Doc Ardan and The Abominable Snowman

by Guy d'Armen

  Once completed and donned, I asked de Venasque for his opinion. He gave me high marks, but stated I would most likely be the largest iguanodon in the tunnels, and would be sure to stick out. This was especially true if they happened to look down at my legs and feet. I decided to go forward with my plan despite the dangers. My examinations of the iguanodon corpse led me to believe the creatures didn’t seem to be very physically imposing. But clearly their teeth and claws could be deadly. Before leaving, I had de Venasque sketch me a map of the tunnels so I could better navigate them.

  I parted ways from de Venasque and trekked back towards the dirigible. The entrance to the subterranean realm was an iron door nearby. Although the door was heavy, I opened it with relative ease. I shut it behind me, and made sure to test it still opened before descending into the tunnel. Feeling no danger of being trapped from within, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness and followed the tunnel down into the earth.

  I can confirm everything de Venasque reported in his account as accurate. While cautiously making my way through the underground labyrinth, I observed the machine which supplied the violet light, as well as the rookery. The map de Venasque provided proved to be no longer complete, as the iguanadons have continued tunneling deeper into the earth since his last visit. I cautiously proceeded, deeper than de Venasque ever ventured.

  The People of the Pole have been busy. I traveled for nearly ten minutes before discovering a side cavern they had hollowed out. I entered and lit a small torch. A hideous figure met my gaze in the form of an idol resting on an altar in the middle of the room. It was a grotesque toad-like figure with a rounded belly and a haunting smile. De Venasque’s original account made no mention of any deities worshiped by the iguanodons. However, judging by the craftsmanship, it couldn’t have been made at the hands of the iguanodons. I have to conclude that they found the statue while tunneling. What ancient civilization worshiped this creature as their deity I don’t know, but I intend to look into it.

  I attempted to move closer for a better look, but I was interrupted when one of the iguanodons entered. I did my best to avoid conflict, but I was unsuccessful. As I tried to slip out past him, the creature noticed my lower body and began to scream. It then snapped at me with its teeth. I swayed back to avoid the bite, then clasped its jaws in my hands. It was unable to open its mouth further, but it was already successful in raising an alarm. The sounds of more creatures approaching could be heard echoing from further down the tunnel. It was apparent I needed to make an expedient exit. I snapped the neck of the creature, and removed my disguise so I could run at full speed. Not having the disguise on also let me use the God Slayer freely.

  The creatures never caught me from behind. I had a large enough head start on their pursuit, but I did run into many creatures (literally) on my way through their community. Most I knocked over without incident, but I did have to use the knife on a few who aggressively charged me. I made short work of them, and I escaped back to the surface without any trouble. Once on the surface, I ran to where de Venasque was waiting for me and we entered the rift back to our native dimension.

  De Venasque said we shouldn’t worry about being followed, as the iguanadons never venture anywhere close to the rift.

  Tonight, we will spend the night in my tent before embarking on our return flight to Franz-Josef Land in the morning.

  March 21, 1928, Kabarova, Russia

  It’s been an interesting two days. De Venasque and myself have returned to Kabarova for the time being. I plan on returning to New York City tomorrow morning, but I have much to do before my departure. I have written a private account detailing the expedition that I will personally deliver to Hareton Ironcastle once I reach the United States. I have asked for him to keep all of my findings confidential for the time being, and I’m sure he’ll agree.

  Also, I have decided to keep the personnel I contracted for this expedition in my private employ, and I’ve hired de Venasque to oversee them. The North Pole is a mysterious place (one must wonder if the South Pole has similar phenomena surrounding it, but that’s a question for another day). As unusual as it may be, I believe the pole would make a great location for private reflection. I plan to have de Venasque and the workers construct a base of operations for me near the pole, outside of the area of the anomaly.

  I will spend my final night in Kabarova sketching out the design of the base in solitude.

  Dedicated to the late, great Philip José Farmer and the members of The New Wold Newton Meteoritics Society who paved the way. The author would like to give special recognition to Rick Lai. Rick first postulated that Doc constructed his retreat after saving arctic explorers several years prior to the author independently conceiving this story.

  In the time travel epic that follows, Travis Hiltz brings together several members of the “Ardan family,” starting with the great Michel Ardan, the hero of Jules Verne’s 1865 classic From the Earth to the Moon...

  Travis Hiltz: Family Reunion

  1875. In the vicinity of the North Pole

  The dog slid sped across the ice field. Its sole occupant huddled deeply into his furs.

  The sled was a unique contraption. It was a bit larger than the usual dog sled and was pulled by a single dog, a massive metal beast, steam pouring out from its ears. Its steady chugging noises were the only sound to be heard for miles.

  Wires, tied together with string, trailed from the hound’s flanks to the handles of the sled that the man used to steer and control the rate of speed.

  Michel Ardan, French explorer and adventurer, had volunteered to not only test run the steam dog but to explore the North Pole, recently purchased by the Gun Club of Baltimore. After a failed attempt to cultivate the huge coal deposits, they had lost interest in it.

  Seeing a chance for a new adventure, Ardan had happily agreed to go see what was to be seen.

  The ice field took on an uneven quality, as though an ocean had been flash-frozen. Ardan fumbled with the controls, attempting to slow his speed. One of the runners caught the edge of an ice crest and the sled began to tip. Startled, Ardan clenched his hand and the sled took off in a burst of speed and hit the next ice wave at full speed, leaving the ground for several feet before hitting it on its side. The sled skidded, the metal dog’s legs still chugging, before crashing into a small hill.

  There was a loud cracking noise, which Ardan realized was—luckily—the ice rather than any of his bones, or his dog.

  The Frenchman sat up, rubbing his head. He then attempted to scoot away from the ice wave that he had hit.

  Just below the surface was a bizarre and startling figure: a large reptile that stood on two legs like a man. One of its arms seemed to be reaching out. It clutched something in its hand.

  The cracking and the sudden outpouring of super-heated steam had caused the ice to partially melt away, and the green, leathery hand was soon free.

  Ardan got to his feet, pushed his goggles up to his forehead, and peered intently at the amazing creature.

  Curious, he pried the webbed fingers apart, revealing an orange gem, about the size of a grape, which seemed to pulse with an inner light.

  Pulling off one heavy mitten, the Frenchman reached out and picked it up.

  He was hit by a sudden wave of vertigo; there was a flash of light and, when it faded, the frozen lizard man and the metal dog were left alone on the ice.

  1929. Somewhere in Africa

  Francis Ardan ran down the stone corridor, the primitive guards close behind him.

  His expedition to find the rumored ruins of Atlantis had proved to be a little too successful, and now he was exerting a great deal of thought and energy towards getting away alive from the fabled lost city.

  He raced around a corner and skidded to a halt at a T-junction. Down the left corridor, Ardan spotted a heavy oaken door.

  He shoved it open, ducked inside, closed it and immediately began scanning the room for something to brace the door with. Seeing no furniture or suita
ble objects, he took off his belt and tied it between the two large iron hoops that served as door handles.

  He then gave a relieved exhale, wiped an arm across his brow, and turned to survey his temporary sanctuary.

  The room was round and quite large. Its outer wall was ringed with alcoves, each containing the statue of a man coated with some kind of unusual lacquer.

  In front of each alcove was a small dais, made of polished stone.

  As Ardan walked along, he noticed that each dais was topped with a cloth and, resting upon it, was some form of jewelry: a golden ring on one, a silver tiara studded with blue gems on another...

  He continued circling the room, until he came upon a podium upon which rested a single gem: it was the size of a jellybean and shined with a soft, orange light.

  Unsure of why, the young explorer reached out to touch it.

  He felt a slight dizziness and his eyesight blurred.

  When the guards finally broke open the door to Antinea’s gallery of suitors, they found it empty.

  1947. A planet orbiting Psi Cassiopeia

  Dale Ardan ran through the jungle, batting aside vines and branches with her free hand, while firing off the occasional shot from her ray gun with her other.

  Her pursuers were fearful of her weapon, but either too fierce or foolhardy to give up their pursuit.

  Convinced by her friend, Professor Zarkov, that he had calculated the final landing place of the famed lost spacecraft of Professor Selwyn Cavor, and with things surprisingly quiet on Mongo, Dale had volunteered for what had sounded like a restfully boring excursion.

  Then the blue monkey men had attacked and she’d been separated from Zarkov. She wasn’t too sure she could find her way back to their rocket ship either.

  Firing a few parting shots, the young reporter from Earth scrambled up the nearest tree.

  Once she had a bird’s eye view of her surroundings, Dale scanned the thin path that ran through the trees. Stumbling on the slippery bark, she reached out to steady herself, and her fingers brushed against a small, orange gem lodged inside the bark.

  She gasped as she lost her balance.

  When the trio of blue aliens reached the treetop, there was no one there.

  Somewhere else

  Michel Ardan found himself standing in a field, the dry grass crinkling beneath his boots. He pulled back his parka hood, and got rid of his remaining mitten.

  Squinting towards the mist-shrouded trees at the edge of the field, he thought he could glimpse figures moving.

  “Hello…!” he shouted, bewildered. “Where in the Hell am I…?”

  “Hello…?” a voice behind him hollered in reply.

  The explorer spun and found himself facing a tall, tanned, muscular young man with close-cropped hair. He looked to be dressed for safari, along with a multi-pocketed, sleeveless vest.

  “Ah, well,” the older man started. “I seem a bit…”

  “Great-grandfather?” the younger man said, peering at the other’s face. “Is it you…?”

  “I can assure you, I am me,” Michel said. “Now, be so kind as to tell me who you are?”

  “It’s I! Francis! Your great-grandson!”

  “My…what…? But I don’t…!”

  “Francis…?”

  The new voice was female and startled both men. Running towards them was a young woman clad in yellow, skintight trousers, a blue tunic and a silver gun belt.

  “Who…?” Michel started.

  “Do I know you?” Francis said.

  She ran up and hugged the young man, who, after a moment, awkwardly patted her back.

  “It’s me! Dale! Your cousin!”

  Francis then held the young oddly dressed woman out at arm’s length.

  “My cousin?”

  “Yes! John’s daughter.”

  “This conversation seems to be going in circles,” Michel said, undoing his parka and fanning himself, lazily with his gloves.

  “But how?” Francis asked, puzzled. “I haven’t seen you since you were eight! And now you look...”

  “I’ll be 30 next month,” Dale replied.

  Francis took a step back and rubbed his chin in thought.

  “So you’re from 12 years in my future...”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” Michel said, taking Dale’s hand and giving it a gallant kiss while making a slight bow. “I am Michel Ardan, explorer and gentleman of fortune. Enchanté, Mademoiselle.”

  “Michel Ardan?” she breathed. “Great Uncle Michel…but, you can’t…? You’re…you passed away in…”

  “Dale!” Francis snapped. “Don’t!”

  Both the young woman and the older explorer froze, Michel still holding Dale’s hand.

  “Don’t you see what’s going on?” Francis continued. “This is time travel… of some kind… I’m not quite sure how or why… We have to watch what we say!”

  “So this young lady is also a relative!”

  Dale opened her mouth to speak, glanced over at Francis, and shut it again, her brow furrowed in thought.

  “This is very strange,” she said, eventually. “And I’ve been to…”

  “No!” Francis snapped. “Don’t say anything!”

  “This is giving me a headache,” the older Ardan said.

  He rummaged through his jacket pockets, coming up with a much-abused looking silver flask. He took a healthy swig and then held it out to the others.

  Francis shook his head and turned to study their surroundings. Dale shrugged and took a drink.

  “I have seen some amazing things myself,” Michel smiled, between sips. “While I promise to keep any questions I have about the future to myself, I will say I approve of women’s fashions.”

  “Oh,” Dale said, shaking her head. “I see that Mom’s stories about you weren’t exaggerations.”

  Taken slightly aback, Michel frowned, tucked away his flask and glanced around thoughtfully at their surroundings.

  “So, if we cannot talk about our places in history,” he mused, “can we talk about where we are? Reminds me of the moors around the country home of a friend of mine…”

  “I don’t think we’re in England,” Francis said, intently. “Something is… different. The air… it… tastes wrong.”

  Dales brow furrowed as she looked around.

  Michel took in a mouthful of air and ran his tongue across his teeth.

  “We probably shouldn’t be standing out here in the open, until we have a better idea what’s going on,” Dale suggested, her hand moving to her holster, unconsciously.

  Francis nodded, and gestured towards the tree line.

  “There’s a path over there,” he said.

  Reaching into an inner pocket, Michel brought out a revolver and led the way. In single file, the odd trio jogged across the field, making for the row of thin, grey trees that surrounded it like a fence. There, they found a narrow path, snaking its way deeper into the forest.

  They moved a few yards along, so they had some shelter amongst the trees while still being able to keep an eye on the field. Michel leaned against a tree, keeping watch, while Francis and Dale scanned the woods for any signs of life or civilization.

  There were faint rustlings that might have been animals, or perhaps people moving about. Their eyes shot about, moving, along with their guns, towards the direction of the noise.

  “I don’t hear anything anymore,” Dale said, after several tense minutes had passed.

  “I still do,” Francis said, gesturing down the path. “That way. There are people moving around.”

  He turned and headed off down the path. The other two watched him go and looked at each other. Dale shrugged and made an “after you” gesture.

  “No, no,” Michel said, shaking his head. “I am nothing if not a gentleman. Mademoiselles first. Après vous, je vous en prie.”

  Dale gave a mock curtsy and then headed after her cousin.

  They walked through the woods, Dale and Michel starting at each new
noise, Francis focusing on the path, seemingly unfazed; yet, his hands were tensed, ready to strike if needed.

  The trees began to thin out and they caught glimpses of movement. Francis slowed down, and Dale almost collided with his back. She and the older explorer peered around their relative’s broad shoulders.

  When Francis suddenly crouched down, the other two Ardans were momentarily startled before joining him.

  Laying down in the tall, dried grass, they gazed upon several dozen uniformed men who appeared to have set up a makeshift fortified camp.

  “Are those World War I uniforms?” Dale asked, puzzled.

  “World War what?” Michel asked, distracted from the soldiers.

  “Forget I said anything,” she muttered, before turning to Francis. “But are they?”

  “Yes,” he said with grim certainty. “French.”

  “Is it my old eyes,” Michel asked. “Or do they look a bit… blurry…? I’m having trouble making out their faces.”

  “They look… faded,” Dale nodded. “Like ghosts…”

  “Ghosts?” Michel muttered. “Are we ghosts as well? All that babble about time travel, but perhaps the truth is more dire…”

  “We’re not dead, if that’s what you mean,” Francis said. “I’ve trained to be aware of my body and can feel my pulse and circulation. Plus, it’s chilly enough that I can see occasional wisps of my breath when I exhale. We’re all alive…”

  “We are,” Dale interrupted, “but what about them?”

  “I… I haven’t worked that out quite yet.” Francis replied, sounding slightly uncomfortable at having to admit out loud to not knowing something.

  “Seems there’s an easy way to find out,” Michel said, getting to his feet.