Роберт Грант - The Quanderhorn Xperimentations

I got out my rope and looked for something to tie a taut-line hitch to.

‘Brian – it’s two feet deep,’ Gemma pointed out.

I mumbled an apology, and started winding the rope back up.

More scuttling now. Much more. Growing closer and closer…

‘Something’s coming!’ Guuuurk’s voice wailed in the dark. ‘I can see its pitiless eyes glinting in the gloom!’

‘Over here!’ I shouted desperately leaning over as far as my throbbing ankle would allow. ‘Take my hand!’

‘Great Phobos!’ There was a petrified pause. ‘It’s a duck !’

‘A what?’

‘It’s a duck! It’s a duck!’ he screamed in complete terror, and started racing aimlessly round the pit below. We could track his progress from the loud quacking noise and flapping that followed him.

Gemma was horrified. ‘ A giant duck?’

‘Who said anything about a giant duck?’ Guuuurk yelled. ‘It’s a normal-sized duck! It’s after me! Get away! Get away!’

The quacking and scurrying and yells of terror reached manic proportions.

‘I could lure it away by throwing a piece of liver,’ Troy offered.

‘Troy, remember what I told you before,’ Gemma said gently. ‘Your liver has to stay…’

And together they chorused: ‘…on the inside !’

The screaming and quacking continued in the background:

‘It’s a duck attack! It’s a duck attack! Get away from me! No! No! It’s going to spring!’ and so on ad taedium .

‘Why on earth,’ I asked Gemma, ‘would ancient aliens set a trap with a duck ?’

She shrugged. ‘It was a billion years ago. They had no way of knowing what would emerge as the dominant species. This is probably designed to ensnare creatures who evolved from worms.’

‘For mercy’s sake, will you two stop wittering on like a pair of idle hairdressers and get me away from this vicious monster!’

‘Calm down, Guuuurk, it’s just a duck .’

He stopped suddenly, panting. ‘Oh yes. Just a duck. Of course. I don’t know what came o—’

And then there was another quack.

‘ There’s two of them!’ He raced off again. ‘Ducks! Ducks!’

‘Shall I pull him out?’ Troy asked.

‘Two ducks! Double duck attack!’

‘No, just ignore him,’ Gemma said. ‘Troy, can you reach that handle over there?’

‘Yes,’ he replied confidently. ‘Yes. Absolutely. Absolutely.’ There was an uncomfortable pause, breached only by Guuuurk’s incessant pleas and the odd flurry of feathers. ‘The – what was it?’

‘The sticky-out thing that opens the door.’

‘A pair of ducks! A small pack of vicious ducks!’

‘You mean this ?’

‘That’s it. Pull that down.’

The stone exit door slid open.

The light it shed was enough for Guuuurk to find the ledge and finally let us haul him back onto it. ‘You saved those ducks in the nick of time,’ he panted. ‘One minute longer, and it would have been orange sauce overcoats for the evil little blighters!’

Troy had already slipped out through the portal towards the sound of cascading water, leaving us in near blackness. Gemma bundled Guuuurk out after him, then turned back to me. ‘Brian – what are you waiting for?’

There was no escaping it any longer. I hung my head. ‘Dash it all, Gemma! I didn’t want to say in front of the others, but I seem to have twisted my ankle.’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll manage—’

‘No – it’s bad. Very bad. I can’t walk at all. Don’t argue – you’re just going to have to leave me behind.’

Mission log. Flight number 001, Advanced Laboratory-Blasting Squadron (‘The Lab Busters’), Wing Commander William ‘Wee Willy Winkie’ Watkins, Office Commanding. Dateline: Sunday the 6th of January, 1952 01.18 hours

This whole circus is dashed odd. Being ordered to bomb a target in one’s own backyard rather goes against the grain. I’m assured it’s in the national interest, but it still rankles. Still, ours is not to reason why.

Took off at 00.52, on the direct orders of the Old Bulldog himself, and on course to deliver payload at… 03.13 hours.

Wing consists of six B-29 Superfortresses, fully loaded with the old bunker-busting bangers, so they handle a tad on the reluctant side, even for a Yankee kite!

Off the record, the bloody pipers in the back are driving me bonkers! ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ played on those god-awful things is the ghastliest racket you could ever imagine.

Best not to upset the Jocks, though. They’ve been nipping at the old Highland giggle water since ten. Plus, they’re all wearing kilts and none of them have their legs crossed. It’s the stuff of nightmares, I can tell you.

At least the infernal din is taking my mind off things. Chances are this whole business is nothing more than a dry run, and we’ll get the recall codes any time now.

My eyes keep flitting to the incoming message light.

The bagpipes play on.

The light remains dead.

The Daybook of ‘Jenkins’ Jenkins, RQMS Royal Fusiliers (confused), Sunday the 6th of January, 1952

This other Professor, he ain’t such a bad type. He sorts out my leg in double quick time, injecting it with his quick-hardening plastic bone substitute. Then he sprays on his Experimental Insta-Skin.’Course, me leg will be covered in fish scales from now on, but that’s the price of progress, I s’pose.

While I’m walking about a bit, testing my weight on it, he’s switched off the alarms and that, and taken a quick gander in the secret cellar bit. Never been in meself. Not without the black goggles and sound-deadening helmet. Never had no inclination to, neither. What with the noises what come out of there.

He emerges all ashen. ‘What in the name of all that’s holy has my maniac duplicate been up to? There are some places even science shouldn’t venture.’ he shudders. ‘I see now I didn’t create a mere duplicate: I created a dangerous monster!’

‘Begging your pardon, but the Professor told me you’re the duplicate Professor, Professor.’

‘Of course he’s saying he’s the real Professor. He lies ! I rather foolishly removed his ethics to make him more efficient!’

‘So he’s the duplicate?’

‘Yes. He trapped me in suspended animation many, many years ago.’

Well, this gets my brain in a proper spin. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Evil duplicate overpowers Original and locks him away like in The Man in the Iron Mask , starring Louis Hayward. On the other hand, this could be the evil duplicate trying to undermine the real Professor, like in The Man in the Iron Mask , starring Louis Hayward.

Whichever one he is, he’s ranting away: ‘I can’t believe he’s stored all this surplus time in these unstable conditions! It’s insanity! The slightest tremor could trigger a cataclysmic extinction event!’

Well, that might be so. On the other hand, he might be the wrong Professor. I has to be sure, somehow. ‘If you’ll just excuse me for one minute…’ I turns away and takes out the walkie. ‘Professor!’ I says, ‘The Professor here says he’s the real Professor.’

‘ Of course he thinks he’s the real Professor! It’s the only way he could function.’

The other one chimes in: ‘Obviously, I programmed that one to think he’d programmed me to think I’d programmed him.’

I’m getting quite the headache now. And it’s not from the fishy smell of my leg.

‘ Look, ’ the one on the walkie barks, ‘ there’s no time to explain right now. Just shore up those defences, the pair of you. That cellar cannot be compromised. Understood?’