the column walls as the crane drags me skyward. Complete darkness in both mind and spirit; suddenly the sun smashes into squinting, panicked eyes. My motion still upward, but as if riding a slide backward and upside down, my harness cable violently flings me out of the hole. Even more gracefully, and more on my face than not, I crash into the glacier surface.
For a good many moments, I lay motionless on the ice. Gulped breaths to re-inflate my flattened body seem like a good idea, so I do this first. Next, I crawl to my knees with a flurry of moans. Everything hurting, my suit in shredded pieces, the two sibling gems safe. I spit blood from my mouth to mingle with the smeared blood already staining the ice and look up.
To my surprise, I face the open hole from whence the crane had thrown me. It appears little as it did just before my descent. Not even twenty meters away, I could slide down the hole to my death. A deep, inclined driveway wide enough for three autos side by side now replaces the packed ice that had fallen atop me bit by painful bit. In shock, I watch large slices of ice on the opposite side of the drilled column break free and fall away every few seconds. The glacier ice making up the lip of the hole then suddenly collapses down into itself. Hearing footsteps behind me, I slowly turn my kneeling body around to meet them.
Dr. Ravensdale and Dr. Leitz are the first to arrive. As one drags me away from the collapsing hole, the other unhooks me from my harness. Now safely far enough away, Alfred pulls out a first aid kit while Alistair removes my helmet and headset. Both fall apart into pieces once he does so. Even in this condition, I reach for my darkened glasses – they are long gone, of course. Luckily, I had earlier put on my colored contacts. Sucking in the crisp air, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, gazing toward the green dome to my north.…
Are you kidding?
Chance Saddlebirch stands proudly over our retrieved treasure. Triumphantly, as if a conqueror, is a more fitting description. With that smug look atop his rigid frame and hands on his hips, one would think that he and he alone recovered this fifth codex. All that is missing is an oversized American flag behind him rippling with the breeze.
“Americans,” Dr. Leitz snickers. His eyes had obviously followed mine. He then looks west with a slight nod and I do the same. Not the original operator, but Korzhak, sits in the crane operator’s seat. With a piece of ice held against his jaw, the first operator sulks close by.
I did hear a punch! In too much pain to get to my feet, I stay kneeling. My eyes stray back to the ice. Soon after, a shadow casts itself over me.
“Good … you are safe,” Dr. Korzhak says dryly. “Just as I said you would be.” I look up in shock.
“Safe? Seriously? Do you not see me, here, bleeding, gasping for every breath … scared out of my wits … waiting to catch with frozen hands a pounding heart just ready to leap through my throat?”
“Are you dead? At risk of dying at this moment?”
As much in disbelief from this conversation as to answer, I shake my shivering head. “But … but … that is not the ––”
“Then you are safe,” Korzhak interrupts curtly. “I promised nothing more.” With a step in the air and turned away from me, he looks back. “We never discussed comfort, only safety.” And with that same clumsy strut I had first noticed a few hours earlier, he walks away.
“Je suppose que vous voulez une bouteille de vodka pour vos ennuis![6]” I yell at his back end. This is useless, but I am getting the last word in edgewise no matter what.
“Mne hvatit!” he shouts with a hand thrown into the air. As for me getting the last word – maybe not. That I do not understand Korzhak’s response does not surprise me. That he appears to understand my outburst shocks every sense.
A Russian picking up random cables around us laughs madly as he does so. “Ha, ha – ‘Old Man’ – ha, ha, he tells you, how do you say – ‘I have enough’!” This one continuing to laugh, our dirty looks finally shut the stray Russian up and he wanders off.
“Comment se fait-il qu’une telle brute peut parler Français?[7]” I ask breathlessly more to myself than anyone else. “It is much too beautiful a language for so stubborn a mind to learn!”
“Russians,” Alistair chortles with a wink to Alfred. No matter how often or to whom I ask this again, Dr. Ravensdale’s answer will most likely be the best one I ever hear.
Within moments, Admiral Vanderbilt slides into me with a sweeping hug. More than once, he kisses me on my forehead and left cheek. “Nothing but minor flesh wounds, and here I thought something might be broken!” These joking words spoken, his quivering lip and red, puffy eyes tell me what he really wishes for my ears to hear. Of course, my heart already knows. More hugs only make this more obvious.
“The codex is already inside y’all!” Saddlebirch calls out. Quite a ways away, he stands about halfway between the entrance to the green dome and us. Aside from Antarctica, there are few places on this planet where a clear voice could carry so far. The question on the tip of my tongue answered brings a weak smile to my throbbing face. This pained grin as if an invitation, the three men lift me to my feet.
As we gingerly walk in the direction of the green dome, I catch a curious sight out of the corner of my eye. I stop and glance back toward the drill. The others, more carrying me than not, stop and look back too.
Dr. Korzhak stands at the drill’s base. His hands folded, he just stares at it. Next, he puts his hands on his head. After a few moments, he then starts to make hand gestures as if he and the drill now engage each other in conversation. Whether thanking the drill, saying goodbye to it, or something else, this appears to be a sad moment. As I believe it as such, I genuinely pity him. For the man who has just saved my life; despite his previous insults, this is the least I can do.
Chapter Six
THE FIFTH CODEX
A yellow snowmobile with a raised sled behind it pulls up alongside my limping self, Admiral Vanderbilt, Dr. Ravensdale, and Dr. Leitz. Saddlebirch having already made his way inside the green dome, Victor Korzhak still chats with his beloved drill to our south. After the driver drops us off after a quick ride, I hobble toward him.
“Dr. Korzhak – he is a very important part of our group.” I point over the driver’s shoulder and in the direction of the towering drill. “If you can, please give him a ride back as well.”
The driver nods. He then turns his snowmobile around and heads south toward the drill. The fifth codex safely inside, we enter the green dome. As I lean left, Admiral Vanderbilt firmly tugs me to the right.
“What – where – I am going to my barracks,” I protest in vain. “I need to get out of this ragged suit and into the CIC!”
More than anything, I want to get the gems out of my pockets and into vaults. Especially the newly found one.
“Infirmary,” the Admiral commands with an endearing coldness. He turns his eyes to the others. “Alistar, Alfred – grab some chow and then head to the CIC. Alexys Élisabeth will be there in about an hour.” He then turns back to me. “We have to clean it up anyw
ay, get it ready for you. Please, just do as I ask.”
With a heavy sigh, I give in. As would a teenage girl being dragged by the principal into a washroom to clean off her harlot-inspired makeup, I mope alongside him.
“W-w-we meet a-again,” I stutter as the doctor walks in. So stunned by the sight of this face, I cannot even fake a smile. My favorite witty hobo breakfast grinch smirks back at me and sets about collecting a few instruments scattered about the exam room.
“I know you are eager join the others,” Dr. Kirwood (from her nametag) tells me. “I will be quick.”
After some pokes here and there, she is kind enough to hand me a first aid kit to fix my cuts and scratches. She does not offer to help nor do I ask for it. As she pokes and prods, Dr. Kirwood appears much more interested in my head than she is anything else.
“Your hazel-colored contacts are pretty, but the shades are off,” she remarks while shining a light into them. “One is darker than the other.”
“Are they?” I lie with a goofy giggle, as if I have no idea.
As a doctor myself, I am quite certain she will demand that I remove the contacts. As to what my next words and actions will be once she asks this, a couple of ideas drift into hazy focus.
“Normally, I would have a patient remove her contacts. But as you are quite the celebrity heroine all of a sudden, we both know you are far from normal, don’t we?”
More witty charm; a clearer head would have hurriedly mocked back. Considering her next words, however, I am almost thankful for the fuzzy mind.
“So in celebration of your shiny new status, I will try to grade your concussion with them still in.” After a couple more minutes to look me over as I grimace throughout, she finally steps back.
“I do not have a concussion. I had a helmet, it was just a couple of ––”
“Grade I,” Dr. Kirwood interrupts. “Your helmet split into three, Madame Rothschild. You are very lucky it is not much worse.”
I groan knowing what this might mean. Her sigh nearly matches my groan. Those beady, piercing eyes, however, are very different from my rolled ones.
The Fifth Codex Page 5
