The Apocalypse Script

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 7 - The Tablets Revealed

  When she was gone, Ridley said. “What has she told you?”

  Ben scratched the back of his neck, still thinking about the kiss. “Not much, really. I only got a few hours sleep last night so I napped most of the way here. I know, of course, that you have some allegedly ancient stone tablets that you want me to study. I’ve got the photographs. Lilian told me the legend regarding how they were found and ended up in your possession and also mentioned that you and she are members of a society called the Delphic Order of the Nisirtu.”

  “Yes. In fact, the tablets are the property of our organization but I am their caretaker.”

  “What is the origin of the name, ‘Nisirtu?’ Akkadian, maybe?”

  Ridley nodded and said, “That’s very astute. Yes, Akkadian. It can be interpreted several ways but most correctly it is ‘Secret Council.’ Nisirtu is both singular and plural. One can be a Nisirtu and part of the Nisirtu. It’s an artifact of the language. We do not have singular and plural tenses, exactly.”

  Ben’s surprise showed. “You still speak it? Akkadian? It had plural forms, though.”

  “Yes, but languages evolve. It would be more precise to say we speak its descendent, which we call Agati. Truth be told, we’ve borrowed so much from other languages over the millennia that it bears little resemblance to its source. Even our sentence structure differs from that used in the classical form of the language.”

  “Rather an odd choice for a secret language, isn’t it? Why not just use Latin? It is appropriately esoteric.”

  Ridley chuckled. “I’m afraid we didn’t have much choice in the matter. It was the language originally spoken by our founders.”

  “When was that?”

  The man’s eyes twinkled. “A very long time ago. We trace our lineage back to ancient Mesopotamia.”

  Ben knew that had to be a fabricated legend but raised his eyebrows and whistled, nonetheless. “You’re talking four millennia or so ago. That’s some pedigree, sir.”

  “Yes, and you’ll find that we can get a bit carried away with the whole conceit. From time to time we’ll even dress up in silly costumes and perform pointless but colorful rituals.” Ridley shrugged as if embarrassed. “We can be just as self-centered and pompous as any other secret society.”

  “How large is the Order of the Nisirtu?”

  “Very large. We have chapters - which we call Kingdoms - everywhere in the world. I hold the position of ‘scribe’ and am usually referred to as ‘Scriptus.’”

  “Yes, I heard Lilian address you as such. So, you keep records of meetings, that kind of thing?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Ah.” There was an awkward silence. The researcher put his hands in his pockets and said, “Well, I’d like to look at the tablets if you don’t mind. That is what you’re paying me for.”

  The old man looked suddenly uneasy. He crossed his arms and toyed with his lower lip. “Ben, I want to show you the tablets, but before I can I’ll need you to indulge me on one matter.”

  “Sure, what?”

  The scribe said, “I will show you the tablets this day so that you may verify they are authentic and that the inscriptions are, in fact, unknown in your field. That is only fair after what you have been through. You will have then done what you have been paid to do. However, if you decide the tablets are legitimate and you wish to study them further, you must become a member of our society.”

  Caught off guard, Ben said, “Why should I do that?”

  “Because the tablets are the property of the Nisirtu. It is forbidden for anyone other than the Nisirtu to study them.”

  “That sounds like an unnecessary impediment, Ridley. I’m not taking them home with me. I am merely inspecting them at your request.”

  The man looked apologetic. “I know. Nevertheless, you’ll find that you will have more unfettered access if you become, well, one of us.”

  “How would I become a member?” the other man asked cautiously.

  “You’d need two sponsors - in this case, Lilian and Fiela - and you’d sign a contract that essentially prohibits you from disclosing what you learn about the Nisirtu with others outside our little club.”

  Ben said, “But the tablets - what if they are legitimate and I am successful in deciphering them? Surely you don’t plan to keep them a secret. They may be historically significant. I’d want to publish my findings.”

  “If you can do that without revealing their location or the existence of the Nisirtu, you are free to publish. In fact, I will allow you to keep one tablet to share with your peers for additional study.”

  The linguist chewed on the offer. “You’re telling me that all I have to do is to get two sponsors and not reveal the secret handshake?”

  Ridley nodded. “You understand me exactly.”

  “And you’ll give me your word that I can publish my findings?”

  “Yes. I’ll put it in writing. Also, you will be paid handsomely. You may name whatever figure you think is reasonable. I would suggest one hundred million as a starting point? Our society has unlimited assets and I’m sure you’re a fair man.”

  Ben couldn’t help but laugh. “One hundred million dollars?”

  “If you can decipher the tablets.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “But I am. In fact, I will ensure the first twenty-five million are deposited into your account the moment you become a member. A gesture of good faith.”

  Ben didn’t hesitate. “Show me the tablets.”

  His host led him through a huge kitchen at the back of the old hotel that was surprisingly modern. It appeared completely new, in fact, with the manufacturer’s tags and stickers still attached to the appliances. There were a half dozen stainless steel gas and electric ranges, four deep sinks, numerous refrigerators and freezers, and rows of metal cabinets on each wall. Each of the appliances was top-of-the-line and commercial grade. Hundreds of cooking utensils were attached to hooks above granite-topped islands.

  Ben whistled admiringly. “You must like to entertain.”

  “Me? Oh, never. I am a recluse, you see. However, I thought it a good idea to have the kitchen upgraded for - well, for whoever lives here next. I’ve made other improvements. There is an underground storage tank in the back with fuel for the generators and several aboveground storage tanks of propane, in addition to some very scary-looking batteries powered by solar arrays and geothermal sources. There are also some good wood burning stoves and ice boxes in the other kitchen.”

  “Other kitchen?”

  “One kitchen won’t do with four hundred guests,” said the scribe over his shoulder.

  “You’re thinking of selling, then.”

  “Selling? No, no. I have no use for money, Ben.”

  The two men left the kitchen and walked through a maze of paneled corridors, making so many turns at nondescript corners that Ben was certain that he’d never be able to find his way back on his own.

  “Here we are,” Ridley said at last, stopping in front of a faded white wooden door that looked to be original to the house.

  A reproduction of an old painting, a foot wide and perhaps half as tall, had been affixed to the wall two feet above and to the right of the doorknob. Ben was familiar with the original painting but couldn’t remember where he had seen it before. It showed the erection of a giant stone building that was shaped like an inverted cone, with a masonry walk spiraling up its exterior like threads on a screw. Dozens of shadowy, arched portals checkered the building’s surface. At the top of the building, which was unfinished, workers toiled to make the building taller still. An ancient city was in the background, its buildings dwarfed by the new edifice.

  Ridley gave him a mischievous look. “An old family photo.” He placed his palm on the print. As he removed his hand there was a whir and click. “This is a proprietary bio-identification plate, or ‘bioplate.’ Normally it’s just a slab of black porcelain. I thought
the painting was a nice touch, though.” He gestured toward the open door. “If you would do the honors?”

  Ben reached down and turned the handle, which was surprisingly firm in his grip, and as the door opened he saw why. The door was six-inch thick steel. The wooden surface visible in the hallway was merely a façade.

  In front of him was a stone staircase that spiraled into the earth, each step illuminated by red LED lights. A cool breeze rose from the depths and swept over the two men, filling the air with a dank, musty smell.

  “Remind me to turn on the ventilators,” said Ridley as he ambled slowly down the steps. “There is an elevator on the far end of the house but I need some exercise.”

  Ben was amazed at how long it took the men to reach the bottom of the stairs. When they finally completed their descent there was nothing in front of them but darkness. He heard switches being flipped. Massive lights blinked to life overhead and Ben found himself standing at the entrance to a large cavern, complete with stalactites, perhaps fifty yards in diameter and four stories tall.

  “Whoa,” he said. “You’ve got a cave?”

  Ridley shrugged. “I thought all men had these nowadays. Have I overdone it?” He winked at the other man, adding, “Only a small portion of the cave is beneath the hotel, of course. Most of it is offset to the east, beneath the parking lot.”

  Ben whistled his approval. The old man had made some serious upgrades to what nature had provided. The electric lights that illuminated the space were attached to a lattice of steel girders that floated fifty feet above them, the girders supported by rows of steel columns. The cavern’s natural floor, uneven and slippery, had been supplanted by an elevated platform of steel grates. Through the small gaps in the grates Ben could see the rock floor beneath them, smooth, shiny, and wet. From seemingly everywhere he could hear the gentle trickling of water.

  “What are those?” asked Ben, pointing at a row of metal boxes along a far wall. They looked like the ice cream coolers.

  “Ice boxes. The hotel’s builders used this cave for cold storage,” said the old man, walking onto the landing. As he did so the grates shifted slightly, filling the cavern with dull, metallic echoes.

  “The cave has a constant temperature of approximately fifty degrees. You’d be surprised how long ice will last even during the summer months. Also, a stream runs through the cave and pools at one end before draining back out into the mountain. Its water is safe to drink. In a pinch, the hotel’s former owners could simply insert bottles and jars into the stream to keep the contents cool.”

  “Over there,” Ridley said, nodding at a series of metal doors built into the cavern’s wall, “are the food supplies, a medical center, and some other facilities. Those are not original to the hotel, of course.”

  A medical center, wondered Ben? Food supplies? “Are you a survivalist?”

  The other man regarded him with amazement. “All humans are survivalists, Ben. Some are simply better at it than others. Here we are.”

  They stopped in front of a door that had a black porcelain panel next to it. “The door at the top of the stairs,” he said, “is a Class 5 vault door, as are most of the ones you see around you. They are quite tough but not impenetrable.”

  “How do the porcelain panels work? Fingerprint analysis?”

  “That and a DNA match. They also check respiration and perspiration levels, that kind of thing.”

  “A DNA match? I didn’t know such systems existed.”

  “They are used by a few intelligence agencies and the system itself is classified, but with the right connections, anything is obtainable.”

  Ridley opened the door and Ben followed him into a room the size of a two-car garage. The walls, floor, and ceiling were concrete painted white. Large fluorescent lights, motion-activated, flickered to life overhead. Running perpendicular to the vault door were four rows of polished oak display cases with glass lids. Visible inside the cases were collections of flat black stones ranging in size from a few inches to almost a foot in diameter, each a quarter inch to an inch thick.

  Ridley motioned the other man to join him at one of the cabinets. The scribe grasped a bronze handle on the forward edge of the lid, pulled it open and reached in and withdrew a specimen. He handed it to the visitor before the younger man could put on the gloves he’d brought with him.

  Ben turned the tablet over in his hand. “I’m not familiar with this type of stone. What is it?”

  “The tablets are carbonaceous chondrites. There are some variations to the molecular structure that remain unexplained but which seem to give them unique properties, like resistance to erosion. The variation exists only in these tablets.”

  Ben drew a blank. “Carbonaceous chondrites?”

  “Meteorites. The tablets are carved from meteorites that have undergone some kind of refinement.”

  “That’s…well, odd.” He thought about it a moment longer. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”

  Ridley nodded at a stout oak table in one corner of the room. “There’s a magnifying lamp right over there.”

  Ben walked over to the table, flipped on the lamp, and put the tablet in his hand beneath it. Just as he had seen in the photographs, he now saw a confusing network of thousands of etched lines in a rainbow of colors. Lines that sometimes ran parallel to one another, sometimes perpendicular, and sometimes at angles. Lines that bent and swirled and looped. Yellow lines that crossed red lines, but not green lines. Red lines that crossed green lines, but only after having crossed yellow lines. Red lines that curved back on themselves at the corners, whereas violet lines never curved back on themselves…

  Patterns, he confirmed. There were patterns. Rules?

  Maybe.

  He said, “Why did you conclude that these etchings represent a written language?”

  “I have good reasons to believe so which I will share with you if you accept the assignment. Don’t you find the lines peculiar?”

  “Yes, but they could represent a million things other than a writing system.”

  “I doubt that is what your instincts are telling you.”

  The old man was right. Letting out a breath, Ben said, “What can you tell me about the inscriptions, then? The cuts worry me. They look machined.”

  “I understand your concern. In fact, there is absolutely no variation in width or depth at any point in any inscription. The engravings were made with a level of precision that exceeds what we are capable of today with lasers or computer-aided instruments.”

  Ben stood erect. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”

  “I’ll produce the lab reports for you.”

  “Can you also provide documentation as to when and where the tablets were found?”

  “Yes. Our society keeps impeccable records.”

  Flipping off the lamp and reluctantly returning the tablet to the case the old man had withdrawn it from, Ben said, “I can’t say the tablets are authentic, not with such a cursory review. The precision of the cuts is bothersome to say the least.”

  “But you would like to study them at length?”

  Ben took his time in responding. “Yes.”

  “You can agree to my terms?”

  Ben nodded. “If I need to join your organization, I will.”

  Clapping his hands together, Ridley said, “You’ve made me very happy, Ben. We shall get to the bottom of this mystery together, yes? Anything you need, you will have.”

  Lilian was waiting for them in the Great Hall.

  “You’ll accept the assignment?” she asked, looking back and forth between the men.

  Ben reluctantly nodded. “Yes, and I’ve agreed to join your, um, club.”

  He was almost embarrassed at how happy this seemed to make her. “Thank you, Ben! I’ve made dinner arrangements for us in town tonight to celebrate. Is that acceptable?”

  “Dinner? Sure.”

  “The Ziggurat?” asked Ridley. Lilian nodded and gave him a knowing look.

&
nbsp; “But Lilian,” the old man said, “our guest must be exhausted, especially after that interminable drive up the mountain. He tells me he hardly slept last night. Ben, would you be opposed to flying into town tonight? There’s a helipad in the back and the pilot isn’t doing anything else.”

  For a moment Ben wasn’t sure what to say. A helicopter ride to dinner?

  “If it’s not an inconvenience,” he managed.

  Ridley seemed relieved, as if there was a real possibility that Ben would refuse the offer. “Not at all. Would you also do me the favor of being my guest while you study the tablets? I can send for your things or have Mr. Fetch meet you downtown to retrieve whatever you need.”

  “I hadn’t really expected to spend the evening here,” Ben said, looking at Lilian accusingly.

  “Please, Ben,” said Ridley. “Think how much time will be wasted if you spend the next week driving up and down that mountain! As you can see, I have plenty of room.”

  Ben pursed his lips. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Sure.”

  The man in the red robe slapped him on the back again. “Excellent! You may stay in the Chambers Suite in the north turret. It’s six floors up but I’ve had elevators installed in each of the turrets. Your room has fresh linen and towels, that sort of thing.”

  Looking at Lilian, Ben said, “I’m not sure what to do about clothes. I’m fairly certain there’s no helipad on top of my apartment building and I’m assuming that I’m underdressed.”

  Lilian nodded. “Check your room. I took the liberty of obtaining a few items for you in advance.”

  “What? But how did you-”

  “You’re a reasonable man. I assumed a hundred million dollars to do what you love and do best would convince you to stay. It wasn’t so wild a guess, was it? So a few weeks ago I flew a man with your exact dimensions to Savile Row to serve as your surrogate. Not that it was easy to find a man with such broad shoulders. I had to make inquiries with half the modeling agencies in the country. It took weeks!”

  Ben was momentarily at a loss for words. Eventually he said, “You’re predicted everything that would happen today. Weeks ago.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Apparently I have no secrets,” Ben mumbled, disquieted.

  Lilian kissed him on the cheek and whispered into his ear, “Don’t fret. Soon, you will have many.”