Tuesday, 20 September 2016

30 pages and ongoing

I'm revisiting a sequel
Several years ago, I wrote a steampunk story 

 I intended to write a sequel after the popularity of the original story, but I didn't get further than the early stages. The sequel to www.draft2digital.com/book/32929 is about 30 pages long at the moment, and I haven't got to the action. 

 Here is a sample from the opening:- 

 As I previously mentioned in my journal "Did we see him?" Things have happened in recent months which caused me to question my sanity. After returning from an expedition, the aftermath, I find hard to come to comprehend. I witnessed things no person should be allowed to see. An organization called "The Glove" sent us on the voyage to find out what information Percy Fawcett obtained on his trip up the Amazon.

 What we thought we saw is unimaginable. The sights and sounds of those days will forever haunt me. Things which are neither man nor animal, beings who lived in neither the living world nor did they appear to be dead.  

These poor creatures worshiped a white man, who might be Fawcett. We left, at his bequest. We witnessed the real horrors of this life. He was beaten close to death before being eaten by ants while the tribe devoured another body. The poor soul remained alive as they tore him apart. His screams of agony, helping their enjoyment.

The horror of holding my best friend Tommy Curridge in my arms, as he faded away with a spear in his chest. All the time I prayed we would get out of this hell. My fear was if we didn't escape our lives would end like those poor creatures.

 After a narrow escape from death and a not too pleasant boat trip back to Britain. I had to take leave of my friends. I needed to try to find a way to get the images out of my mind. I have yet to find a way, other than staying awake as long as I can. Some days later, I had reason to venture to the club I frequented. It was then; things began to go awry. 

I arrived at the Bell Club, in Belgravia, London. I told my story to my good friends Anthony Harkley, Christopher Jackman, and Harrison Merrill. After the telling of the story, I went out to partake of some air and a pipe to calm my shattered nerves. I only came out of the club a few minutes, during which time a strange fog appeared. On my return, I found I was not able to open the doors and had to be admitted by a fellow member.  Upon entering, I was informed I may hold the answer to a mystery. 

"What mystery would my return solve?" I pondered as I climbed the stairs of my old club, so changed I hardly knew it. 

The puzzle concerned a locked door, which nobody in the club had been able to open. As I looked at the lock, I fumbled in my coat pocket and found my old room key. This key did open the locks to my astonishment. I found myself standing in front of a swirling energy mass focused on a series of bulbs. On my bedside table lay an envelope marked "Did we see them?" Beside it was a note I wrote, my hand clearly legible despite the apparent frailty in my writing. The letter said, "If you are reading this, you passed through a temporal energy mass. The mist which engulfed transported you, ten years into the future," signed Charles Q.

 Even being an adventurer and having an enquiring mind. After years of seeing strange lands, I found this hard to believe. Here I stood as evidence in my equation. My keys had opened a door locked for ten years. In part, therefore, at least, some my theory was correct, which parts I had yet to find.

                                                         DID WE SEE THEM?
  I stood transfixed by the beauty of the colors before me. The machinery whirred as the energy mass throbbed and hummed. We stood looking for some minutes in awe of its powers before my new friend commented, "What is the machine?"
I was not sure how much of the theory my colleague would understand. "The machine is a time portal, and the mass of color is a time coding for the eras. The colors you see are the ages flying through the air like bubbles."

 "Are you serious?" my friend queried. Not sure if I was trying to tell him some wild ruse.

I was as amazed as my friend, but replied, "I am serious. I stand here as the proof. These locks are linked to the mass that is why your keys won't open the door. If you had opened the door, there would have been a time paradox of enormous dimensions."

   My friend glanced at me and said, "Now, you are joking! A time paradox, what in the Queens' name are talking about?"

I walked over to the spatial mass, and as I examined the colors, I said, "No, I am deadly serious. A paradox is when something happens which should not; like meeting yourself."

I could recognize the signs of acknowledgment in my friends' voice as he said. "Another variation would be killing a relative so that I won't be born."

 I began to realize the theory of the experiment had now become understandable to my friend. If the people were allowed to go to a different era, they could foreseeably bring items that would alter their timelines. These items have the ability to change battles and lives beyond our understanding."

 With a face which bordered on the incredulous, my friend said, "The effects would be catastrophic for the world we live in."

  I gazed at my bookcase, full of journals and replied, "Far worse than you can imagine. This world may not exist. A new dominant species would evolve."

My friend looked at the door and asked me, "Why do your keys work after all these years?"

  I twirled the keys in my fingers as I said, "The only reason, I can think of is the keys absorbed some of the energy. When I placed my keys in the locks, the lock read the energy signature, and time kept in place."

   My friend commented, "The theory sounds a bit far fetched to me!"

   I replied, "I admit; the idea does seem a little far-fetched to me too. Here I am ten years on from when I walked out of the doors only minutes ago. I am sorry. I didn't introduce myself; I am..."

   My friend had answered before I had the opportunity to finish, "Charles Palmerston. I had an idea when we met outside. When your keys opened this door, you confirmed my thoughts. My name is Jeffrey Hollings, sir."

We shook hands like friends do, and I said, "It is nice to meet you, Jeffrey. There is no need for the sir, Charles or Charlie is fine."

 "I cannot do that, sir."

I became a little flustered with the adoration, so I asked, "Why not for heaven's sake, Jeffrey?"

 Still looking at me in awe, Jeffrey said, "Your theories on time travel became essential reading for scientists, philosophers, and theologians."

 "They are estimations without any real research. Jeffrey, I can't see how they may have been close to correct. I was so rushed off my feet back then, with the Glove asking me to try and find Fawcett and the need for money to finance this project. I had no chance to verify my findings or publish the work."

 "Sir, your calculations were slightly out. I took the time to check, re-check and triple check the tiny adjustments before I published the work last year. I got the final credit, but I told everybody your work had piqued my curiosity."

 "Jeffrey, your kindness is greatly appreciated. I had to do the research in secret and the glory would have been easy to claim and would be a boost to your credibility within our circles."

   He glanced at me and said, "I realized I had the chance to make a name for myself, but for a couple of reasons I couldn't."

 "Oh, what reasons, if I may ask?"

Jeffrey said, "Firstly, I think it's wrong to claim glory, for something I did not do. I was never sure if your calculations would work in practice. The theory proved correct on small items, traveling short distances in time, but people? Transporting people is different, sir." 

 "I am grateful for the thanks you gave me, Jeffrey. Yes, it is wrong to claim false credit. What if somebody had asked you to explain something about my work?  If our colleagues found out you knew only the brief outlines of the work; you would get banned from the club." 

He fidgeted as he asked, "Are you going to go to claim your rightful honors, from the Society, Sir?"

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