Message in a Vacuum Bottle
Message in a Vacuum Bottle
by Kathmandu
The Lear 87 hover-jet shuddered slightly as it's engines made the rotation to hover mode. The flight computer made thousands of small adjustments to the flight controls to produce a smooth and comfortable landing that no human pilot could possibly achieve. Anthony West often felt the desire to compliment the pilot on such skillful flying until he remembered the pilot simply told the jet where to go and the computer made it happen. Not like it was back when he was younger and flew conventional aircraft in a much more analog way. He hadn't flown in years, not since he left the Royal Air Force and since flying had become more like a video game, he didn't have much desire to take it up again.
The hover-jet settled onto the sandy beach with barely a bump, the computer throttling back the thrust slowly to make sure the sand would support the plane's weight before shutting down. A few seconds later Mick, the pilot, gave a conformation to the computer and it began to ease down the engines. For the next few minutes, the pilot was busy flipping switches to shut down the plane's systems. Although not really necessary since the computer handled all systems itself, everyone felt better having a definite, manual, old fashioned on/off switch on the major controls just to make sure the pilot had final say.
Mick stood up and poked his head though the open cockpit door and said, "Well, we're here although I am pushing the notion that this is much of a "here" a bit. It's not much more than a beach and a few palm trees." He pulled out his smart phone from his pocket, checked the time then logged it. "Once the engines idle down enough, I'll open the hatch. No use blowing sand in our eyes."
"Very good. I'll round up some things and we'll have a look around and get this over with. The satellite pictures from the internet give the impression it won't take very long. Perhaps we can tie this up quick and get back to Pearl before supper tomorrow."
"Works for me. So, you think your granddad's letter was anything more than a story? A fiction designed to spark some interest in his writing long after he was dead?"
"That's my theory. I mean, why me? As a grandson born to his illegitimate son, the ties of family are tenuous at best. Why pick me?" Anthony unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, groaning a little from sitting so long. He was well into his seventies but other than gray hair he could easily pass for forty, such was the miracle of modern medicine. He walked to the back of the plane and retrieved a small bag. From that he pulled out a small laptop and flipped the screen over to use it as a tablet. Using the stylus he pulled up the digitized map his grandfather had given him. "Ok, lets see if any of the markers are still there. You did get us to this part of the island correct?"
Mick walked over and glanced at the screen, "Yup, within a meter or so."
"Excellent, then the first marker should be only a short walk from here."
"Heh, Mr. West, anywhere on this island is a short walk."
"Yes, well let's get this over with. I want to be back in the air before tea."
Mick walked back to the hatch near the cockpit and pulled the handle. He opened it only slightly since the fan blades on the engines were still spinning down although the whine was hardy audible now compared to when they were running. Deciding the amount of blown sand was at an acceptable level the opened the hatch completely and lowered the ladder. Anthony stepped down the ladder onto the beach followed by Mick who was shouldering a backpack and carrying a shovel.
Anthony looked down at his computer screen and orientated the map to the beach, he then turned on the built in GPS and let it pick up the satellites for a moment then followed a path directly east of the landing zone. They entered the grove of palm trees that served as the island's only shade and walked nearly a straight line through them since they weren't very close together. Before long they came to a stone slab laying flat and half covered by drifting sand. He studied the map a second then turned to the north east and continued on.
Mick hesitated at the stone, wondering how or why the slab had gotten to this tiny spit of land since it had to have been brought here. He kicked it with the toe of his boot and after not finding any answers to his questions, continued to follow his employer deeper into the palm grove. After a few more minutes of walking they came across the remains of an old building, crumbling and near succumbed to the ravages of neglect and time. Not much remained other than a wall or two with debris all around it. Anthony walked around the building until he came to the south east corner and looked east. He squinted at the map then peered into the palms. "Ah, there it is."
"You find something?" Mick asked as he caught up with the older man.
"Yes, just like the map said, there is a stone block right over there, that's what we are looking for." He closed up the notebook, put away the stylus and walked over to the stone block. "I feel like Indiana Jones, I wonder when the NAZIs show up?"
"Any time after the snakes and angry natives I think. What are we supposed to do now?"
"The letter said it was in a small casket under the stone. It said to dig on the north side and the block can be easily moved then."
Mick shucked off the pack and began digging around the north side of the stone. It didn't take long to figure out that the block's bottom was cut at an angle so that once the sand was removed it would be relatively easy to push off and flop open. In fact, after just a few minutes of digging Anthony was able to move it with just a bit of effort. Mick moved out of the way and Anthony pushed hard and the stone fell away. They both walked up and peered into the hole they had uncovered only to find it was filled with smelly, stagnant seawater. "Oh bloody hell... anything exposed to that is ruined. I imagine..." Just then something boiled to the surface of the water filled hole and they both stepped back in sudden panic. Once they gathered themselves they saw it was a ceramic jug floating upside down. Mick walked up to it and touched it with the shovel. It did nothing more than bob in the water so he bent down and pulled it from the water.
"Ah, sealed with lead. Very smart, they anticipated the island would flood during severe storms." Anthony looked the container over and considered the seal. "This wasn't made to be reopened without breaking it." Mick pulled out a Marine M1 knife and held it by the blade and tapped the ceramic with the handle. A few sharp taps and the container was open. Inside was a square package wrapped in some sort of waxy paper and a very old thermos bottle that could have been from the 1930's or before. On the outside written in black grease pencil was "Open first." Anthony examined the square package and said, "This is some sort of book, probably needs to be opened in a controlled environment." He handed it to Mick then he picked up the thermos and shook it. It felt like there was something inside. He touched the cork stopper and it disintegrated under his finger. Figuring the damage was done he removed what was left and then tipped the thermos over and shook out a rolled up letter written on parchment. It was in pristine condition and he could confidently unroll it without damaging it so that's what he did. He read the letter then sat heavily down onto the sand with a look of utter shock on his face.
"What is it Mr. West?" Mick asked as he became concerned about Anthony. He didn't say anything for a few moments then numbly he handed the letter to Mick for him to read.
Dear Mr. West,
You have succeeded in unraveling the rather cryptic instructions I have given you from across time and the grave. I congratulate you upon discovering this time capsule although I am sure it will be much easier for you to reach this island in, what is for me, the distant future than it was for me the first time I washed upon this miserable island. Suffice to say you probably know the story already since it was quite famous decades after I wrote about my adventures on this island although I called myself Prendick in the story. My reasons for dragging you here are complex and I am not quite sure if it is the right thing to do or not but believe me when I say I have nothing but good intentions in doing so. Good or ill, I feel it is only right for a man to know his true heritage and I can't rest easy in my grave without attempting to do so.
I plan to charge my illegitimate son Anthony West with raising you as his son. That's right, he isn't your natural father nor is Rebbecca West your grandmother and consequently you are not related to me either. You have been adopted into our circle as though you were of our family and our blood because your parents were very dear to me. Unfortunately I was far too old to care for you myself and felt Anthony would do a better job of it at any rate.
Your parents, I am sad to say, are buried upon this island. They died at the hands of Japanese soldiers who occupied this island in 1939. I had returned to this accursed island in 1936 ,many years after I had first escaped from it to see what might have remained. I had thought the location forever lost to me but a chance discovery while researching a story allowed me to piece together the location of this island. On a lark I arranged a trip by steamship to one of the larger nearby islands where I rented a motor boat and came out to have a look around. To my utter surprise I discovered there had been survivors of the terrible things that had happened and they were still on the island. When I discovered them, there were but three left out of the dozens who were here so long ago. At first they ran away and hid from me but one of them was old enough to remember and eventually I gained their trust.
The one who remembered me was one of the early experiments so he was not very human looking. He resembled a ram that walked upright. He was old and feeble, his life span closer to a rams than to a man's. The other two were a male and female who looked very human and only had a faint resemblance to the tiger in the shape of their faces. While I was there the old ram died and the couple had a child. That child, my dear boy, was you. Your parents refused to leave the island and I had to return to England. A few years later, in 1939, I returned for a visit and stayed a few months. While I was there I decided to take you fishing on the boat for a day or two and give your parents a holiday.
When we returned I found your parents had been killed and a Japanese destroyer steaming away in the distance. I suspect they thought they were demons of some sort and killed them out of fear. I buried them and placed one of the old operating tables over them to mark the grave. It was the first landmark I mentioned. I will then put this letter in my thermos and then place it and Doctor Moreau's notebook within a jar and seal it. I am hoping the passage of time would allow you to live a reasonably happy life and the weight of what I tell you now would not burden you for long.
I include the notebook in hopes that the distant future can make better use of it than the world I live in today that is on the brink of war. I can only imagine the horrible uses it would be put to today so I leave it in your care to do as you think best. The old ram had guarded it for decades and I think destiny had a hand in seeing that you received it at a time when men could use the knowledge for our betterment rather than destruction.
As I write this I have no idea what my son Anthony will name you although I am sure he will make your surname West, but the name your parents gave you is M'glis, not a proper English name but I felt you should know. This also explains the striped birthmarks on your back.
Yours truly,
H.G. Wells, Camel Island March 23, 1939
Mick looked up from the letter to look at Anthony, "So, you were adopted? That's kinda tough man. What I don't get is who is this Dr. Moreau fella."
The End