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#1 toddyboy

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Posted 20 March 2020 - 06:23 pm

I haven't had much to do this past week or so, so I've started writing again. I've got quite a long story that you might like to read. Anyone interested?



#2 Robodene

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Posted 20 March 2020 - 07:06 pm

Most certainly!
1940s Ariel 350 (ex-military) Khaki > Black & White '56' Kymco Venox 250 Metallic Grey '56' TDM 900/A (ABS) Silver[b] '56' Yamaha MT-03 White <p>[b] '14' Yamaha MT-07 Matt Grey[b] '17' Honda Rebel 500 

#3 chrisbee

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Posted 20 March 2020 - 08:12 pm

Most Definitely 👍👍👍👍👍

#4 SingleCylinder

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Posted 21 March 2020 - 05:25 am

We are waiting  :D


I'm not lazy, just energy efficient...


#5 Rallyist

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Posted 21 March 2020 - 08:42 am

We are waiting  :D

forming a long queue


For a challenging summer try the

Round Britain Rally.....  




1993 TDM 850 Mk1 ..... 2008 TDM 900 ....  1975, 1979, 1982, 1992 Goldwings, Scott, AJS,  Triumph 5TA


#6 Norwegian

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Posted 21 March 2020 - 09:11 am

Yes.

2002 TDM 900 Red/Yellow Cocktail (it's yellow)., biggified some


#7 Oafski

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Posted 21 March 2020 - 12:49 pm

Bring it on!


"No good deed goes unpunished"

"Lags Droopfinger" The Biking Viking

OCD- Old Coffin Dodger


#8 toddyboy

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Posted 21 March 2020 - 02:10 pm

Ok. Seems to be of interest. This is something I've been dabbling with for a while but having had a bit of "spare time' recently I've gotten going on it again. 

See what yer fink:-

 

PROLOGUE

 

 

 

Location: Kfar-Hazir, Northern Lebanon, 1948

 

“Five, four, three, two, one. Coming ready or not!” 

     On the edge of a wood in Kfar-Hazir, a small settlement in Northern Lebanon, three young boys were playing hide and seek. They were from poor backgrounds, their clothes were nothing more than rags and they could all have done with a good wash, but they weren’t interested in such mundane things. They were free and they were happy and they played without a care in the world.

     It hadn’t always been that way. During the war, the nearby village and surrounding areas had been occupied by the German army. A group of soldiers had requisitioned his home and threw Jerjez and his family out and for a while they had to stay with his Auntie. But British soldiers had come and after a bloody battle had driven the Germans away. It was said that the Germans had been excavating and building something in the woods, though no one really knew what and there was nothing to show for it other than a fairly large concave area of dirt. The rumour was that they were going to execute people and bury them there, though that never occurred. Empty shells, bullet cases and sometimes weapons could still be found on the land and the boys were always looking for them.  

     Jerjez was the oldest of the three and it was his turn to be the seeker. He had just turned twelve years old and was quite tall for his age though probably a little on the gaunt side, most likely due to lack of sustenance. Only six years after the bloodiest war in modern history had ended, food was still scarce in this part of the world. 

     Jerjez loved playing hide and seek and now with his Mother’s side of the family visiting for the day it meant he could play all day with his two cousins, Rashid and Hashim. 

     He took his hands away from his eyes, and looked around him. As he expected, his two young friends were nowhere to be seen.

     “Coming!” he shouted, and with a mischievous grin on his face he scampered off into the woods to round them up. 

     Rashid and Hashim had split up. Rashid was older than Hashim and didn’t like playing hide and seek with him. The little squirt had a habit of giving him away, so, running as fast as he could he had left him behind and was now safely ensconced behind a large Cedar tree out of sight, at least that’s what he thought.

     Hashim, being the youngest of the three was always getting the short end of the stick, or that’s how it seemed to him anyway. He wanted to run and hide with his older brother, but as usual Jawad had disappeared and was nowhere to be found. He decided he’d try something new this time and instead of hiding behind a tree he headed in the direction of a large bush he’d spotted earlier. In doing so he’d lost his bearings. He knew that bush was somewhere nearby, he was sure of it. When he heard Jerjez coming he panicked and darted for cover in the nearest clump of undergrowth he could find.

     Jerjez carefully checked behind every tree as he went. He knew Rashid’s tactics. Basically, he had no tactics. It would be easy to find him, and sure enough, there he was with one of his legs sticking out from behind a large Cedar tree. Rashid would never make a soldier, he thought to himself. He was too clumsy and had no imagination.

     Jerjez crept up towards the tree making sure his friend couldn’t see him coming, then, feigning a look the other way he pretended not to see him. At the last moment he lunged out and grabbed Rashid by the arm. 

     “Gotcha!” he cried.

     “Ah, you always go for me first, Jerjy,” Rashid moaned. “Why couldn’t you find Hashim instead?”

     Rashid always called him Jerjy. It was easier on the tongue than Jerjez. 

     “Because I know what you’re thinking before you do,” Jerjez said triumphantly.

     “Hashim went that way,” Rashid revealed, stabbing his forefinger in the direction of some bushes.

     Jerjez sneered at his cousin. That was the other thing about Rashid, he was a sore loser. If he lost he’d make sure no one else won. That unfortunately was how he was, a sneak and sore loser. Nevertheless, he decided to be a sport and take his time finding little Hashim. It wouldn’t be fair to just walk up and catch him now that he knew where he was, so he meandered about in the scrub, looking behind a tree here, a bush there.

     “I’ll find you Hashim, I’m coming to get you!” he shouted playfully.

     “I told you, he went that way!” Rashid shouted out, agitatedly jabbing his finger in the direction that he’d seen his young brother running only a few minutes earlier.

     But Jerjy just put his lip to his mouth and beckons to Rashid to be quiet. Let the little squirt think he’s found a good hiding place, he thought to himself. It won’t hurt. Eventually, he sauntered over to the spot where Rashid was pointing fully expecting to see a furtive little face peering up at him but to his surprise Hashim wasn’t there. So! He thought, it appeared that the little monkey was cleverer than either of them.

     Rashid, noticing that Hashim hadn’t been caught yet, frowned and meandered over to where Jerjez was standing.

     “He was here, I saw him jump into this bush I’m sure of it,” Rashid asserted.

     “He’s obviously smarter than you think,” Jerjez replied. 

     The two boys then begin searching in earnest for Hashim but strangely they couldn’t find him anywhere.

     “He can’t have got far,” said Rashid.

     After a couple more minutes of searching around in the brush Jerjez was getting bored. 

     “Okay Hashim, come out now, you win!” he shouted, but there was no reply.

     “Hashim, you little goat brain, come out now,” Rashid yelled out.

     Jerjez frowned. Something about this didn’t feel right. He was starting to feel slightly concerned.

     “Hashim, it’s okay I give up,” he called out.

     Still there was no reply.

     “Maybe he knocked himself out or something,” Jerjez said.

     “The stupid little fool probably got himself eaten by a fox,” Rashid joked.

     “Shhsh! Did you hear that?” Jerjez said.

     “I didn’t hear anything,” replied Rashid.

     The two boys stood motionless, listening.

     “There it is again,” said Jerjy.

     Rashid heard it this time, a muffled cry coming from far away, or was it nearby, he couldn’t tell.

     “Hashim, is that you?” he shouted, though he didn’t know exactly where to direct his voice.

     The muffled cry was more discernible to both of them this time, and if they weren’t mistaken it was coming from beneath that large bushel that Rashid had been pointing to earlier.

     Jerjez cautiously foraged his way through into the centre of the bush trying to keep the thorns and prickles away. It was a thick one, with lots of tangled branches and he had to tread carefully. Suddenly he slipped, slid down an incline and found himself at the bottom of a fairly wide pit about 20ft across. 

     “Help! I’m down here,” came a feeble voice from somewhere even further below him.

     “Hashim, is that you. Where the hell are you? I can’t see you,” Jerjez shouted out.

     “Down here. I fell down a hole. Get me out I’m scared,” Hashim wailed.

     Jerjez moved his left foot and there was a hole in the ground that was partly obscured by plant growth. 

     “Quickly, Rashid, come and help. He’s down here somewhere but I can’t see him,” Jerjez cried out to his cousin. 

     After much cursing and cracking of twigs Rashid appeared and after a minute or so of scrabbling around, the two boys eventually managed to clear enough of the bush away to properly reveal a crevice in the ground. It wasn’t very wide but it was just about big enough for a small boy to fall into.

     “Help me!” cried Hashim. His voice was panicky and it sounded like he was close to tears.

     “Go and fetch your father, Rashid. He will know how to get him out,” Jerjez urged.

     Rashid winced at that idea. “Are you insane!” he wailed. “The old fart would whip me till I had no skin on my buttocks. No we’ll have to get him out by ourselves.” 

     Jerjez immediately understood. Rashid’s father was a tricky beast at the best of times. He would not appreciate that his older brother had let Hashim come to any harm. In fact, he would get downright mad about it. They would have to rescue the little squirt themselves or face the consequences.

     “I’ll go get a rope from the cowshed without anyone seeing me,” suggested Rashid, and before Jerjez could say anything else he’d gone!

     Jerjez kept Hashim talking, soothing the little boy and assuring him that he’d soon be out of there. He obviously hadn’t badly hurt himself or he’d have said so, which was a bonus. Jerjez couldn’t see anything through the dark split in the ground, but by the sound of Hashim’s voice he’d fallen quite a long way. He just hoped they’d be able to get him out okay, and more importantly, in one piece.

     Several minutes later, Rashid returned, panting like a dog and sporting a good length of coiled rope over his shoulder.

     “No one saw me,” he said in a conspiratorial manner.

    “Okay. Tie it round your waist and I’ll let this end down the hole,” Jerjez instructed him. “You be the backup man and I’ll pull Hashim up.”

     Rashid nodded, stamped the bushes flat around him and planted his feet firmly on the ground whilst gripping the rope with both hands.

     “We’re sending down a rope, Hashim,” Jerjez shouted down into the black void below. “Tie it round your waist and we’ll pull you up, okay?”

     “I don’t know how to tie rope,” came Hashims pitiful reply.

     “Just do it. Remember how I taught you. It’s easy,” he replied.

     Jerjez was about to send the rope down then had second thoughts. He realised that he’d better tie the loop himself realising that Hashim might tie it round his neck and hang himself!

     “I’m lowering the rope down now. Just grab it and put the loop around your waist und under your armpits, okay?” he instructed.

     Hashim just whimpered. He was obviously terrified.

     With the loop tied, Jerjez fed it through the hole and lowered it down.

     “Pull on it when you get hold of it,” Jerjez shouted.

     The rope went in for a good five metres or so, leaving only a couple more metres for the boys to pull with. Then he felt a tug on the end of it.

     “Put it round your waist and under your armpits, Hashim, then pull on it sharply again to let me know you’re ready, Okay?” he ordered.

     The rope tugged again.

     “Are you ready, Hashim?” he asked.

     “Yes, yes, get me out of here, please!” cried the little boy.

     Jerjez began pulling on the rope while Rashid took up the slack. It took a minute or so of huffing, puffing and pulling and then Hashim’s little face appeared in the hole. The two older boys grabbed him, pulled him out and dragged him through the bush into the clearing.

     Hashim was a pitiful sight. He was covered in dirt from head to toe. He had a gash on his knee and several bruises on his arms and forehead but to all intents and purpose he was okay.

     Rashid breathed a sigh of relief. 

     Jerjez simply smiled, but he was inwardly counting his blessings. That had been a close call. Hashim could have been badly hurt.

     “Look what I found!” said Hashim, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a shiny bauble. It was a triangular shaped piece of glass, loosely attached to a piece of dull grey metal. The little boy cracked a cheeky grin as he held it up to the light. As he did so the sunlight filtering down through the trees caught it making the stone glitter and sparkle like the star of Bethlehem.

     “What is it?” Jerjez asked, taking hold of it and looking it over with intense interest.

     “Don’t know,” said Hashim. “I just found it down there. I could see it shining in the dirt. Can I keep it?” he asked.

     “No, you little thief,” barked Rashid. “Here, let me see it!” Rashid snatched the bauble out of Jerjy’s hand and as he did so the metal separated from the stone.

     “It might be valuable. Maybe we could sell it,” he suggested.

     Jerjez quickly snatched the two pieces back from him.

     “No! he barked. “Now you’ve gone and broken it you dumb ass. Anyway, it isn’t ours to keep. We have to hand it in.”

     Rashid’s frown creased and his eyes narrowed. A heated debate began, mainly between the two older boys. 

     Hashim just sat there in the middle as an argument ensued.

     These boys were brought up as Christians. They were all well aware it was a cardinal sin to steal. What Hashim had found wasn’t theirs, but still, they found it – well, Hashim did really but that wasn’t the point; why couldn’t they keep it? Then again, they knew would be in trouble if they didn’t tell someone.

     In the end they unanimously decided to take their precious treasure to their local church and hand it in to the Priest. Perhaps there might be a reward!

     The Church was half a mile away on the outskirts of the town. Jerjez, knew the old Priest there and being the oldest of the three he elected himself to be the spokesperson in this important matter. 

     When they arrived at the Church gate, Jerjez instructed Hashim and Rashid to wait outside.     

     The Priest was a kindly old man. He was a bit bemused by Jerjez’s offering but he found it touching and commendable that this young boy would do such a Christian thing and to hand in something that may belong to someone else. He thanked him, then he walked him outside, gave all three of them his blessing and sent them on their way. 

     Rashid and Hashim were seriously impressed. They’d never spoken directly to a priest before and for sure had never received a direct and personal blessing from one. They were suddenly filled with pride and revelled in the fact that they had done a good deed. Their parents always told them that good things always come from such actions. 

     As they walked home, they laughed, joked and also remonstrated about their little adventure.

     “No one is to say anything about this,” Jerjez asserted. “If your father finds out about what happened to little Hashim he will beat you senseless, is that clear Rashid,” he warned.

     Rashid bowed his head and nodded as he contemplated what Jerjez was saying. He was right of course. His father definitely would not see the funny side of it.

    “You hear that, Hashim,” he said to his little brother. “Not a word about this to anyone, understand?” Rashid ordered.

     Little Hashim nodded absently. “But I found it didn’t I,” he squeaked.

     “Yes, Hashim, you found it, but don’t tell anyone else okay!” said Jerjez. “It’ll be our little secret.”

     Hashim nodded. Then he seemed to forget all about it and broke into a run.

     “Last one home’s a goat!” he yelled.

     The two older boys chased after him, their rough shod feet throwing up a cloud of dust behind them as they ran down the parched dirt track, whooping, whistling and laughing as they went. 

     But as he ran, Jerjez was laughing louder than the others, for tightly clasped in his palm was a small hard shiny object, and though he didn’t realise it at the time, that little bauble was going to change his life in ways he could never have dreamed.  

 

 

 

 

62 YEARS LATER

 

Several years ago an old school mate of mine called Michel, invited me over to of all places, Lebanon, where he had inherited a smallholding after his Dad had passed away. His father was Lebanese by birth but had lived most of his life in England having moved here just after the Second World War and married a French woman. Michel was their oldest and only child and although he was British born, he spoke fluent French and had a French accent, taught to him by his mother no doubt. 

 

I wasn’t too keen on going at the time as I was quite busy with work but Michel said he had a couple of old but operational Yamaha TTR 250’s in the garage there. That was the clincher for me, so I took him up on his offer! 

 

The thing is, when you talk about Syria and Lebanon these days all you can think of is war, bombs and refugees, but I’m talking about around the start of 2011, before the hostilities across the border in Syria began. At that time things were fairly quiet on the Western Front. 

 

The smallholding was pretty run down and would need a lot of work but neither Michel nor I could be bothered with that for the moment. For the first few days we just had a great time blasting around the desert scrublands on the tough old Yamaha’s and spent the evenings boozing and smoking spliffs. 

 

But on the third day something very strange occurred………..

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

My TTR had broken down. The sprag clutch had given up the ghost and needed replacing so I couldn’t ride it. Michel had gone into town on his bike without me to pick up some kebabs for us. While he was gone I had a mosey round the grounds of his estate. It was only a couple of hectares, mostly desert scrubland broken up by a thicket of trees and wild bushels to the South. Not very interesting, to say the least. Deeper inside the wood I noticed a clearing with what appeared to be a dell, depression in the ground about 20ft wide. It was grown over with bushels and weeds but it looked out of place, almost as if it had been excavated. I staggered down to the bottom of it but couldn’t see anything untoward. 

     I was about to head back to the house when I noticed a hole in the ground which I thought was a rodents den. A closer look revealed it might be quite deep as there was colder air coming out of it. I picked up a small boulder and dropped it in but didn’t hear it hit the bottom so I searched around for a bigger rock and threw that down. A couple of seconds later I heard a dull thud. This was definitely a deep crack, probably four to five metres deep at least I reckoned. 

    I climbed out of the dell and made my way back to the house and grabbed a spade and a pickaxe from the toolshed, then returned to the dell and started to hack away around the hole to make it bigger. It was hard work but I didn’t have anything else to do and I figured it’d give me more of an appetite for that kebab when Michel finally did arrive back.

  As I progressed I started to realise that this hole wasn’t actually a natural phenomenon. The basic hand tools I was using weren’t making much progress. It was almost as if …. in fact it definitely was cement that I was hacking into here, and underneath it was wood! Someone had boarded up a bigger hole and poured about five inches of cement on top of it. What the fuck!

     A half hour or so later, as the last shards of sunlight were being swept away by the shadows of the desert night, I’d opened up that small orifice to the point where I could now get the upper part of my body, one hand and a torch in. Laying flat on my stomach and with my head and right arm inside the hole, I pointed the torch down into the darkness below.

     At first I couldn’t quite make out what I was looking at. It was definitely a large space down there though. There were quite a lot of boulders and rocks lying on what appeared to be a floor about four or five metres down. I moved the torch around and stuck my head deeper into the hole, being careful not to venture too far in lest I couldn’t get back out again. It was then that I began to realise that there was something much more to this. 

     I thought I could see the rock I’d just thrown in. It had landed on the floor to the left of another larger one. I shifted my position so I could see sideways and then did a double take. The side walls of the space were smooth and curved, but there was something else. Hanging from the sides of these curved walls in erratically spaced positions were what appeared to be twisted, bent and broken brackets of some kind. This wasn’t just some natural crevice in the rock formation. Someone had made this, and then there were the wooden boards with cement on top of them. Someone had  also covered all this up.

     Scampering back up I immediately texted Michel, telling him I’d found something really interesting and to hurry up back with the grub, and by the way, how the hell could it take so long to get a couple of kebabs anyway! By now my stomach was rumbling. 

    Shortly thereafter I heard the familiar sound of a single cylinder bike making its way towards the house. Michel had finally returned with the kebabs and was eager to discover what I was so excited about in my cryptic text.

     “Let’s have some grub first mate,” I said, and we tucked into what I have to say was probably the best kebab I’d ever eaten even though it was almost cold. 

     Twenty minutes later we were both lying on our bellies taking it in turns to peer down through the crevice with a torch.

     “What on earth is it?” Michel asked, “And who else knows about this?”

     “No one” I replied. “And in answer to your first question – I haven’t the foggiest!” 

     “So what’s your plan my devious little cockney arrow?” asked Michel. “You always seem have a plan.”

     “You’ll never get Cockney rhyming slang will you, you illiterate Frog!” I barked. “It’s sparrow – cockney sparrow, not cockney arrow. Anyhow’s, I think we should get to work and make it big enough for one of us to get down to the bottom on a rope.” 

     Michel looked a little dubious but he didn’t argue. 

    After a bit more hacking and shovelling we’d roughly gouged the opening out enough so it was wide enough for a grown man to slither through. 

     We gathered up some rope and tackle from the stores shed, tied one end of it to a nearby large boulder and dropped the other end down the hole. 

     There was a bit of arguing about who was going to go down first. Obviously, one of us had to remain up top to lower the other down and then pull him up again. In the end we tossed a coin for it. To Michel’s chagrin he won, so down he went. As his head disappeared from view he had a pensive look on his face.

     Michel was sporting a powerful head-mounted lamp, similar to a miner’s hat. In reality it was a cloth cap with a flashlight taped to it with duct tape, but it did the job. No sooner had he descended past the initial crevice opening and gone down a couple of feet further the space around him widened out and the lamp lit up the walls of the underground cavern. As he looked around him he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The walls were curved in a wide symmetrical arc and they were as smooth as glass. There was also a strange array of brackets and lengths of what appeared to be severed steel arms protruding from the walls. Bizarrely, they looked like they’d been smashed and bent by some unseen force. 

     “What do you see?” I shouted down to him.

     “It’s strange. Looks like the inside of a missile silo or something. One thing is for sure, it’s not a natural cavern. Keep lowering, there’s some way to go yet,” Michel urged.

      I let the rope off until the tension eased. 

     Michel’s feet touched the ground and he found himself trying to keep his balance on the rough soil and rocks. The thing that struck him as odd though, as if anything else could be stranger than where he found himself right this minute, was that the walls were definitely smooth and curved yet the ground was uneven, a total dichotomy. It was almost as if it had been much deeper but there had been a cave in from above. But there was something else, a shovel. No, there were two shovels and the earth beneath his feet looked like it had been dug up in places. 

    “So, what’s down there for fucks sake?” I yelled     

  “Rocks - and smooth curved walls with broken brackets hanging from them, and, and there are shovels down here, and …..,” Michel went quiet for a moment. “There’s something else,” he said.

     “What is it?” I asked.

     “Pull me up. You have to see this!” he yelled. There was an urgency in his voice that wasn’t there before.

    A few minutes later we were sitting on a mound of dirt staring silently at what he was holding in his hand. It was a piece of Nazi insignia, an Iron Cross if I wasn’t mistaken.

     “What the fuck is that doing down there”? I remarked.

     “No idea,” Michel answered

     “It looks like an old well to me,” said Michel. “But it’s quite a large diameter and those broken brackets on the walls are a mystery.”

   “If it’s a well, where’s the water? More likely it’s an old air raid shelter or something like that,” I replied.

     “No. I don’t think so, but it goes down further, I’m sure of it,” Michel asserted. “My father told me that the Germans occupied this area during the war. He never said much about it though. They must have built this thing, but for what?” 

     We sat there relatively silent while we enjoyed a spliff, then simultaneously, we both burst out into uncontrollable laughter - and we didn’t stop laughing either. Something about this bizarre situation was extremely funny, though neither of us could fathom what it was exactly, which made us laugh even more!

     Back at the house we cracked a few cans, several actually, and sat out on the porch looking up at the clear night sky without a care in the world. I couldn’t help looking at the Nazi cross Michel had found though and wondering who it might have belonged to and also why was he down in that hole digging? Anyway, might be worth a few quid I reckoned. 

     It was nearly 2am when we finally got our heads down. Neither of us slept very much though and we were up both up at the crack of dawn. Something about this new find had spooked both of us, though neither of us knew exactly why. 

      That day we took it in turns to dig deeper down into what we’d nicknamed “the silo.” I came up with a method of hauling the buckets of rubble up from the bottom; a hastily mocked up arrangement of ropes and pulleys connected to the electrical winch on Michel’s Land Rover. By the end of the second day we’d managed to dig down a further six feet but found nothing else unusual.     

      That evening we had an animated discussion:

     “What the hell are we doing, Michel?” I asked. “In fact, what the hell is that down there? If it were a well, even a dried up one, the earth should still be at least a bit damp at that depth. If it was a missile silo built by the Nazi’s where’s the bloody missile, or even the launch mechanism?”

     Michel had his own ideas. “It’s definitely manmade, but I don’t think it was made by the Germans. I think they found it and were doing exactly what we are doing now, digging it out!” he replied.

      I had to admit, he had a point. The material those curved walls were made of and those weird arm like things hanging off the wall at weird angles made no sense. I’d tried drilling into them and broken all three bits in the process. I’d also attempted to angle grind them and worn down three discs and still got nowhere. The material they were made of was impermeable even though it felt like plastic to the touch. And why had it been concealed with wooden beams and cement. Did the Nazi’s cover it up so the British liberators wouldn’t find it?

     Michel seemed to perceive what I was thinking. “Whoever or whatever built that thing down there they did it for a reason and used material that is unknown to you or me, Tod. Also, there is something further down, believe me. I know it in my bones. We should keep digging. It will be worth it, believe me,” he urged.

     I just shrugged. “If you say so mate, but we better find it soon. I don’t like the sound of those news broadcasts on the radio.” I was referring to the warning of increased hostilities taking place in Aleppo which was quite near the Lebanese-Syrian border. Fighting had broken out as the Syrians were pushed over the border by rebel forces. The Syrians were now effectively sandwiched between two hostile forces and the Americans, Chinese, Russians and Israelis were all making noises about getting involved, if they weren’t already.

    “We are almost a hundred kilometres from the Syrian border, Tod,” Michel replied. “It will all calm down shortly, don’t worry.”

     “I hope you’re right,” I said.

     On that sombre note, we buckled down for a good night’s sleep.

    The next morning began as the previous one’s had; up at the crack of dawn, a quick bite to eat and then down the hole again. I went down first, then an hour later Michel changed places with me. We laboured on like this for about three hours and when Michel was just about to end his hourly shift his shovel hit something hard, much harder than the rocks he’d been excavating previously. After a bit more digging he uncovered something very unusual. It looked like the top section of a slightly damaged spherical artefact, which from what he could see of it was probably about two feet in diameter. The outer crust of the sphere appeared to be made up of some type of grey metal and segments of glass. At least it looked like glass. He shouted up, beckoning me to come down and take a look. 

     Making sure the rope was firmly secured, I slithered down to Michel and together, we spent a further half hour uncovering the mysterious object until it was fully exposed. It was in fact a very ornate piece of kit, totally spherical in form and even though it was caked in dirt both us were well aware that there was something special about it. We tried to pull it out of the ground, only to discover that it was firmly connected to something on its underside. Further excavation exposed what looked like a dark coloured cylinder or pole. When we dug further down to expose more of it we found that this pole was bent out of shape, almost as if the sphere above it had been crushed by something which in turn had distorted the pole it was connected to. It was very weird. Neither of us could figure out what the hell it was.

     It took us the rest of the day, working in hourly shifts, to scoop out and haul up enough buckets of earth and rock surrounding the pole to discover it had been completely severed approximately a metre and a half further down. With a fair bit of yanking, grunting and cursing, we managed to completely exhume the whole apparatus and lay it down on the floor of the silo. 

     Closer inspection revealed that the innards of the pole was made up of another metallic type material that was extremely hard and whitish-silver in colour. It was all very intriguing and now that it was free we decided we’d better bring it to the surface to get a better look at it. 

     By the time we’d’d hauled it up out of its resting place it was dark outside but under the flashlight it looked, to all intents and purposes not unlike one of those disco balls that you used to find slowly spinning round on the ceiling of a 70’s nightclub, only it was made of much more exotic material. The whole thing was quite heavy, maybe twenty five kilos or so. We couldn’t fathom what the distorted pole that protruded from the bottom was though. The outer casing of the pole was made of a very dark grey carbon like material while the innards were lighter in colour, but still metallic in texture and feel. 

     “It’s a giant alien sperm!” I joked.

     Michel looked disparagingly at me. He could never quite understand my strange  (to him) sense of English humour. He just shook his head and carried on inspecting it.

     “Look,” said, Michel, pointing to one side of it, “One of the glass sections on the surface of the sphere is missing, along with a piece of the metal surrounding it. There are a few other damaged areas too.”

     Sure enough, underneath where the missing section should have been was the same carbon-like material that the sheath of the pole was made of and beneath that was it looked like the same metallic substance that comprised the innards of the pole.

     “What the hell is it?” I asked.

     “I don’t know any more than you do, my friend, but I must admit, I am wondering what exactly these shiny glass sections are. Look at the way they glisten under the light. I’m no expert, but they look very much like ….”

     ….“Diamonds?” I cut in.

     “My thought’s exactly,” he replied. “If they are then we are going to be very rich men!” Michel replied with a glint in his eye. But as he was talking, he appeared lost in thought. “You know, my father grew up in this place. He used to tell me stories about some treasure he’d found when he was a little boy, and that there was more where that came from? It was a long time ago when I was very young but I’m sure that’s what he told me. Also, I never fully understood how my father had made his fortune? He came from a poor family background. Where then did he get the wherewithal to move to London and live in a big house in Chiswick and own a chain of restaurants?”

     I couldn’t help him there. Michel’s ol’ man always seemed like a nice enough bloke to me but I’d only met him a few times and I didn’t really know him very well. He was definitely a dark horse. The bloke never seemed to have worked a day in his life yet he was obviously well heeled. How did he manage that, coming from a simple peasant background? Was the missing segment from this object the source of his Father’s wealth and wellbeing? Something told me it was all a bit too good to be true, and we all know what that means!

     “We need to get this out of here, Michel.” I urged. “In fact, we need to get it out of the country! We can’t take the risk of anyone else finding out about it.”      

     “You’re probably right, but where to, and how?” Michel asked.

    “I have a friend in London who can be trusted. He’s an electronics engineer. We worked together sometimes; known him for years. His name’s Gerard. There’s more to this thing than just a pretty bauble of that I’m sure. If I’m not mistaken, that looks like some kind of cable sticking out of that sphere,” I said, pointing to the underside of the object. “Gerard might be able to throw a bit more light on what it’s for. We should do it soon, tomorrow night I reckon.”    

     Michel agreed. “Okay. Maybe we can take it on my boat. It’s moored about a hundred kilometres away in Tripoli.”

     “You’ve got a boat! How big is it?” I asked.

    “Yes, my Dad left it to me along with this property. It’s about forty feet or so, twin screws. Quite nice, though I’ve never taken it out further than the edge of the bay,” said Michel.

     I was impressed. “If you say so,” I replied.

     It was now almost 4am and the night sky to the east already had a bluish tinge to it so we decided to get some shut eye. We wrapped the artefact up in a blanket and no sooner had we laid down we were fast asleep. 

     The next morning we woke late, ate a hurried breakfast and got to work. We boxed up the sphere and the pole into a long wooden crate that had been used to carry lengths of drainage pipes and shoehorned it into the back of Michel’s old Land-Rover. It fitted, just, but to get it fully in I had to lower the passenger side front and rear seat backs and then slot it in along the entire length of the vehicle from the dashboard to the boot. Even then the boot door had to be jammed shut. Because of this arrangement I would have to make do with travelling in the back seat.

     As we set off along the makeshift road that led away from the old house I checked my watch. It was just after1pm. We made it to the coastline and then to the mooring in a couple a few hours later without incident. Michel’s boat bobbed in the quayside. We decided we’d wait till nightfall before attempting to load our cargo on board so as not to attract attention. With that in mind we took a trip into town for some lunch and a few beers, and a few spliffs, and then a few more beers, and so on. By the time we got back to the Quayside we were hammered. 

     As nightfall fell we unloaded our cargo from the back of the Land-Rover, nearly breaking my leg as we did so. We humped it to the boat and eventually secured the crate in the sub deck. After a cursory check of the state of the bilge and engine oil we cast off and headed due West into the Mediterranean Sea a bit worse for wear. 

     It was three hundred nautical miles to the straits of Gibraltar which was to be our first port of call but the first few miles would be the most critical. Lebanese customs patrols were notorious for stopping and boarding small boats but it seemed that they had more pressing engagements these days, what with the hostilities on the North Western border hotting up and all. As it happened we never saw a soul and once we were clear of Lebanese waters Michel and I began to relax a little. We took it in turns to get some shut eye. 

     When the sun rose the next morning we found ourselves alone in the sparkling blue ocean. The weather stayed fine and the plucky little boat was making good headway. By midday we were halfway across the Med.

     Now that we were a bit more relaxed, neither of us could contain our curiosity any longer. We both wanted to take another peek at our mysterious contraband in the daylight, so we went down below, hauled the crate up onto the deck and opened it, directly exposing the strange artefact to sunlight for the first time since it had been exhumed from its dusty grave. 

     No sooner had we done that, the boat’s electrical circuits went haywire and the engine inexplicably cut out. We suddenly found ourselves powerless and adrift in the middle of the Mediterranean Ocean. Not only that, the artefact seemed to have come alive, emitting a strange hum and an inner glow. Then sparks began to emit from the severed end of the pole. The wooden crate caught fire. Michel grabbed a fire extinguisher and started spraying the flames. The Sparking continued and the humming, whirring sound intensified. 

     “Shut it, shut it quickly!” I shouted.

     Michel slammed the top of the box shut and flashed the extinguisher at it again. The flames ceased but the wood was still smoking. We stepped warily away from it, both of us eyeing the half charred box crate as if it contained a crate of poisonous snakes.

      To our relief the sparking and humming noise had abated.

    For what seemed a long time to the both of us we just stood there rooted to the spot. Neither of us spoke, both scared to do anything else with it lest it came back to life. Then, after several minutes of procrastination we very, very carefully carried the crate back below decks, placed it in a dark recess under one of the bunks, where Michel draped a heavy tablecloth over it. 

     That seemed to have the desired effect. The boat’s electrical supply was now back on again and I managed to coax the engine into life. A few moments later we were underway. Not fully understanding what had just happened and now realising we were completely out of their depth here we decided to leave our strange find below decks and make it as fast as possible to England. The weather forecast was good and if we didn’t delay we figured we could be there within two and a half days.

 

 

     Cruising up the Portuguese coast and into the Bay of Biscay was pretty straightforward but it got a bit choppy as we motored along up the West Coast of France. As we entered the English Channel our next problem was how to avoid coming to the attention of Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise. The last thing we wanted was to  have the sphere confiscated. Coming directly from Lebanon in a small boat might be deemed unusual especially with the hostilities going on there at the moment.

    With this in mind, Michel decided to make a detour and set course for a small French town he knew called Saint Vaast La Houge, situated on the Eastern side of the Cherbourg Peninsular. It sported a Marina and it was unlikely we would attract any undue attention by mooring there for the night. The next morning we would set off for Brighton and moor up in the Marina there temporarily. Two English nationals out for a few days sailing across the channel was nothing unusual. With any luck no one would even bat an eyelid.

     And to our relief no one did. Our journey across the world’s busiest shipping lanes went smoothly and it was just after midday when we moored up in Brighton Marina without a hitch. After a quick lunch consisting of fish and chips and mushy peas, we set sail again and headed eastward along the English Coast, past Hastings, Camber and the White Cliffs of Dover, till we came to the Thames Estuary, and as Big Ben chimed eight o clock, we were gliding under Tower Bridge. 

     Two hours later we’d reached our destination, Twickenham Yacht club, just off of Eel Pie Island. Michel’s father had a membership there which was still valid even though he was deceased. No one would ask any awkward questions here. It was the perfect location to keep the sphere away from prying eyes until we’d figured out a way to get it transported to Gerard. 

 

To be continued ..............................


Edited by toddyboy, 21 March 2020 - 02:27 pm.


#9 toddyboy

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Posted 22 March 2020 - 12:04 am

CHAPTER 2

 

Michel and I were both well aware that we were in a precarious situation here. Although we weren’t yet sure of what we’d got our hands on we were both of the opinion that it was definitely unusual and could quite possibly be very lucrative. We could declare our find to the world and quite possibly become rich and famous from doing so but that was risky. Questions about how we found it and where it came would be asked. If it truly was made up of what we thought it was it’d create a shit storm. Better that we leave the sphere with Gerard and continue with our clandestine excavations back in Kfar Hazir to see what else was down there. That severed pole or cable or whatever it was led down to something, but exactly what that might be or how deep it went neither of us had any clue. It would definitely be unwise to tell anyone else about it any of this. The sphere and the silo had to be kept a total secret.     

    As it happened, Gerard wasn’t even there. When I called him he was away on business in Amsterdam and wouldn’t be back for another week. However, he told me I could leave whatever it was I wanted him to take a look at in the basement of his flat. His basement was pretty big, more of a workshop where Gerard messed about with all and sundry. Bit of an eccentric wizard was Gerard, but a more honest and trustworthy guy you couldn’t find. He lived in Battersea, only ten miles or so from where we were. His house was one of those old three story Victorian buildings which he’d converted into a two story flat on the upper levels and a workshop on the ground floor and basement. If you didn’t know how to get to it you’d never know it was there as it sat at the end of one of the myriad backstreets in the area. 

     We stayed at Michel’s house in Chiswick that night. It was a fifteen minute taxi ride from Twickenham. The house was empty. His mother had died several years ago and with his father now deceased Michel had inherited it. The place was a bit cold and damp when we entered. Michel, turned the central heating on and brought some logs in from out back to get a fire going. Before long we were comfortably warm, sitting in the lounge and discussing our next plan of action. It had been a long day and we were tired so we agreed to get some sleep and work out the details the next day.

     The next morning I hired a van from a local company and we drove back to the boat, loaded the crate into the van and forty five minutes later we pulled up outside  the back of Gerard’s place. I knew where the key was, so Michel and I lugged the crate out of the van and shoehorned it down into the basement and left it there. On the ground floor,Gerard had a garage where he kept his pride and joy, a lovely Yellow and grey Yamaha TDM 850 motorbike. I’d helped him buy it and do it up a few years back and he absolutely loved that bike. He’d always let me have a go on it when I was in town and I have to admit, it was a hoot to ride. The keys to it were hanging up in the kitchen and I pondered whether I should give it a whirl then thought better of it. We had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Maybe some other time. 

    During the drive back to Twickenham we both agreed that we should return to Lebanon pretty sharpish. That hole in the ground needed to be properly concealed before anyone else found it and started nosing around down inside it. Michel also voiced one major concern he’d had since we’d left: “I know secrecy is paramount but we can’t do this on our own any more, Tod,” he proclaimed. “We are going to need some more expert help.”

     This was news to me. “Help? What kind of expert help?” I asked.

    “The kind that deals with underground exploration, priceless artefacts, that kind of expert help,” answered Michel, emphatically.

     I looked at my friend a bit bemused. “And what exactly do you mean by that? I enquired. “I thought we’d agreed this needed to be kept under wraps. We’re going to have to bring Gerard into it because we haven’t got a clue what this thing we found is. All we know is it’s some kind of machine that generates sparks, i.e. electricity, and Gerard’s the only person I know of, and more to the point, who I can trust, that might just be able to figure it out. So, who else are you thinking of involving in this?”

     There was a moments silence while Michel formulated an answer.

   “Jean Roulard, an experienced deep caves explorer and archaeologist,” he said. “I met him once at a dinner my ex-employer gave at the manor in Sussex where I worked as head chef. He’s from Quebec, Canada. He was a very nice guy, extremely communicative and knowledgeable in his field. This is the kind of person we need if we are going to get to the bottom of what that silo is really all about.”

     “I wasn’t so sure. “Okay, so you’ve met some bloke once and you think you can trust him to keep his mouth shut once he gets wind of what we’re up to? What makes you think this won’t go to his head? He’ll probably want the World’s Press to be there as we…..”

     “No!” Michel said curtly, not allowing me to finish. “He wouldn’t do that, I’m sure of it. He is a good man, a trustworthy man and exactly the kind of person we need to help us with something like this. His credentials are impeccable and I am certain if I asked him to keep quiet about this he would. I am a good judge of character in such matters.”

     I was getting slightly agitated by this point. “Look, Michel, we’re already up to our necks in it. We’re now effectively thieves and smugglers of what could very well be a priceless artefact. If the Lebanese authorities get wind of what we’ve just done, not to mention British Customs & Excise we could quite possibly find ourselves in some very hot water! Bringing another unknown person into the fray is too risky. There’s already too much at stake here. I don’t like it one bit.”

     “But Tod, we can’t orchestrate an archaeological dig underground, and in secret,  not just the two of us. You know that as much as I do,” Michel protested. “Neither of us have the first clue of what might be down there. Something else is though, I think you can’t disagree with that fact. For instance, where does that pole, or cable, or whatever it is go to? How deep does it go and what does it connect to? You know what I’m talking about here. We need someone who knows his way around underground; someone who has the expertise and experience to deal with what we might find.”

     I just sighed, looked down at my hands and shook my head. Michel was probably right, we would most likely struggle tackling something like this on our own. However, I was at a loss as to what to say next.

     “So that’s settled then,” Michel asserted.

     I just shrugged and said “whatever! You’re the boss.”

     

Jean Roulard was indeed a formidable exponent of underground exploration, as Michel had stated. He was also well known for his radical views on the genus of ancient civilisations apparently, i.e. that civilisation didn’t begin with the Greeks or Egyptians but that it began much further back in time. To this end he was considered a bit of a maverick in archaeological circles, shunned by the recognised mainstream institutes yet revered by those who harboured similar ideas, the “astro-archaeologists” as they were sometimes called. 

     Roulard lived in London. Michel made contact with him and we met him at a pub in Chiswick that had a beer garden overlooking the river. Jean was an affable kind of guy. It was easy to warm to his easy going nature and he was fascinated to hear about our discovery. By the end of the evening he was on board. Two days later the three of us were on a plane heading for Beirut.    

     

Three weeks had elapsed since our return to Kfar-Hazir. No one else was aware of the “silo” other than Jean, and more importantly we’d been able to continue secretly digging down from where we’d discovered the sphere. 

     The severed pole, or cable, or whatever it was, seemed to go down interminably. We had by now managed to dig out another five metres of earth and rocks around it but still could see no end to it. What we did find however was another opening on one side of the silo that was jammed with rocks and rubble. As we started to excavate it we began to realise it was some kind of entrance to another subterranean chamber for it had a set of steps that led downwards. This was an exciting development.

     These steps were odd though. As we dug further down we noticed that each riser was three times higher that of a normal step, almost as if they were built for giants. It took us another two days to fully uncover this new opening and a day more to excavate the landfill inside it to a further depth of two metres. 

     There was only room for one of us to work at what we called the “pit face” so we each took it in turns to be the lead digger while one of us pulled the debris out bucket by bucket and then the one above hauled it up to the surface using the electric winch. It was hard going.

     We had descended almost ten metres into the original silo and were now a further three metres down into this new opening when Michel, who’s turn it was to be digging at the face, noticed that the rocks and rubble seemed to be becoming looser. Unfortunately for him, he found out why that was - the hard way! 

    Thrusting his spade into the rocks and soil for the umpteenth time, there was a sudden movement and before he could react the whole lot gave way beneath him. Michel disappeared, swallowed up into the hole that had appeared. He fell another three metres or so, bumping down a series of hard steps and landed awkwardly on more rocks while more debris showered down from where he’d just fell from. When the landslide had abated he just lay there dazed and confused, not knowing whether he’d broken anything. He could move his arms and his legs and after a bit of effort found he could sit up. Miraculously, apart from some serious bruising and a few scratches he realised he wasn’t badly hurt.

     I was panicking. Michel had literally disappeared into the bowels of the earth and taken half a ton of rocks and earth with him! I shouted down into the darkness below and to my utter relief heard Michel’s faint voice calling back.

     Jean, who was up on the surface, looking down through the opening, shouted down desperate to know what had happened, but I didn’t answer him. I was too preoccupied with what had happened to Michel.

     After he’d recovered from the initial shock, Michel clambered to his feet, dusted himself off, tapped his head torch and looked around him. This new chamber was different. It had a ceiling, whereas the silo only had walls. This ceiling was also curved, and like the walls of the silo was made of the same plastic/metallic type of material, but it was the size of the space that astounded him. It was some thirty metres across by the looks of it. The “floor” that he was standing on was a mixture of earth and rocks but he soon realised this was probably not the actual base of the room. He was standing on what must have been a landslide or cave in that had occurred long ago. He was sure that this large chamber was actually much bigger than he could currently see, almost as if he were standing on top of several feet of rocks and earth. Though it was difficult to see much with just the miners light strapped to his forehead, he could make out what looked like the top of arched openings at the far end of the room. 

     “Michel, are you okay?” I yelled. 

     “Yes, I’m fine, Tod. Come down here. This is amazing!” he replied. 

     I clambered down over the lower steps and rubble and joined him. “Jesus! This is a turn up for the books,” I said, looking around me in awe.

     “I told you there was more down here. Let’s take a look over there,” said Michel, pointing towards the arched openings he’d spotted.

     Holding on to each other to steady ourselves, we clambered and stumbled over rocks and earth and reached the other end of this strange half buried chamber where we found two large openings. Cautiously, Michel led the way through the one on the left. On the other side we found ourselves standing in what looked like a large tunnel that stretched either way into the darkness.

     “What the hell is this?” I said in a hushed tone.

     “If we weren’t twenty metres down in the middle of the Lebanese desert I’d say we were in a disused subway station,” Michel replied.

    “You know what, Michel, you’re not wrong’” I agreed. It does look just like that. This is insane.” 

     So, here we were, in an underground tunnel that led to who knows where and was also god knows how long. The tunnel, as with the connecting chamber must have been subject to a huge cave in some time in the past by the looks of it. 

     “Whatever it is, it hasn’t been used for a bloody long time, but you’ve sure brought home the bacon this time, Michel me old mate,” I said, patting my friend on the back, then immediately regretting doing so as he winced with pain.

     “Oops, sorry mate. Anyway we’re really getting somewhere now. Where do you suppose this tunnel leads,” I asked, peering either way into the inky void.

     “No idea,” Michel said emphatically. “But we better get up top and report to Jean, or he’ll think we’re dead or something.” 

     We could both hear Jean’s muffled cries from up above and so we made our way back through the arched opening as quickly as we could, gingerly clambering back over the landslide and up the large steps till eventually we made it back out into the base of the silo.

     “We’re okay, Jean!” I shouted, looking up at the small concerned face ten metres above us. “Winch us up will ya?”

     Keeping the underground excavations and the existence of the silo a secret had, up to this point been relatively easy. But then two old men, claiming to be old friends of Michel’s father turned up unannounced and started asking all kinds of awkward questions. They were friendly enough but they gave the distinct impression that they were looking for something. They knew of Michel’s father’s death and were overly profuse in their condolences as only Arab people can be. In turn, Michel was polite and courteous to them, though he was at a loss as to who they really were. 

     The older of the two, a man named Rashid seemed very interested in what exactly Michel was doing here. He and his brother Hashim told Michel how they and his father were best friends when they were children but that his father had surprised everyone when he’d simply upped and gone to England whilst he was only a teenager. They said they had tried to contact him on several occasions but Jerjy, as they called him, never responded. Instead, he just sent money in lieu of communication, which, although generous in the extreme, they would still have preferred to have spoken to him in person. They said they could never understand how Jerjy had become so well established in London in such a short time. To their knowledge he never had any wherewithal when he lived here in Lebanon. They were interested in how he’d came about his good fortune.

      Questions, questions, questions! Michel couldn’t answer any of them. They were also the same questions he had asked himself many times which made it even more difficult for him. It seemed to him that these old men were implying something, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. They spoke in such veiled terms and their English wasn’t very good either. His father had never spoken of these men but they seemed to know a lot about him, at least of when he was a child.

     However, after several hours they seemed to lose interest and eventually left.

 

 

         

 

CHAPTER 3

 

Now totally focused on further exploring our bizarre find down below, we’d made a couple of sorties along the tunnel either way but had turned back after a couple of hundred metres having found nothing else of interest. The tunnel seemed to go on and on and strangely, went down either way at a very slight incline, though to where exactly we had no clue. 

     All was not well on the surface however. Up to this point things had been pretty unstable politically but now it was going from bad to worse. The Syrian border had recently been closed and the news bulletins were abuzz with alarming information that all diplomatic relations between the current Syrian regime and Lebanon had ceased.

   Then we received a visit from two men from the local authorities who told us that because the property was no more than eighty miles from the border with Syria and with tensions rising, it was suggested that we leave Lebanon altogether and go back to our homes abroad. They were aiming their requests at Michel mainly, he being the legal owner. He wasn’t happy about this state of affairs but also realised that the authorities weren’t really concerned for his or our welfare, they wanted a kick back! 

     After a good deal of haggling he got permission to be allowed to stay but only after handing over a substantial bribe. That placated the two officials but they also warned him that he and his Western associates were risking our lives staying in Lebanon. Things were about to get much worse in the coming weeks, they warned.

     And they weren’t wrong! It was only 48 hours later that things did indeed begin to take a severe turn for the worse. The first indication that something untoward was about to happen was when we spied a disturbance in the distance; a convoy of troops driving Eastwards across the desert come under aerial bombardment. The lead vehicle, a Humvee, suffered a direct hit. Then the shells began exploding closer to the property. Minutes later, shells and rockets began to rain down and were exploding only fifty metres or so from the house. 

     Michel and I had been watching through the window as the scene of carnage unfolded and decided it was time to take cover. Jean was still below ground and we figured it was time to join him. Rushing out to the entrance hole, I climbed down the makeshift rope ladder first and made it to the base of the silo. Michel followed suit. We then made our way down the steps of the side access door and entered the large underground chamber where we found Jean standing there with a shovel in his hand, looking upwards with a decidedly worried look on his face. At this depth the shells impacting above sounded like elephants stomping around on the ceiling.

     “Doesn’t sound too good up there,” Jean commented.

   “Doesn’t look too great either,” replied Michel. “someone is bombing someone else. This is getting messy. We may have to…….”…… He didn’t get to finish the sentence.

     A tremendous explosion, followed by a shock wave literally threw us all backwards through the air a good six feet. Plumes of dust and flying debris followed in its wake. The three of us could do nothing but keep our heads down and shield our mouths and noses with our shirts, not knowing what was going to happen next.    

     Then the explosions on the surface stopped as suddenly as they’d begun and it went eerily quiet, save for the pattering of bits of airborne debris settling to the ground. As the dust began to settle it became apparent that whatever had just occurred was major. When we were sure it was over, we got up, brushed ourselves down, grabbed a torch each and with our faces still masked with the cloth of our shirts we looked up to discover the situation we were in was about to get even more dire. 

     The entrance hole to the silo on the surface must have received a direct hit, for the side entrance opening into it was completely blocked with rocks and earth.

   Half an hour’s digging proved fruitless. The compressed earth and rock had securely blocked our way out. We were well and truly trapped. For a while we just sat there looking forlornly at the blocked entrance. None of us spoke much. We were all lost in our own thoughts, each contemplating what to do next; none of us coming up with anything. 

     At first it didn’t sink in but then it began to dawn on us that there was only one thing for it; we would have to take our chances in the underground tunnel. Almost instinctively, and without speaking a word, all three of us began foraging around for food, water and anything else that resembled survival kit. There wasn’t much, a few tins of sardines and some bread, half a bottle of water, two shovels and some rope. That was about it.

     “There’s no point in waiting around. The quicker we get going the better. You guys ready?” I asked, looking either way down the black tunnel.

     “Which way?” asked Michel.

     None of us could decide. Both ways looked as dark and mysterious as the other.

     “We’ll toss for it then,” I said. “Heads is North, tails is South. With three of us there has to be a decision, one way or the other.” 

     Michel and Jean agreed. 

     Jean went first. “Tails!” he said.

     I flipped the coin.

     “Tails it is. My turn; I say heads,” I announced.

    I flipped the coin. It landed on heads.

     “Your turn Michel.” 

     Michel took one last look either way and said, “tails!”

     The coin landed on tails.

     “South it is then,” I said. “Get your walking shoes on boys.” 

     It was inky black in that tunnel and when we reached the furthest point we’d gone before we stopped and waited for a moment. None of us said a word but each knew what the other was thinking. There was something very foreboding about going any further into that malevolent darkness ahead. We had no idea how far it went or what  we would find along the way. Nevertheless, we unanimously agreed that going back was pointless, so we got going. 

    Every step we took led us further into the unknown, a dark all enveloping unknown with only a torch each to show the way. After a few hundred yards more we  decided to use just one torch, just in case the tunnel was longer than we thought. Actually, none of us had even contemplated how long it might be. 

     As we progressed we noticed the ceiling was becoming higher. The earth and rocks were thinning out as we went. After travelling for a few more minutes there were only a few scattered boulders under our feet. The remnants of the cave-in way back when was diminishing and before long we found themselves standing on the base of what had now become a huge tunnel with curved walls encircling us and the top section so high that the torch beam could hardly make it out. Steeling ourselves for what might lay ahead of us, we trudged on warily with Jean leading the way. 

     For hours on end we walked along the base of the tunnel. Jean’s torch had ran out of battery a ways back so I had started using mine but this too was now beginning to dim. When it finally reduced to a mere glimmer Michel turned his on. 

     On and on we went, step after laborious step till we had no idea how far we’d gone. After about another two hours Michel’s torch finally gave out and now our only light came from our mobile phones but eventually the batteries in those died too. Fortunately, Jean wore a Corum divers watch which mercifully gave off a bluish hue when the adjust knob was pushed. Eventually, it was this, and only this, that we could use to check our progress along the way.

   The tunnel seemed endless. It went on and on, but always at an almost imperceptible incline downwards. We couldn’t see the top nor the sides now due to the lack of light but by the sound of our steps we knew it was a very large space we were in. The odd thing though was that the air seemed to be fairly clear and fresh, which none of us could quite understand, but it definitely helped. 

     Only Jean’s trusty watch gave us any idea of how long we’d been walking, and when he informed Michel and I that we’d been on our feet for almost eight hours we all agreed that we’d have to stop and rest. We were exhausted. 

     Jean announced that based on our walking speed we’d probably covered somewhere in the region of thirty kilometers so far. Those words hung in the air like a nasty smell. If we’d travelled that far just how much farther would we have to go? We’d brought all the food rations we could find in the underground chamber at Kfar-Hazir but they didn’t amount to much and we’d already eaten more than half of them. All that was left was one unopened can of sardines and the remainder of the stale pitta bread which we decided to half ration between us.

     Most worrying though was the fact that Michel’s water flask was nearly empty with not more than three mouthfuls of liquid left in it. Mine had maybe a couple of mouthfuls more than that and Jean’s bottle was less than half full.

     There was no indication that the tunnel’s end was near, or even that it actually did end at all. It was just total darkness in front and behind us. The thought of continuing on was daunting, the concept of going back pointless, so we agreed to try to get some sleep and recoup some energy for the next “day’s” hike into the unknown.

     Attempting to fall asleep when your surroundings are pitch black is not as easy as you might think. Something about the lack of spacial awareness sends warning signals to the brain to stay alert. Adrenaline is pumped into the blood system and the slightest noise is magnified a hundred times. In conditions such as this hypertension easily manifests itself and for quite some time we just lay there, senses stretched to the limit; lost in an endless black void of uncertainty and trepidation.

     The faint light from Michel’s watch was our only anchor point with reality. It was also our only gauge of the passing of the hours. The total darkness eradicated all concept of time. 

     Jean woke first. He recalled checking the time and then checking it again, only this time it was nine hours later. He realised he must have nodded off at some point but couldn’t recall when. When he roused Michel and I and tried to explain we’d slept for that long neither of us could believe it. I for one didn’t feel at all refreshed. Allowing ourselves one small gulp of water and a few bites of the pitta bread each we staggered to our feet and set off down the inky black tunnel once more. 

     For a further eight hours we walked, like mindless, blind zombies, onwards and ever downwards at a slight incline till we could finally go no further and had to stop and rest again. 

     Jean had remained impassive throughout the ordeal but Michel was now inwardly beginning to panic. The lack of light, food and water was starting to have a severely adverse effect on him. I was suffering too but neither of us dare let on to the other. When we finally lay down on the hard, smooth surface of the tunnel to sleep again our morale was ebbing away. What the next “day” would bring, none of us knew.

     Three hours into the next “day’s” walking saw the end of our meagre food rations and with only a mouthful of water left between us we were now all becoming  dehydrated. Signs of delirium were setting in. Our steps were becoming erratic and several times we stumbled and fell, mainly due to exhaustion. Then something changed. I noticed it first; a tiny pinprick of light that seemed to hover in the darkness, almost like a tiny star. At first I dismissed it as an illusion, but then Michel and Jean noticed it too. Either it actually was a light or we were all going mad. 

     As we trudged onwards the tiny dot of light continued to hover there in the otherwise pitch black void as if it were some mirage devised to taunt us. There was definitely something there though, and it did appear to be growing in size.

     On and on we went for what seemed hours. We were literally on our last legs now but the thought that there might actually be an end to this purgatory drove us forward. With superhuman resolve we forced our shattered, hungry and thirsty bodies to take one more step in front of the other, and slowly but surely the tiny dot of light began to grow larger. The ghostly silver speck of light now seemed to be flickering almost as if it really were a star.

      Eventually, we came to realise that we were indeed coming to what must to be the end of this damnation of a tunnel, and spurred on by the concept that we might actually reach the end alive our pace quickened a little. 

     Then I smelt it – water!

     Several hundred metres further on, we stumbled out of the endless dark recesses of that fucking tunnel and were met by a sight that defied all belief. A huge reservoir of water as far as the eye could see stretched out before us, its blue/grey surface shimmering and twinkling like a million stars. But that wasn’t all; to our right in the distance was a massive complex of what appeared to be ruined buildings nestled against the far shore. The strangest thing of all though was the light. None of us could work out where it was coming from. It just seemed to pervade the entire … what was it actually … the entire cavern. But what a cavern! It must have been about a quarter of a mile high and at least two miles across.

 

To be continued .................................


Edited by toddyboy, 22 March 2020 - 12:11 pm.


#10 Snowbird

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Posted 22 March 2020 - 10:25 am

Top work Toddy! It beats the crap on telly while the pubs are shut!

Not read part 2 yet as saving it for tonight.

Much appreciated in the current situation.

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#11 Robodene

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Posted 22 March 2020 - 11:02 am

Well said, Snowbird, for me too.
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#12 dablik

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Posted 22 March 2020 - 07:21 pm

Crackin stuff Toddy, i'll be catching up also, keep it coming :good:


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#13 toddyboy

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Posted 22 March 2020 - 09:38 pm

CHAPTER 4

 

     The sheer majesty of our surroundings prevented any of us from doing anything but stand there dumbfounded as we tried to take it all in. 

     The intense silence was broken by a guttural yelp from Michel as he surged forward and plunged headfirst into the water. Jean and I immediately followed suit and for the next ten minutes or so the three of us floundered about in it gulping down the sweetest tasting water we’d ever drank while we whooped and shouted till we were hoarse. Then, one by one we crawled out and laid down on the fine pebbled shore completely spent and despite the fact that we were all soaked to the skin, we fell fast asleep where we lay.

     Jean woke first. He quickly roused me and Michel then he checked his watch to discover we’d been asleep for another full eight hours. Our clothes had all but dried out, which I found a bit strange. Another odd thing was the air. It was as fresh as you’d ever breathe on any mountain in the Alps.

     As soon as I was on my feet, my stomach immediately began making growling noises, reminding me that none of us had eaten anything since we’d used up the last of our rations in the tunnel some twelve hours earlier and that it might be a good idea to go look for some food.

     Michel and Jean agreed. They too were famished. So without further ado we set off along the pebbly shore of the lake in the direction of the subterranean city.

     As we walked, I noticed the odd ripple in the water here and there.

     “There’s fish in there,” I said. “What do you say we try to catch us one?”

     “What with?” asked Michel.

     Jean didn’t say anything. He simply waded gently into the water till it was up to his waist and just stood there motionless, looking down with his hands outstretched while Michel and I looked on. A minute or so went by. We both instinctively remained motionless and silent. We knew what Jean was doing. Then, quick as a flash, he lashed out beneath the water and pulled out a large wriggling fish by its tail.

     “Grub’s up, Michel,” I said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Good job we brought a chef along with us, a.k.a. you.”

     “Well done, Jean,” said Michel, patting his entrepreneurial friend on the back as he waded out onto the shore.

     “The water is teeming with fish,” replied Jean. They have no fear, it was easy to grab one.”

     The next trick was how to get a fire going. Fortunately, Jean had this covered too. From his pocket he withdrew a flint knife. Useful for cutting as well as creating a spark when chafed against a stone, of which there were many dotted along the shoreline.

     There was actually kindling aplenty near the base of the caverns walls. Strange looking vines grew out of the ground and clung to the stone. Much of it was dead, dry and burnable and it didn’t take Jean long to get a small fire crackling with it.

     Michel then got to work and within fifteen minutes had gutted, cooked and de-boned the fish which tasted better than any meal any of us had tasted in a very long time. Now replenished with food and water the three of us felt our hopes rising and we set off with a spring in our steps towards the ruined city once more. It took quite a while. Those structures looked nearer than they actually were and it must have been a good mile and a half walk before we reached the first of the outlying buildings.

     As we cautiously entered this place one thing that was very apparent to us all; there had been a monumental battle here. Many of the structures were smashed and rubble lay everywhere. There was no sign of life anywhere. The place was deserted and looked like it had been that way for a very long time. It was also quite evident that everything was of larger than normal size, as though the average height of the incumbents was about twenty feet tall. 

     This once great underground city looked like it had been built and strengthened primarily with the same odd plastic-like metal that the walls of the silo and that infernal tunnel were made of. The vast bulk of the buildings were damaged and looked like they’d been burned in some way, for they were discoloured, almost as if they’d been torched by flame throwers. These structures surrounded an enormous tunnel depot terminal which, though it seemed inconceivable, looked as though at one time it had serviced trains of some sort, and they wouldn’t have been small trains either. It was then we realised that the light was furnished by some sort luminescence that emanated from the material the buildings were made of. 

     In the centre of the city stood what we figured must be some form of Temple. On all sides of it were avenues with buildings that went from two-and-a-half stories high, then down to two stories high; and as we progressed farther from the Temple, only one story high. The majority of these had been damaged in one way or another. There were other buildings that must have been storage depots, though now they were all empty. Here in this desolate, ruined and empty city it was apparent that there must have once been a thriving community – but of giants!

     Some of the lower levels of the Temple were comprised of what must once have been vats, now completely dried out. On the first level below the Temple were more storage areas, all empty and the levels below that extended for hundreds of metres underground and far beyond the reaches of the surface city. There were empty houses, stores and what must once have been gardens on these levels. Lighting still emanated  somehow, though there was no visible means of power. 

      Within the corridor entrance to the ground level floor of the Temple, close to the back end, were three massive pillars that supported the ceiling. Directly behind these pillars on the corridor's end wall, were engravings of three beings, two males, either side of a female figure. These engravings seemed to be of a human cast in face and figure but had a haunting reptilian touch as well, as if they were a smooth blending of the two species.

     Immediately below this area on the first and second levels were rooms in a central position relative to the Temple basement, and below these rooms were the third and fourth levels. Here, the walls and ceilings appeared to have escaped whatever it was that had caused the blackened charring above. 

     It was here that we found the first signs of life, well not life actually; more like residues of life that once was. Pickled bodies floating in a jelly like substance that had in the main dried out littered the place. Some of these containers had been smashed open. Others were still intact. In these were the bodies of various types, sizes and form. But these weren’t creatures that any of us had any familiarity with. There were half human, half bear bodies; mutant animal forms blended into what appeared to be ape man-like creatures and four legged creatures with half human like torsos. There were literally dozens of these transparent capsules, all containing weird and mutated life forms. It was like some kind of mummified freak show. 

     “My god, so this is where it comes from,” Jean muttered in a hushed tone.

    “You mean the beasts of Greek mythology, right?” said Michel, guessing what Jean was thinking out loud.

     “Exactly,” Jean replied. “Just look at these bizarre creatures. I recognise some of them. The Harpies, half bird, half woman, the Minotaur, half man, half bull, the Typhon, half man, half snake, and the Echidna, half woman, half serpent, and many more. They are all here. This must have been some kind of laboratory, most probably where they experimented on men, women and creatures. This is the genus of those Greek mythological creatures we learned of in school, except it appears that they weren’t myths at all, they were real!”

     We continued to explore. In the area of the second level immediately below this room, we found great numbers of similar humanoid/animal like bodies, only this time they were mummified and relatively well preserved. Stacked neatly on shelves in tiers four high lay vast numbers of these same types of figures. It was, to all intents and purposes a morgue, stuffed full to the brim with genetically mutated creatures that appeared to have been mummified.

     There was another level below this one with other mummified entities, though these appeared to be of animals and vegetation. Searching further, we came upon an even lower level of the underground city that looked as though it must have functioned as the central control area for the entire network of tunnels. It was a huge place. The tunnels of the main lines were lined with the same tough plastic-metal which supported and reinforced the city walls above. Each tunnel had a diameter somewhat over one hundred feet high. We counted fifteen tunnel openings that led to we knew not where.  

   This, without doubt had once been an elaborate and extensive transportation system, well designed and built to last. A very great and expansive civilisation must have used this terminal, though what had happened to them was a mystery for there certainly weren’t any signs of anything alive here now. At least, we hadn’t found anything, yet. It was as though there had been a mass exodus at some point. 

     About ten metres above where we stood was a solid rock wall into which had been carved a huge embossed cosmic map of the solar system. The thing that grabbed our attention the most, apart from the intricate stone carved detail and its immense size was the planet that we all agreed must be earth. 

     Upon closer inspection it appeared that this vast embossed engraving wasn’t actually a solid carving at all. It was some kind of massive clock mechanism. All the planets depicted on it were sitting just proud of the surface and followed circular grooves in the wall. One of these appeared to be the earth but not as it would be recognised today. The land masses, though they vaguely resembled the continents of today were different in their shape and dimensions. Africa and the America’s were recognisable but between them was another unfamiliar land mass where the Atlantic Ocean should be and a similar land mass sat in the middle of where the Pacific Ocean should be also. This embossed rendition of a very different looking earth was oval in shape, approximately ten metres wide and similar in many ways as to how it would be shown in an atlas. 

     That was strange enough, but stranger still was the overall depiction of the solar system. All the familiar planets were shown, including their orbits around the sun; Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, with its familiar halo of rings, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto, but there was one other planet shown too. This planet followed a highly elliptical orbit around the sun, taking it out past Pluto at its farthest point and very near the asteroid belt at its nearest point to earth. 

     “That, my friends, if I am not mistaken, is the planet Nibiru,” declared Jean.

     Michel and I both looked at him questioningly.

   Jean explained. “It’s been referred to as The Twelfth Planet, or Planet X. Ancient Cuneiform texts written by the Sumerians, which constitute some of the earliest known writing, dating back some six thousand years tell the story of a race of beings who came to Earth from a planet in our solar system called Nibiru.” 

     “Never heard of it,” I said.

     “That’s because mainstream science doesn’t recognise Nibiru as one of the planets that revolves around our Sun,” explained Jean. “As with other things that don’t receive official recognition that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re not there. I for one have always believed of its existence and now that I see this I have no doubts. Its presence could hold great importance not only for humankind's past, but our future as well.”

     “How so?” asked Michel.

     “Possibly the reason Nibiru is not officially recognised is because it’s currently far away from us, Jean explained. “As it is shown here, its orbit around the Sun is highly elliptical, taking it out beyond the orbit of Pluto at its farthest point and bringing it as close to the Sun as the far side of the asteroid belt. Based on my research and if my memory serves me right, it takes Nibiru three thousand six hundred years to complete one orbital journey. The sketchy records available have indicated that it would now be on its way back towards us. Those ancient Sumerian texts reveal that it was last in this vicinity of this planet around 160 B.C. which would bring it back near earth again in approx fourteen hundred years time.  Bits and pieces of this tale are recorded in the first books of the Bible and the histories of other ancient cultures, especially Egyptian.

      Michel and I listened attentively as Jean continued.

     “Most historians, anthropologists and archeologists consider it all myth, of course. Nevertheless, the gravitational pull of a planet entering the inner solar system would have profound effects on the other orbiting bodies, including Earth. In fact, the story says that during the most recent appearance of Nibiru during its nearest approach to Earth it was responsible for the "Great Flood" recorded in Genesis, in which nearly all life on our planet was extinguished, but saved, thanks to Noah, whoever he was. 

      “Others say that Earth is in for some massive and catastrophic changes as Nibiru approaches. Floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, a pole shift and other natural disasters have been predicted to be so severe that very few will survive the effects created. Other gloomy predictions cite that the gravitational pull of Nibiru might even stop the Earth's rotation for three days, a.k.a. the "three days of darkness" predicted in the Bible. Some Nibiru researchers have also cited the prophecies of Edgar Cayce who predicted that we would suffer monumental Earth changes and a pole shift, even though he didn’t actually attribute them to anything as specific as a visiting planet. And, of course, the much-analysed Mayan calendar was said to set the "end of world" in December, 2012.”

     “Well they got that wrong then,” I chirped in. “We’re still here aint we?”

    “Of course you’re right, mon-ami,” said Jean. “Someone got their facts and figures wrong. That’s for sure. However, that doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen somewhere down the line. As you can clearly see, this was a recurring cycle, and one that the people who lived here were well aware of and well prepared for. They knew that the gravitational effects of a sizeable planet moving close to the inner solar system could wreak havoc on the orbits of other planets, disrupt the asteroid belt and spell big trouble for this planet, but after seeing this I’d wager that to them it was probably no more of an event than a hurricane would be to us today. These people were obviously intending to be here for the duration. It certainly explains why they built underground cities like this.” 

     Me and Michel were fascinated by Jean’s wealth of knowledge and certainty. We silently glanced at each other. Michel smiled, he knew what I was thinking. Not long ago I’d really kicked up a fuss about him wanting to involve anyone else in our intrepid little adventure. Now I was bloody glad we’d brought Jean along with us.

     This whole solar system map was vast, probably more than three hundred metres wide and fifty metres high. The geographical rendition of the earth which made up only a part of it was still large enough to show a lot of detail, amongst which was depicted a vast network of criss-crossing lines which we all agreed were most likely tunnels, showing where they ran, where they connected and also where they terminated. It appeared that they ran deep underground and spread throughout the entire world, beneath the seas and land surfaces in all directions. 

     But there were other things marked on the map too, amongst them, large circles that were depicted as semi-transparent images of a planet looking very like the moon. There were several of these dotted around this ancient global earth atlas. The one that interested us the most was the one located in the region of we calculated would now be the Bermuda Triangle. Another one was depicted as being in what would now be the floor of the Pacific Ocean midway between San Francisco and the Islands of Hawaii. Another was situated in the area of what would now be Lebanon, along with several others in what appeared to be strategic positions around the globe such as England, Mexico, Peru and South America.

     "The tunnels of the Earth," I said out loud.

     Michel looked inquisitively at me but not so Jean, who nodded sagely.

    “The tunnels of the Earth,” I repeated. “I remember reading about them at school in my history lessons. Underground tunnels were referred to in the Egyptian Book of the Dead; something to do with Osiris, the Lord of the Underworld. What was it they said now - ‘I am the offspring of yesterday; the tunnels of the earth have given me birth; that I may come and seize upon the tunnels of Ra’ - or something like that. It’s a mythical legend about the ancient Egyptian Gods. I was always interested in that stuff. ‘Bout the only thing that did interest me in school actually.”

     “Do you think it’s a myth now?” asked Michel.

     “Not sure what I believe any more,” I replied. “What do you think Jean?”

     But Jean was deep in thought, seemingly mesmerised by the vast cosmic map in front of him. He didn’t appear to hear my question.

     “Jean, are you okay, mate?” I said. 

    “You are right about the tunnels of the earth and the Egyptian book of the dead, Tod,” Jean stated. 

     He had actually been listening. 

     “I have done a lot of research on it,” Jean continued. “I had my suspicions when I first saw the tunnel at Kfar-Hazir. Now I am sure that this is what it’s referring to. That map up there, it also reminds me of the Antikythera Mechanism.” 

     “Right! Hopefully, you’re going to explain what that is,” I replied, raising my eyebrows.

     “Yes, yes of course,” Jean mumbled, never once taking his eyes of what he was looking at. “The Antikythera Mechanism is an anomaly of ancient times. It’s a very old bronze clockwork-like mechanism that was recovered from a Roman wreck off the coast of the island of Antikythera by a crew of sponge-divers in 1900, hence its name. It’s been dated to around 87 BC. The device was very thin and made of bronze. It was mounted in a wooden frame and had more than 2,000 indiscernible characters inscribed all over it. It is believed that this instrument was a kind of mechanical analogue computer used to calculate the movements of stars and planets in astronomy; an ancient maritime computer or perhaps a calculator, if you like. The wreck from which it was recovered was also carrying a large number of impressive bronze and marble statues. It’s believed it was sailing from the Asia Minor coast to Rome, carrying the spoils of war.”

     “A calculator?” Michel and I both asked simultaneously. 

  “Yes. It was considered a fake for some time because no other mechanism of comparable complexity was known of until around 1000 AD, and there was little written evidence for the existence of such devices. The mechanism was covered in Greek texts which were unanimously considered to be labels and operating instructions although originally little of this text was readable. It was related to astronomical equipment such as the astrolabe, but was clearly different since it had a more complex clockwork-like internals. Interest in it died down until Jacque Cousteau visited the wreck in 1953 and brought the debate about it alive again. An analysis aided by x-ray tomography was then carried out which revealed the details of inscriptions inside the mechanism fragments. That mechanism on that wall reminds me of it for some reason. I think that we may well have discovered the true genus of the inner workings of the Antikythera mechanism right here. I want to see if I’m right. Come on, let’s see if we can access the area behind it.” 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

 

There was indeed a set of steps that led round to the back of the cosmic stone map. These steps were of similar proportions to the ones that led down from the side of the silo in Kfar-Hazir; they were made for giants. We clambered our way up them, eventually reaching what appeared to be a large area directly behind the wall that the planets were placed on, and sure enough, there in all its glory was an intricate mechanism of cogs and wheels a hundred times the size of any that would be found in any conventional clock tower. It was truly vast in size.

     “I was right,” gasped Jean.

   After a quick sortie of the space we exited the area and went back down to the terminal concourse to view the map a second time.

     “Those tunnel openings on the surface that are shown there,” I remarked, pointing upwards. “They must have long since been covered by seismic shifts and landslides because otherwise they’d have been discovered by now.” 

     The thought had occurred to me that perhaps some had been discovered but had not been made public. The cavern we’d found under the silo was evidently one such opening, quite possibly a station where these huge trains stopped to let people on and off. The map showed that there were many of these, amongst them was one in the Himalayas, another in the Antarctic and others in the interior of certain remote islands, though the current location of some of them indicated they would now be submerged under the sea. 

     “And those semi transparent moons dotted around the globe, I wonder what they mean?” Michel mused.

     “I think I know what they are,” replied Jean. “It’s only a theory, but I have always believed that the ancient civilisation of LeMuria is not just a myth; it really did exist. I believe it was a highly evolved and technically advanced civilisation and its scientists developed great machines to act as transmitters and receivers of metals and certain organic substances. I think these machines were used to transport these material substances between the earth and the moon, whilst living organic matter was carried by space ships traversing the space between earth and moon.

     “It’s believed that the descendants of humanity regularly travelled between the moon and the earth. Their mythology is colourfully alive today with reference to fire spitting and fire breathing dragons, which we in the modern world would redefine as spaceships, but that mythology is just a garbled, distorted and mistranslated history of ancient mankind. We consider ourselves as superior in achievement and learning, and think that mythology is a mixture of superstitious belief and vague mysteries, to be interpreted in some far off manner as a thing apart from our everyday life yet we constantly cry to the very heavens for help to be rescued from the chaos of our own thoughts and acts. Whereas mythology is in fact a long pattern of the achievements, mistakes and the glory achieved by humanity, as well as those not so human, down through the ages. It also gives the penalties for disobeying God's laws, whoever they believed to be God that is.

     “The great machine transmitters and receivers that once linked the moon-peoples with earth have probably long ago stopped working, with the exception of a few transmitters on earth and one partially operative receiver on the moon. Some of these transmitters are almost certainly still working and are probably situated on a submerged part of LeMuria; now the floor of the Pacific Ocean on a line midway between San Francisco and the Hawaiian Islands. You can see it clearly delineated on the map there by one of those moon symbols. This is the area that both surface vessels and aircraft try to avoid and seems to cover quite a large area. Ships and planes entering its sphere of influence sometimes disappear and are never heard from again.” 

     As he spoke, Jean pointed to two other different locations on the map. “The others are situated in the vicinity of the Bermuda Triangle, there, and the Dragons Triangle, just South of Japan, right there, which is referred to nowadays as Yonaguni, an ancient city that was discovered recently and is now some sixty metres under the sea. Legend has it that these transmitting machines would push, and at the same time disintegrate any metal or organic substance above it toward the moon. The receiver functioned as a collector of the beam and re-assembled the material into its original form.”

     Something about what Jean was saying had caused the hairs on the back of my neck to prick up. I thought back to the time when I was a kid playing round my mate John Allum’s house and two policeman knocked on the door and told his Mum about the ship his brothers were on had just disappeared with no wreckage or survivors ever being found. I remembered the devastating effect that had on his poor old Mum. She died broken hearted not long after and John had to go into an orphanage. I shivered at the thought of it. 

     “S-sounds pretty Star Trekky to me. If they’re still functioning, who’s operating them then?” I asked, a slight tremor in my voice. 

     “I believe that these transmitters operated automatically, powered by some form of energy that we have yet to discover,” replied Jean.

     “Well, Jean, if you’d told me all that when I first met you I’d have had second thoughts about bringing you along with us. Not anymore though. So what were these operators called?” I asked.

     “I believe they are known as the Annanuki,” Jean replied confidently. “The story of the Anunnaki is the stuff of legend, but the tale is essentially this; about 450,000 years ago, Alalu, the deposed ruler of the Anunnaki on Nibiru, escaped the planet on a spaceship and found refuge on Earth. He subsequently discovered that Earth had plenty of gold, which Nibiru desperately needed to protect its diminishing atmosphere. Gold dust scattered into the high atmosphere generates moisture and thus creates oxygen. That’s not a fable or myth, its a technical fact and is known by Scientists and Meteorologists around the world today. Alalu then began to mine Earth's gold in earnest, and thereafter a lot of political battles ensued among the Anunnaki for power over the Gold mines.

     “Then around 300,000 years or so ago, the Anunnaki decided to create a race of workers by genetically manipulating various species. The result was at first a series of mutant hybrids, no doubt similar to the ones we found earlier, but eventually they perfected a new species, Homo Sapiens. At some point, rulership of the Earth was handed over to humans and the Anunnaki left. Why that happened is a mystery, but their legacy remains here on earth, or more specifically, under the earth, deep down and out of sight of mortal man, and I am almost certain that we my friends are literally standing in it.”

     Michel and I listened attentively as Jean spoke. Neither of us could think of anything to say in answer to all that. Neither of us believed, nor disbelieved him. As far as we were concerned it was all too much to take in. I suggested concentrating on something more down to earth. 

     “Let’s look around a bit more. We haven’t checked out those structures over there yet,” I said, pointing to another large building complex that was set apart from the city itself, further along the lake shore. 

     It was another long trek that took us a good hour or so and when we finally reached it we noticed that the buildings were made of the same material but they were different in the way they were constructed. These structures resembled a sort of skyscraper-cum-cathedral complex, bigger at the base which gradually thinned out as they reached the ceiling of the cavern, some three hundred metres above. 

     On closer inspection we discovered that this was probably the central energy generating plant for the city because huge cables and pipes ran between it and the city sub-stations, though how it might work none of us could figure out. Me, being an engineer of sorts, I could kind of get the gist of some of it but realised we would have to descend further down if I was to satisfy my hunch. 

     To do that we had to walk down a ramp constructed in a wide circular fashion, much like those you’d find in modern day a multi-story car park. It went down for quite a long way, about a hundred feet down in fact. When we were finally standing on level ground again we could see several large holding tanks strategically positioned in a circular fashion across a vast flat space the size of four football pitches. There were seven in total, six of them encircling the seventh which sat in the middle. Inside these vast holes in the ground were humongous vats that appeared to be filled with white sand, or perhaps it was salt. It was hard to tell what it was.

     Situated next to each of these outer perimeter vats were a vast array of pipes which in turn were attached to what appeared to be massive machines of some kind. Into the centre vat of salt was inserted a dark grey pole that ran down into it from far up above. It was identical in appearance to the severed pole that was attached to the sphere we’d discovered in the silo and it ran all the way up to the ceiling of the cavern and then disappeared inside it through a duct that had been expertly carved out of the rock. 

     Around the perimeter of these vats were several tubular apertures that appeared to be some kind of elevator shafts. They all led up to the ceiling of the cavern, all meeting in a platform that surrounded the central duct that the pole disappeared into. Getting these to work wasn’t a likely proposition. There was however a spiral staircase that also led to the top. It was a long way up but there was no other way of getting up there other than flying and none of us had wings, so up the stairs we went. Climbing to the top of the structure took a good half hour. Half way up we had to stop for a breather.

     “This is worse than the Tower of Pisa!” I panted. “I remember I had to push my girlfriend up the final twenty steps. Smoking, that’s what did it. She had no stamina that bird, except in bed.”

     Jean and Michel stifled a chuckle at that remark.

    On and up we went and when we did finally reach the ceiling of the cavern we could see that where the pole disappeared inside the duct it was held centrally in place by a series of brackets that were fastened into the sides of its cylindrical walls. The spiral steps ended at a platform just beneath where the pole entered the hollow duct which had a diameter of approximately two metres. 

     After a break of fifteen minutes or so we began clambering upward using the numerous support brackets as grab handles. As we ascended, it became clear that the cylindrical walls of the duct were made of the same material as the silo walls back in Kfar-Hazir.

    I guessed that somewhere above us this duct would lead to the surface, probably to a similar “silo” like opening in another location on the surface, though what those vats of salt down below were for was a complete mystery to me. It was a precarious climb. One slip and any one of us could have fallen a very long way, smashing our bodies against the myriad of horizontal brackets below as we went, but despite the potential hazards it posed we unanimously decided we had to go for it. We were all well aware that by going vertically upward we would be getting that much nearer to the surface, though just how far underground we actually were, none of us could guess. Our only other option for getting out was to follow one of the other huge underground tunnels to see if it led anywhere. None of us considered that a very pleasant concept. We’d nearly died in that last one, so we continued climbing.

     After an exhausting climb that seemed to go on forever we started to notice a change in the makeup of the duct shaft. It became more and more cluttered with bits of bent and mangled sections of the horizontal brackets. Some sections of the central pole had also become twisted and mangled. In some places it was literally bent back on itself, almost as if it had been pushed downwards by some immense force. It soon became a struggle for any of us to squeeze our way upwards through all this debris. Eventually, it came to an abrupt end. It appeared that a stone boulder, maybe more than one, had fallen into the shaft from above, crushing another one of those spherical devices against the cylindrical wall. That was it. There was no way of getting past that mess and ascending any further. After all that work, we had no choice but to go back down. When we finally reached the bottom we all sat down to rest. 

     “Now what?” said Michel, still panting from the exertion of the descent.

     “We have to find another way out. That’s what, my friend,” replied Jean.

    I caught my breath for a minute then said, “You both realise of course the only known way back is through that bloody tunnel we came in from and you can count me out on that one!”

     Jean however was looking in the direction of the other tunnels that led away from the main terminal. “I agree, that would be pointless, Tod. We may have to try one of those and see where they lead,” he said, pointing as he spoke.

    Me and Michel followed the direction his finger was pointing then looked forlornly at each other. Neither of us relished the concept of endlessly plodding down another dark tunnel to god only knows where but we also realised that we were fast running out of options. Going back the way we came was pointless. Going up wasn’t feasible either, but going into another one of those tunnels again was a formidable concept. 

     “While we consider our options I’m going fishing again. If nothing else we have to eat to keep our strength up,” announced Jean, already striding purposefully off towards the lake.

     An hour or so later, sitting around a small fire and eating some nicely cooked fish the previously sombre mood of our little group lightened somewhat. We all knew that our only option was to venture into one of those other tunnels and take pot luck but no one wanted to voice the subject. After some heated debate we unanimously decided it was the tunnels or nothin.

     “This time we need to stock up on plenty of food and water. Based on what we have already experienced we should prepare ourselves for a long trek,” Jean warned.

     And so that’s what we did. Jean caught copious amounts of fish and dried them out over the burning embers of the fire. Me and Michel made up several water bags out of some dried skins we found and after another good portion of fish and some much needed sleep we were ready to go. 

     The walk along that second tunnel was long and arduous, and as before it was dark, foreboding and went ever downwards. This time however we were ready for it, physically and mentally. Each of us sported a makeshift backpack full of dried fish, water bags and more dried fish. We had no light to guide us though, only Jean’s trusty watch. The batteries in our torches had long since run out so we’d left them behind.

     On and on it went, hour after hour, day after pitch black day, nothing changing and always descending ever so slightly. Naturally, after a while the food rations began to deplete, as did the water we were carrying. After three days of this tempers were beginning to fray.

     “Do you realise we’ve long passed the point of no return,” I barked. “If we turned back now we’d run out of food and water. We’ve got ourselves in a right old mess here haven’t we!”

     None of us could see a thing. Our senses were completely turned upside down by this incessant blackness. But we could hear each other loud and clear.

     “We have to continue on,” replied Jean. “We must persevere. It must end at some point.”

     Michel said nothing. He couldn’t think of anything useful to add to that and just started walking off along the tunnel again.

     “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked.

     “To find the end,” he retorted.

     “Not that way you’re not. You’re walking the wrong way you idiot,” I barked.

     He was too! In this pitch black environment he’d lost his bearings and was now going back the same way he’d come without realising it. With a heavy sigh he slumped to the ground and just sat there cross legged in the pitch black.

     “Let’s face it, we’re screwed,” he groaned.

     Jean, ever the voice of calm and reason spoke softly and succinctly. “No we’re not. We’re just tired, blind and lost. I’ve been in worse situations and come out of it okay. This will not be any different my friend. This tunnel will have an end just like the other one and we will reach it. Don’t despair, mon-ami’s we will make it.”

     It was a good job Jean was there for neither me nor Michel possessed his strong willed pioneering resolve. We were both nearing our breaking points but agreed to keep going and also to not snap at each other anymore. Come what may we agreed to soldier on and if we were going to die in this god forsaken place we would do so as friends.

     It was during the next waking trek that we began to notice a slight change. Our hearing was so acute we could have heard a whisper three miles away, and for sure, there was a very faint noise coming from the direction we were walking. At first it sounded like wind, but as we progressed towards it we perceived a kind of hum, almost like a turbine or an electrical motor whirring.

     “What do you suppose it is?” Michel said.

     “I don’t see anything, not like we did before,” I replied. “If we’re approaching the end of this tunnel it aint lit up that’s for sure.”

     Half a mile further on we found out why. The tunnel began to curve round to the left and there appeared to be a change in the ambience of our surroundings, a very slight difference in the darkness. Also, that weird noise was getting louder. It was an ominous sound, like electric current ebbing and flowing. After another half mile or so we began to see a dim light in the distance. Nearer still and we could make out the curved edges of the tunnel.

     “We’re coming up on something but what the hell is that noise?” I whispered.

     Neither Jean nor Michel could answer that question.

     There was a foreboding feeling in the air and we all felt it. What we were heading for none of us knew, but it didn’t feel good and it stopped us in our tracks.

     “We’re most likely miles beneath the surface by now,” I said. “I’d hazard a guess that whatever it is at the end of this tunnel is something no one has ever seen before. We’re walking into the unknown here and I don’t like it one bit.”

     “I’m scared to be totally honest,” said Michel. 

   “We’ve come this far,” Jean chirped in. “And we can’t go back, you both know that. We will have to tread carefully and keep our eyes peeled. Whatever it is, you are right Tod. It’s quite possibly something no man has ever seen before. So come on; let’s go find out what it is.”

   With hearts pumping fast and sweat beading on our foreheads, we moved cautiously onwards, straining our already acute senses for the slightest thing out of the ordinary. A few hundred metres further on we could see the end of the tunnel’s opening. This time our hearts weren’t soaring with anticipation and joy. This time we were all very much on guard and incredibly tense.

     Eventually, the tunnel opened out into what appeared to be another terminal, only this time it was smaller than the one we’d left behind. To our left was a large flat area that dropped away into some kind of plateau far below, though what exactly was down there none of us could make out. The sound we’d heard for the last mile or so now pervaded the whole space and was definitely emanating from down below us.

     Exiting the confines of the tunnel, we cautiously started out across the large flat platform towards where it dropped away into what looked like a void below. And as we looked down over the edge we all simultaneously inhaled a deep breath, flabbergasted by what lay before us.

     It was an underground city, much like the one we’d found previously, only this one was occupied. There were people, or creatures, or something very much alive down there. Thousands of them all moving around in an organised fashion. From this distance they looked like ants. The entire place was lit up with a bluish phosphoric tinge. This metropolis spread out across a vast panorama that must have been several kilometres across under a vast dome like cavern. In the very centre was a huge dome like structure with several arms extending from it all the way up to the ceiling of the cavern. The arms were aglow with a whitish hue and seemed to be pulsing to the rhythm of the electronic noise.

   None of us could speak a word. The vastness of this place overcame any verbal connotations we could ever utter.

   Transfixed by this bizarre turn of events I was too preoccupied to notice something approaching from behind us. Then I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Rather, I felt it before I saw it. 

 

To be continued .....................................



#14 Snowbird

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Posted 22 March 2020 - 10:27 pm

You bugger you! Just read the second installment to hit refresh and find a third had appeared, now I'm bloody hooked.

I hope you are thinking of publishing this stuff. (or have I just insulted a renown author? :unsure2:  I don't do books, just manuals)


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#15 toddyboy

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Posted 23 March 2020 - 10:18 am

You bugger you! Just read the second installment to hit refresh and find a third had appeared, now I'm bloody hooked.

I hope you are thinking of publishing this stuff. (or have I just insulted a renown author? :unsure2:  I don't do books, just manuals)

Yo! Glad you like it. Like I said, I've been working on this for a while but then I got writers block. Only recently started it again because something about this Coronavirus pandemic jogged my memory. Keep reading and you'll see why.



#16 Snowbird

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Posted 23 March 2020 - 10:50 am

Now now, no spoilers....

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#17 Oafski

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Posted 23 March 2020 - 02:04 pm

Brilliant stuff, makes being confined to barracks tolerable.


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#18 toddyboy

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Posted 24 March 2020 - 10:08 am

CHAPTER 6

 

I whirled round and to my utter amazement standing there before me was a young boy, or was it a girl? I wasn’t sure. Probably no more than a teenager, no hair and staring wild eyes; he - she was completely naked. Not a stitch of clothing on him, or was it a she? I just couldn’t tell. The shape and form was human but it had no genitalia. It was flat chested and kind of masculine yet also feminine at the same time. I just couldn’t work out whether it was male or female. It kind of looked like both! It didn’t move, just stood there transfixed, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

   Without averting my gaze I dug my elbow into Michel who was still marvelling at the sight of that huge complex down below. He looked round and jumped back a step, startled by what he saw. 

     Jean just turned his head but didn’t move or speak. 

    For several seconds all were motionless, the three of us staring incredulously at the strange figure that stood before us. 

     Jean broke the intense silence. “Who are you?” he asked softly. 

   The curious figure’s wild eyes darted to Jean and its gaze remained fixed on him but it said nothing.

     “Where did you come from?” I asked.

     The intruder’s head flicked back to me, eying me warily, but again, no reply.

     Michel started to move towards it but it stepped back cautiously, maintaining its wide eyed stare as it did so.

     It was a standoff. 

     Then it spoke, and in a mellow, young sounding voice it said, “Who are you?

     “We came from the surface,” said Jean. “We won’t hurt you. Please tell us, what is this place?”

     The creature looked incredulously at him, as if it couldn’t believe what it was hearing. “You are from the surface?” it exclaimed in a frightened tone. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here. Go away, quickly, before they find you.”

     “Go away from who; who will find us?” asked Jean.

    “You mustn’t be here. They will capture you. Come quickly, I will show you where you can hide,” it urged. And with that it scampered off beckoning to us to follow it.

     The three of us looked at each other, then, realising we weren't going to get any answers to our questions if it got away we started running after it, whatever it was. 

     It led us to an outcrop of rocks and into a cave like aperture where the light was very dim but we could still just see where we were going. The creature didn’t stop, it continued on, leading us further inside. 

     Like three Hobbits following Gollum through the mountains of Mordor we hurried after the flitting figure that scampered off ahead. Then it stopped. “You will be safe here, at least for a while,” it said.

     “What is your name,” asked Michel.

    “Name? I don’t have a name. I am simply a drone worker; one of many who labour here.”

     I thought about that for a moment. This …. this thing was neither male nor female, had no name, no identity, spoke English fluently yet seemed to be scared shitless of something or other. What the fuck was going on here!

     “Well we’re not going to call you ‘drone worker.’ Well have to call you something though,” I said. “How about Him-she!”

     “Good call, Tod. That about sums it up,” said Michel, nodding.

     Jean concurred. He had to admit, it was kind of fitting.

     “Tell us about this place, Him-she,” I said. “What goes on here?”

     The little creature seemed to have calmed down somewhat now that it was out of the open spaces but it still looked extremely perplexed. “You shouldn’t know.” It warned.

     “I wouldn’t be asking if we didn’t want to know,” I said.

     The creature nodded its head slightly and crimped its lower lip with it’s thumb and forefinger, as it were considering something. “I, I have been trained never to lie so I must tell you the truth,” it said thoughtfully. 

     “Well?” Michel urged.

     “This is the central inmates control centre,” it said. 

     None of us were any the wiser after hearing that cryptic explanation.

     “Inmates?” asked Michel.

     “You are surface dwellers. You should never really know about what you have just seen or what I am telling you,” it warned.

     “What do you mean by inmates? Do you mean prisoners, is that what you mean. Prisoners of what, of who?” asked Jean, totally perplexed by what this creature was babbling on about.

     “Yes inmates. Prisoners of the enslavers; my masters,” it warned.

     “Masters?” queried Michel.

     It looked pitifully at the three of us and slowly nodded its head from side to side as if contemplating what to say next. “This entire planet is a prison colony. My masters manage and control it. They are the wardens of the Penal Division, Earth. Though I am different to you physically, in some ways I am still part human and I suffer the same malady as you. I too am a prisoner though I can roam freely here. I have never had any physical contact with surface dwellers though. You are the first living and breathing specimens I have ever seen.”

     “Are you trying to tell us that we are prisoners too?” asked Jean. 

     Him-she looked exasperated, as if he were communicating to a child. “Of course; we all are. I will try to explain to you as best I can from what I know but I don’t expect you to comprehend what I say. 

     “Aeons ago several different renegade species were rounded up and brought to this planet for processing and incarceration. They were then experimented on and modified using bio-technology. The purpose of bringing them here was to take them out of general circulation - permanently. It had been determined that certain types of species had DNA that was susceptible to being non-conformist and would produce offspring who had similar traits. Taking them out of circulation completely would ensure their kind didn’t infiltrate into the mainstream. They could be brought here and left to their own devices so they could non misbehave all they liked on a planet far away from mainstream Galactic Federation society. Beings who were transported here were classified as renegades and trouble makers; enemies of the Federation. Once here they were destined never to leave. The truth is that the human race, as you know it today, didn’t evolve naturally from apes as your scientists and biologists would have you believe. It was artificially conceived in laboratories right here. You are the descendants of those first genetically modified prisoners.” 

    The three of us just looked silently at each other as though we’d all woken from a bad dream only to find they were now in a nightmare, a living nightmare!

    Him-she seemed to understand what we were thinking. “You should never have come down here. It is too much for you to comprehend. But here you are and you have asked me to explain, and so I have. 

     “How can it be that we have never heard of this before,” asked Michel.

  “It was set up this way,” Him-she began. “Better that the prisoners aren’t even aware that they are incarcerated. It makes for a more subservient and controllable population. Humans rarely have a chance to understand what they are really doing on this planet, or why they are here. They spend a quarter of their life growing into a full grown organism after which they have approximately fifty years of useful time to figure things out, but the way the surface society is manipulated by my masters, with the need to work, eat, sleep, pay taxes, and in many cases avoid annihilation in the conflicts and wars that are instigated by them, that useful time is more than halved. Add to that the fact that the majority of the human population are brought up in harsh and indigenous environments and have to spend most of their waking hours struggling to obtain simple basics like shelter or food; they simply do not have the time or inclination to do anything but try to survive.

     “By keeping them constantly distracted and all during a relatively short life cycle, humans rarely, if ever, get the opportunity to turn their attention to other sentient things such as where they actually came from, what they are doing here and why. In this way they are kept under control, in one safeguarded place and out of mischief.  

     “Some do rise above this, despite even the harshest setbacks or conditions they find themselves in. These are the more aware and sentient beings. They are classified as potential trouble sources and are carefully monitored to ensure they don’t go stirring up too much trouble within the general populace. Usually, they are eliminated early on. A few notable recent cases were individuals you may have heard of such as Vishnu, Krishna, Aristotle, Buddha, Christ, etc. But even though those individuals tried, they could never get free of the trap they found themselves in because it’s so well hidden. 

     “Human society has always been cleverly controlled and manipulated to ensure they never grasp the full truth of what really goes on here. Governments and mental health practitioners have long been established to control, manipulate and penalise those few who have made attempts to delve into the mysteries of life, such as philosophers, spiritualist and the like. Politicians and leaders usually have them imprisoned or executed for attempting to upset the order of things. Taxes cripple them and then there are the mind altering drugs that are prevalent everywhere on the surface of the planet now. 

     “My masters have spies and emissaries who operate on the surface in human form. They cultivate key positions of influence to ensure there is just enough chaotic activity to keep the masses busy with a multitude of catastrophes and problems. They are masters of manipulation, using telepathy and mind control they infiltrate key groups and organisations to achieve their goal of total chaos.”

     “My God. Is there no way of stopping this?” asked Jean.

   “Stop. No!” Himshe retorted. “Any human who has attempted to unravel this complex labyrinth of deceit and subjugation didn’t and doesn’t stand a chance of success. The enslavers have a saying – ‘What came to Earth, stays on Earth - forever.’  The protocols prohibit inmates to know why they are here. They must also never be allowed to leave the confines of this solar system through their own efforts. But it has now reached the tipping point.”

     “What do you mean by that?” I asked.

   “It means that the human population on the surface has now reached what my masters call the ‘tipping point.’ That means there are too many humans and they have become too clever with technology. Alarm bells began ringing down here when humans devised a means to send humans into space. They have to be prevented from getting off this planet at all costs and culled back to at least half their current number and their technology severely curtailed if that occurs. My masters work tirelessly to suppress the populace but are now formulating a plan using new deadly viruses to unleash a pandemic that will wipe out the majority of your species.”    

      “My God, this can’t be real,” gasped Michel.   

     “But it is very real I assure you,” Him-she responded.     

    “So… when is this mass cull of the human race supposed to occur?” asked Michel.

     “It has already begun,” Him-she imparted.

   Jean, generally the most composed of the three of us was obviously becoming slightly unhinged by all that he was hearing. “How has it begun?” he asked.

     Him-she shrugged: “Wars, famine, disease, pollution, starvation and many other maladies; all these things are created to keep the population from growing too large and becoming too clever. You come from the surface. You must be aware of this. However, it is a constant point of wonder to my masters that humans are so resilient, that they somehow overcome these obstacles and still continue to survive and multiply. That is why they have determined that the human race must be culled in a more efficient and permanent way.”

   “Holy crap, that’s out of this world – literally,” I gasped. “So what about you, what’s your story?” I asked.

     Him-she just stared blankly at me. “I have no story. As I told you, I am simply a non-gender drone, born and bred to serve my masters who run this facility. I was created like this so I can’t breed, and so I can carry out the menial tasks they don’t want to do themselves. There are hundreds more like me. The only other difference is that my DNA has been programmed to allow me a much longer life cycle than yours; somewhere in the region of three hundred years.” 

     “So how old are you now then?” asked Jean.

     “I am approximately a hundred and twenty of your years old.”

   I looked incredulously at the young looking figure standing in front of me. “A hundred and twenty years old? Jesus, you don’t look a day over eighteen!” I gasped.

     “How come you know all this?” asked Michel.

     “I watch and I listen, Him-she replied. “The enslavers don’t seem to care what I hear or see. I am no threat to them. They know I cannot escape and even if I did, where would I go; into the tunnels? We all know they don’t lead to anywhere. I would simply get lost, and eventually die of thirst or hunger. I am a worker inmate. I know my fate, unlike you, until you found this place that is.”

     The three of us looked at one another aghast. We were, to put it mildly, a little overwhelmed with the information being imparted to us.

     “How long has this place been in existence?” asked Michel. 

   “Since before the human species appeared on the surface of the Earth,” replied Him-she. “This apparatus was conceived and commissioned by the Great Lord Osiris, otherwise known to your ancestors as the King of the Underworld. He was the prime architect of this and also the key figure responsible for the destruction of the cities and tunnels that once encircled the subterranean regions of this planet. There was once a great civilisation that lived beneath the surface before Osiris and his cohorts arrived here, the people of Ra. They came from Nibiru, a barren and deserted planet that had a highly elliptical orbit around the sun. They preferred Earth despite the fact that the surface of the planet had been rendered uninhabitable, scorched and burnt by radioactive dust clouds from previous warring invader forces. It had a stable orbit and close proximity to the sun and more importantly no inhabitants other than a few mutated reptiles roaming around so they settled here. They harnessed the power of the sun and channeled its energy below ground where they built huge underground cities whose populations numbered in the millions. The tunnels connected these cities via solar powered vessels. 

     “The people of Ra were not a warlike race. They were more technically minded and very adept at engineering and harnessing natural energy. They were also skilled architects and builders. They also weren’t overly concerned with security and defensive measures because they had no adversaries here. When the invaders did arrive they weren’t too concerned because they were physically stronger and were some three times the size of Osiris’s legionnaires but they lacked their adversary’s skill and technology of warfare. It was this simple fact that led to them eventually being overcome and annihilated. Now the cities are empty and none of the tunnels are in use anymore. 

  “The legend goes that once the people of Ra were finally exterminated the triumphant Lord Osiris proclaimed himself Governor of the Earth and was then commissioned by his peers to create an escape proof prison here to cater for the ever burgeoning population of renegades, criminals and political subversives that were filling up gaols dotted around the galaxy, costing a fortune to run and expending an enormous amount of resources. Experiments were carried out on the prisoners who were sent here in their hundreds of thousands. From these experiments came the genus of the human race. A species with weak bodies and a much shorter lifespan. 

    “Earth thereafter was referred to as the ‘prison planet’ and for millennia afterwards new prisoners would be shipped here, never to return to their homes again. For this highly successful and monumental achievement Lord Osiris was further promoted and awarded a place on the Galactic Confederacy Senate where some say he still is, somewhere out there in the vast regions of space. My masters continue to follow the protocols laid down by him to this day. The word ‘earth’ by the way translates in Lord Osiris’ native language as ‘forgotten.”  

     I looked knowingly at Michel and Jean. “So that’s what that city we found was, and the tunnels. It all makes sense. That is, if anything could make sense of any this,” I groaned. 

    Jean nodded. “Everything I ever wanted to know I have just learned in less time than it takes to gut and cook a fish. The legends of Nibiru, Osiris and the people of Ra are mysteries to me no more,” he said.

     Michel was more pragmatic in his response. “I just want to get the hell out of here,” he whined. 

     “A wise decision. I can show you how!” said Him-she, who now appeared to have brightened up upon hearing Michel’s words. “I will be more than pleased to assist you to leave, though now you know your true destiny what does it matter whether you do or not? You are just prisoners here, like the other billions of humans up on the surface.” 

     “If you know of a way out please then lead the way. I don’t want to spend any longer here than I have to,” urged Michel.

     Jean was also eager to leave. Me too.

   “Whether we can do something about it or not, we would prefer to do it on our own terms in an environment that we at least know something about, Him-she,” said Jean.

    Him-she simply shrugged and nodded. “Then follow me. There is an old abandoned bore hole duct not far from where we are now; a remnant of the Ra dynasty. It was, I believe, one of their solar transfer devices but I think it has caved in near the surface now.” 

     “We’ll give it a try,” I said. “Ready when you are, Him-she!”

     Good to its word, the little creature led us to the location of another structure, similar to the one we’d climbed back near the huge lake. The area surrounding it was deserted. It rose right up to the ceiling of the cavern where at the top was an opening.

     Himshe had one last parting gift, this time it was something tangible; phosphorous rocks. “These emit some light in the darkness,” it explained. 

     We took one each. Before we started our ascent I asked Him-she something: “Can we trust you not to tell anyone down here that you ever saw us?” I asked.

     All I got in response to that question was a blank stare. “I don’t know what you mean by trust,” it replied. “I believe that is a human trait. I only know that I cannot lie when I am asked a question. However, I also am not permitted to originate communication to my masters, only receive and obey orders from them. If they do not ask me I will not tell them. No human has ever ventured down here, ever, so it is highly unlikely that I will be asked if I have ever seen or spoken with one.”

     That was good enough for me and so we started our climb. 50 metres up I looked down. Him-she was gone.

     

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7

     

The duct was the same diameter as the one we’d unsuccessfully attempted to climb up near the city by the underground lake. The entrance to it was partially blocked with fallen boulders that had jammed between mangled brackets but there was just enough room for each of us to squeeze through one at a time.

     I went up first and managed to make it through okay. Michel came next but he was bigger than me and almost got himself stuck. With a bit of coaxing and pulling from me while Jean pushed from below he managed to shoehorn himself up and through, though he nearly lost his footing as he did so. Jean came through next and he also nearly slipped and fell but he made it eventually. 

     The shaft continued upwards a long way. The boulders that we’d just squeezed through had obviously smashed the central pole and the brackets into a twisted mess as they’d came down. To ascend any further we now had to clamber up the side of the shaft, using the broken sections of the brackets as hand grabs and footholds much like a mountain climber would climb a rock face. It was treacherous going in the semi darkness with only the dim light of the phosphorous rocks to light the way. 

     We climbed for what seemed to be hours, stopping every so often to catch our breath and recuperate. When we’d clawed and pulled our way up what seemed to have been an interminably long way we encountered yet another blockage. This time there were no gaps to squeeze through. The shaft was well and truly blocked by a mixture of rocks and earth that had formed around a broken ring that was smaller in circumference than the diameter of the shaft walls below it. This ring of stone protruded about two feet out from the walls of the duct.

    Our morale was ebbing. The three of us were knackered, thirsty and now barricaded in and trapped yet again. We didn’t have enough energy to anything more than just hang there from the broken brackets in the semi darkness and contemplate our fate in silence. 

     There’s a strange thing that happens in your psyche when you’re at the end of your endurance and faced with virtually zero chance of survival. Something kicks in. I don’t profess to know what it is, whether it’s adrenaline being released into your bloodstream or if it’s what’s been called ‘second wind’ or even if it’s just super willpower, but something happens. Maybe it’s that characteristic that humans have just like Him-she was saying; the thing his masters could never understand - the human race’s ability to overcome suppression and insurmountable odds and still survive. Or, maybe it was simply that none of us wanted to go a mile or so back down this bloody duct again! 

     The stones and rock above had accumulated above this ring, probably during a landslide in the past, just like the one in Kfar-Hazir. The larger boulders below, which had probably fallen in much earlier had most likely smashed one side of the ring as they fell. What we were looking at now was almost certainly the result of a second cave in which had been prevented from falling any further by the smaller circumference ring. The only way up would be to dig through the boulders and hopefully create a gap big enough to crawl through, but doing that posed its own dangers. We were in a pretty precarious situation here. Dislodging a pile of rocks and earth from above could result in it eventually dropping down on top of us!

     The only way of doing this without getting crushed by the many tons of debris above would be to carefully chip away at it from below whilst remaining under what was left of the stone ring. It was a risky procedure that could kill all of us if it went wrong, but there was nothing else for it, we were determined to reach the surface and judging by the length of time we’d been climbing the chances were that we were probably not too far from the top, so we got to work.

     Using the rope and digging utensils that fortunately I’d insisted we bring with us, we each secured ourselves to the remnants of the brackets jutting out from the wall and began the arduous task of digging into the earth around the rocks above. This was much harder than any digging we’d done previously. Reaching upwards with our very basic tools and hacking away at it we made some progress but it was exhausting work. We could only each do a five minute stint at a time before it felt like our arms were falling off. 

    After less than an hour of this our arms literally did feel like they were going to fall off. We were all having a well earned rest when suddenly there was a graunching, rumbling noise above. All three of us immediately pressed ourselves against the section of wall under the ring as the mass above our heads started to shift. Then the whole lot came down! Literally tons of rock and earth whooshed down past us from above, missing us by inches. We heard it falling, falling, falling and crashing till we couldn’t hear anything any more.  

     Then it was all over. The dust and debris caused by the falling debris filled the confined space of the duct. We had to cover our faces with our shirts to shield ourselves from it in order to be able to breathe at all. Eventually, the dust cleared a little, revealing yet another shaft that disappeared upwards into yet more darkness. 

    Spurred on by the breakthrough, yet exhausted from our exertions and still choking from the dust, we clambered, one by one, ever further upwards, using the broken off brackets for support. Mercifully, this next shaft looked like it only went upwards for a few more metres. We kept going, only to find that it opened out into what could only be described as some kind of small altar room cut out of the surrounding rock that by the looks of it had been used for sacrificial rites. The compacted rock and earth that we’d just dislodge had obviously formed part of the floor of this place as there was now a hole in the centre of it through which we climbed. 

     Above us yet another vertical shaft went up from the ceiling of this chamber. This new shaft stretched upwards for approximately another ten metres or so and as with the one just below us had broken off bracket stumps all the way up the walls. Using these stumps to climb up it we made it to the top only to discover it was blocked solid, this time by what looked like manmade stone slabs. This impenetrable roof was the last straw for me.

     “I think we’re just below the surface,” I gasped. “Those slabs up there look manmade. I reckon we could chip away at the mortar joints and dislodge one of them, but I can’t handle doing it right now. I’m shagged out.”

     Michel concurred, as did Jean. All three of us had been climbing, hacking, climbing and hacking some more for longer than we could remember. We were dead beat. We unanimously decided it was time for a rest or one of us was going to make a mistake and injure ourselves, so we climbed back down to the chamber and collapsed onto the rock floor. 

     As we sat there with our backs propped against the walls of this underground chamber, we each took a long swig of water from our flasks and looked around at the intricate carvings and paintings that adorned the walls.

     “This was made by someone other than the people who built this shaft and that place down below,” said Michel. “It’s funny to think that whoever used this altar room almost certainly had no idea of what lay just beneath them.”

     “Probably they figured this was as far as it went and so they dug this chamber out to use as some ritual worship or sacrificial slaughter. What do you think, Jean?” I asked. 

     But Jean didn’t hear my question. He was preoccupied with one of the paintings on the wall depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail. “That’s an Ouroboros, an ancient symbol,” he remarked. “The name originates from within the Greek language; oura meaning tail and, boros meaning eating, thus he who eats the tail.”

     “Looks like the symbol for infinity to me,” I replied.

    “That’s pretty much what it is,” agreed Jean. “The Ouroboros represents the perpetual cyclic renewal of life and infinity, the concept of eternity and the eternal return; the cycle of life, death and rebirth leading to immortality, as in the phoenix. It can also represent the idea of primordial unity related to something existing in or persisting before any beginning with such force or qualities it cannot be extinguished.”

     “You’re a walking encyclopaedia, you know that Jean?” I quipped. 

     Jean just smiled and nodded playfully. “After what I have just witnessed there is no encyclopaedia large enough to contain the knowledge I now have. I made it my life’s work to study the ancient philosophies and myths. Now I know the real truth, all that I learned previously fades into insignificance. The Ouroboros has been important in religious and mythological symbolism, but it’s also been frequently used in alchemical illustrations where it symbolises the circular nature of the alchemist's opus. It’s often been associated with Gnosticism and Hermeticism. Carl Jung interpreted the Ouroboros as having an archetypal significance to the human psyche. They were all right I suppose, in their own way, only they didn’t know the whole story. My God, what those men would have given to see what we have just witnessed!” he said.

     “To be honest, I think they’d have been scared shitless,” said Michel.

     “Perhaps so,” Jean replied.

    All three of us were fading fast now and we became silent, each deep in our own thoughts. It had been an arduous climb and we weren’t out of the woods yet. We were still trapped underground and hardly able to keep our eyes open we were so exhausted. One by one we dozed off and slept for a solid six hours.

     Jean was the first to wake. He roused Michel and me and we lost no time in climbing the shaft up above and setting ourselves up for what we hoped would be our last hack for freedom.

     Reaching the top, we each secured ourselves to the side of the shaft just under the roof with ropes tied to the remnants of the brackets. Then we all began chipping away at the gaps between the square slabs above. It took a couple of hours of arm wrenching work but eventually our efforts culminated in a small crack through which I could see a faint glimmer of light. Another hour or so of this and one of the slabs above began to move slightly. Half an hour later and it was starting to become loose around the edges. 

     “I think it’s got a lip on the upper side. It seems to be resting on the other stones around it like a manhole would,” I explained to the other two. “I think there’s a chance we can move it upwards if we all push at once.”

     And so, with each of us with our feet teetering on a small bracket and tethered with a piece of rope to each another we pushed upwards, but it was hard going. The slab moved an inch or so but then it slammed back down again. It was too heavy. After several goes at this we were all sweating buckets and were exhausted.

     “We need some more leverage,” I gasped.

     Leverage against what?” Michel asked. We only have this rope. There’s nothing we could use below unless we go all the way back down and I’m not doing that.”

    “I’ve got an idea!” said Jean. We could weave a spider’s web of rope between these side brackets till its strong enough for us to lay on and then push upwards with our feet. We’ve got just about enough rope to do that. Legs are stronger than arms and we’ve got six of them between us.”

     It was as good an idea as any, so we got to work weaving and tying the rope back and forth, again and again, till eventually we had a kind of pseudo hammock of interweaved rope strands hanging directly underneath the central slab. It took a bit of trial and error to manoeuvre ourselves into position but eventually all three of us were ready with our feet pushed up against the loosened slab.

     “Ok, push!” I ordered.

     The slab shifted a little, then it moved upwards a couple of inches. Dust began falling out of the cracks causing all three of us to shield our eyes and spit it out of our mouths. The loss of concentration caused their momentum to be lost and the slab slammed shut again.

     “Shit! Right. This time, okay. Once again; push!” I said, still coughing and spitting out dust.. 

     This time we got a better crack at it and the slab lifted up a little more.

     “Push it to the side!” Jean grunted. 

     We did, and it moved sideways. When we finally released pressure, one edge of the square slab was now resting at an angle on one side of the opening.

     “Again. Push!” I groaned.

   The slab slid sideways some more, and then, there above us, through a neat triangular opening was the night sky in all its starry splendour!

     “Jesus! You see that!” I gasped.

     Michel and Jean saw it alright and it gave us the necessary resolve to finish the job.

     It took another three momentous efforts to dislodge the slab till there was enough of a gap for a man to climb through.

     I elected to go up first. Clambering up into a sitting position, I precariously got to my feet then tried reached for the opening.

     “Ah! my leg!” Michel screamed.

    I’d accidentally stuck my right foot in Michel’s upper thigh as I’d tried to gain some stability on the wobbling hammock of rope.

     “Quit moaning and push me up,” I barked.

     Michel bit his lip, cupped his hands under my right foot, and pushed.

     I grabbed hold of the stone lip with both hands, and with as much strength as I could muster pulled myself up and through the gap.

     Michel came up next, helped by Jean. 

     Finally, we pulled Jean out and the three of us lay there gasping and spluttering on a flat stone surface, utterly exhausted.

     I turned over and lay on my back. “I don’t bloody believe it,” I gasped. “We did it!”

     “But where are we?” said Jean.

     “Who cares. We’re out. That’s all I’m interested in, Michel croaked.

     Our eyes were quite accustomed to darkness by now and it soon became apparent that we were in the middle of a very large ancient ruin that resembled the Parthenon. The place was deathly silent save for the odd far away rumbling noise that we guessed must have either been distant thunder or explosions. We had absolutely no idea where we were. We could have been on the moon for all we knew. Nevertheless, we were out and free of the underground prison that we’d been trapped in for almost a week, and that was good enough! 

     With no clue as to our location, or even which country we were in, we made our way past the huge gothic pillars that formed the perimeter of this monolithic structure and stumbled out into the open. On the distant horizon glowing yellow and orange lights signified some kind of activity. We figured it had to be some kind of bombing raid going on. It was far enough away to not be a threat but it immediately brought home the fact that there was a war going on and we’d better not get caught up in it.

    All around us were an assortment of scattered boulders, broken masonry and ruined structures. Still no nearer to ascertaining where we actually were we made our way across a wide and relatively flat space, circumventing the odd boulder and masonry piece that barred our way till we reached what appeared to be a stone escarpment that stood at least fifteen metres above the desert floor. Realising we were on some kind of man made plateau we started to clamber down the external walls that made up its boundaries, which were quite steep. It was a precarious trip down in the darkness which was only alleviated a little by the ghostly silver hue of the moonlight. When we finally reached the lower flat ground we walked another hundred metres or so away from the plateau so we could get a better look at it. 

     As Jean turned round to look he drew in a gasp, instantly recognising what it was.

 

To be continued .................................


Edited by toddyboy, 24 March 2020 - 10:35 am.


#19 Rallyist

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    Gettin to be an 'Old Bugger'

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Posted 24 March 2020 - 11:30 am

Excellent I am hooked :good: :good:


For a challenging summer try the

Round Britain Rally.....  




1993 TDM 850 Mk1 ..... 2008 TDM 900 ....  1975, 1979, 1982, 1992 Goldwings, Scott, AJS,  Triumph 5TA


#20 Norwegian

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Posted 24 March 2020 - 09:20 pm

What did he seeee???

2002 TDM 900 Red/Yellow Cocktail (it's yellow)., biggified some



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