James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

Challenger barked laughter. “Man, an infestation? Let me out of this cage, and I’ll show you how pestilent we can be!”

“It must have been quite a shock for you to realize your planet has new masters,” Burton said.

“You are correct, biped. But we are the masters. We made slaves of your cousins for the purposes of rebuilding this city and awakening Cthulhu from his eons-long slumber.”

Cthulhu .

The word sent a cold chill fleeing up Burton’s spine. It hadn’t been a dream. John Hanning Speke really had uttered those words over him in his tent. Whatever had happened here in the dim past, the presence of these entities must be stored in the race memory of mankind, coming to them as disjointed myths and half-remembered nightmares. But it was all true.

“In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming,” Burton said.

The barrel beings quivered, tentacles flailing about in what Burton assumed was surprise.

“That is correct,” said Herbert. “It appears Cthulhu’s dreams have reached even into your distant future. Perhaps your presence here means we are predestined to fail. More time to evaluate is needed.”

The Elder Things made ready to leave, beckoning with their tentacles at the iridescent blob that undulated near the cage door.

“Come,” said Herbert, still in contact with them. “Come, shoggoth. Your masters command it.”

At last, the thing moved toward them and led the Elder Things back the way they had come.

Herbert fell to his knees, wincing.

“Oh, rot,” he said. “That was horrible.”

Challenger helped him to his feet, but he insisted upon sitting against the iron bars, his fingers massaging his temples.

“How much did they learn?” asked Nemo.

“Way too much about me, I’m afraid,” said Herbert with a giggle. “But I believe I was able to block them from learning too much about us, and my Time Machine. I showed them my own first voyage through Time. I’m sure that will give them much to chew on for a while. If they have mouths.”

“Good,” Challenger said. “As soon as they learn how we got here, we’re bound for those tables yonder to be flayed.”

“And the Nautilus is doomed,” Nemo added.

“What did you learn from them?” asked Burton.

“Very little I could understand,” said Herbert. “They are not of this world. They sail the stars with the same ease as we travel across the ocean. They are beyond our reckoning and our kin.” He started babbling, giggling like one bound for Bedlam.

“Herbert—” Challenger began, but Burton placed a hand on his shoulder. “Leave him be for now. Let him get his wits about him again. If he can.”

Challenger nodded and looked about their cage. “That thing —what did Herbert call it? A shoggoth? They seemed to have a bit of trouble controlling it.”

Nemo nodded. “I noticed that too. It was almost as if it were defying them. But why?”

“Defying them or testing them,” said Burton. “Perhaps the Neanderthals are not the only slaves in R’lyeh.”

Richard Francis Burton awoke with a start to the sound of gunfire.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did remember his dream. He was hacking away at a thick jungle. As he worked his way into a clearing, he saw a pristine lake, reflecting the blue sky like a mirror. He glanced to his left and saw John Hanning Speke staring back at him. The earth rumbled and shook, causing ripples in the lake. A vast black shape emerged beneath the water. As it rose up and out, Burton could see that it was a large green pyramid, water sluicing down its rough-hewn sides. Grotesque imagery was carved into its bulk, and Speke chanted at the sight of it, leaping into the water and swimming toward it.

“No!” Burton dived in after him, only to find many cold hands grabbing him, pulling him down and down. He looked around and saw fish faces staring back at him. Deep Ones, pulling him toward the pyramid’s base.

Burton shook the vestiges of his nightmare from his mind as he raised himself up off the cold, hard floor. The others were also rising, awakened by the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

“We’re being rescued?” Challenger asked, as if the whole idea was preposterous.

Nemo leapt to his feet. “It would appear that Miss Marsh has brought the cavalry.”

Burton and Challenger exchanged surprised glances. It was night and dark inside their examination room cage, but clear moonlight filtered in just as the sunlight had, casting everything in a whitish glow.

“You planned for this?” said Challenger.

“I did, indeed,” said Nemo. “That is why Miss Marsh stayed behind. If we did not return or signal the Nautilus in the allotted time, she was to command a rescue party.”

“Bloody brilliant,” said Challenger, getting in Nemo’s face. “Though you could have bloody well told us.”

“If I had,” said the captain, giving the bigger man a shove, “then our captors could have gleaned it from their mental contact with the Time Traveler.”

“Gentlemen,” said Burton before their conversation could escalate further, “how do we alert Miss Marsh of our presence? She has no idea where to look for us.”

Nemo shrugged. “Let’s bang on the bars.”

Challenger rattled the cage while Burton, Nemo, and the Time Traveler took to shouting as loud as they could. After almost a minute of this, they saw something enter the room. The wan moonlight picked out the grotesquely familiar form of a shoggoth.

“It appears we’ve only succeeded in alerting our jailers,” said Herbert with a giggle.

They backed away from the cage as the shoggoth moved toward them. It squeezed its putrid bulk between the bars, growing a stout tentacle and wrapping it around cage’s locking mechanism. The acrid smell of burning metal filled the air, and the lock fell away. The creature slithered back, allowing Captain Nemo to push open the cage door. They exited the cage as fast as they could, relieved to be free of their crude prison and no longer bound for the dissecting table.

“Wait,” said Herbert, leaning toward the sinister creature who had rescued them. “I think this is the same shoggoth from earlier. Yes. It is. I sense familiarity coming from it.”

“Are you still linked to it somehow?” asked Challenger.

Herbert thought about it a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I believe I am. Hello there, my dear, um, fellow.”

As if in answer, the shoggoth formed a large bubble atop its quivering, shifting mass, a bubble that partially solidified into an approximation of Herbert’s own head. It smiled at them with it, before the whole construct collapsed and fell back into the shoggoth.

“My God,” said Challenger. “It’s a bloody chameleon.”

“It’s more than that,” said Herbert, fascinated by what they had witnessed. “It’s a thing of pure protoplasm. It can be whatever it wants to be. And right now, it wishes to no longer be a slave of the Elder Things. It wants us to follow it. Let’s go!”

The three explorers followed the quivering shoggoth out through a dim hallway. In an alcove, they found their weapons, snatching them up easily. Burton, for one, was glad to be reunited with his khukuri blade and pistol.

Seconds later, they arrived at the entrance. The alien city, illumined in moon-glow, was filled with the sounds of gunfire and guttural screams. Challenger wanted to push ahead, but Nemo held him back until they could tell what was going on.

Burton did the same, getting down on one knee, pistol held at the ready, his eyes trying to pick out individuals among the mass of running, dying Neanderthals. Flapping overhead was one of the obscene Elder Things, tentacles writhing.