ARCANA Chapter 19 by William James Johnson

Clean shaven, and regaining his strength, John Robins was comfortable in the small, sterile, sick bay. He had no idea how devastated his tortured body had become during his endless ordeal. Since his rescue, he was a celebrity, as well as a curiosity.

General Bird checked on his progress daily. He never gave any hint of when he would let him go to Washington. The helicopter pilot, Barry Muntz, was now a good friend. With time, he began to believe the stories about the Domain. John was reluctant to discuss these adventures with anyone else for fear they might think he was mental.

"What I find hard to believe, is that you would leave Paradise to come back to this hellish world."

"It's because of Arcana."

"What's that?"

"It means, ancient secret. The word's not used any more."

"So what's that got to do with you?"

"I know this secret, and I want to tell the world about it."

"And the secret is...what? What you've been telling me, about IAM...and the Domain. All that stuff."

"That's what it is."

"But what's so important about that?"

"It's the truth. Every man must know about his Creator."

"You start telling them the things you've told me, and they'll nail you... They'll lock you up and throw away the key."

"Arcana is too precious to keep to myself. This secret could turn the world around. That's why I've got to do it."

"Believe me, friend, you're going to be in a hell of a fight, a much worse one than you've come through already. The world is the way it is because man wants it that way. One guy, with a fantastic story, isn't going to make any difference."

"In the Domain, I was told about the mess the world was in. I honestly believe the message of IAM's love would make the people of earth reject evil, and try to make it a better place to live."

"It's too late for that. As I understand history, the world is in the same moral state it was in when God sent the great flood."

"How could it have gotten so bad in such a short time?"

"I'm just a helicopter jock, but as I see it, the technology explosion is to blame. Electronics revolutionized the work place. Man suddenly had loads of leisure time, but he wasn't prepared to use his creative imagination to fill it in, so he opted out for chemicals. You wouldn't believe how bad it is."

"But I thought the government was supervising all that now."

"No one realized the tremendous tolerance addicts would develop towards ever increasing amounts of dope. There are people back home who take what used to be considered lethal doses daily...in fact many times a day. And they'll do anything to get their fix...like I mean anything. There are so many murders now, the papers have stopped reporting them.

"Why do you think I'm content to live here, in the middle of the Beaufort Sea, doing my daily round of flights, searching for oil. At least, here, I know that when I get off work my time is my own, and no freakout is going to put a shiv between my ribs for the loose change in my pocket."

"What about the people here, on the rig? Are there any addicts here?"

"Sure. I'm telling you they're everywhere. But you can't get a posting here unless you've got the habit under control."

"Does that include the General?"

"Of course. He gets off on booze. That's still the drug of choice in the military. Something to do with the macho thing."

"I know what you mean. I remember what it was like in Viet Nam."

"That's a long time ago. You must've been a kid then."

"I was pretty young. Guys I knew were joining up, so I decided I didn't want to be left behind. I was one of the youngest pilots trained at that time."

"We could've used you during the Revolution."

"What was it like?"

"Not much to tell. It didn't last too long, but it sure as hell was bloody. When Thorpe blew up Rocas, the politicians tried to have him impeached. They didn't know he had the military in his back pocket. The generals had been waiting for years for a chance to regain the prestige lost during your war. They pounded the crap out of the big drug centres and rounded up all the rebels and sent them west to the Prairie Gulag. You know what I mean by that, don't you?"

"Only vaguely. Something like the Russians used to have - a prison for political opponents."

"That's right, only it was different under Thorpe than it was when the Watergate thing happened. No more country club bullshit. These guys had to work in the coal mines or they didn't survive. Their food portions were gauged to their output. Thousands were sent there. The druggies thought this meant the end to their government supply of dope and some of them even became heroic in the fight to stop Thorpe and the military. But it's the old story of pitch forks against tanks. They didn't stand a chance."

"How long did all this take?"

"On and off, for almost two years. You wouldn't believe the mess it made of the big cities. New York looked worse than Lebanon during the Middle East crisis. They actually blockaded the city and tried to starve the citizens into submission. Thorpe finally realized that if he was to win, he would have to have the addicts on his side. And can you believe it, even though they were starving to death, they wanted a fix before they wanted food. I'm telling you, it's really hell out there."

"How is it all going to end?"

"Another flood would be a good thing now. Clean up all the garbage that has piled up in the sewer we call Noram."

"Aren't you afraid someone might hear you and charge you with treason?"

"I don't really care anymore since listening to you and knowing there's a better life waiting. Maybe I should risk everything and try to change it. What have I got to lose?"

"That's big talk, Barry. I hope you don't louse up your life because of me."

"I believe in you, and Arcana. Lord knows, it's the message the world's been waiting for. But it's not going to be easy for you."

"What made you believe me?"

"Consistency. No matter what I asked, your answers never varied. You're either a helluva good story teller, or something fantastic really happened to you."

"How were you able to decide which to believe?"

"You've got balls. Any ordinary Joe who had spent so much time in the tundra would have given up ages ago, but not you. That's what I call balls. You must've had a reason to keep going, and now I know that reason."

"So how can you help me get the word spread?"

"Damned if I know. Probably going on national television or something like that I suppose."

"But I've got to get to Thorpe first. He's got to know the facts."

"I'm not even sure the General's going to let you go when you're strong again. Have you told him about the Domain and things like that?"

"I've tried. But you know him, backs off from anything that might make waves. No, Bird is not my man. You are. With your help I can get to Thorpe. I know it."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Check me out on your helicopter. I used to fly them years ago."

"If I do that we'll both end up with our asses in a sling. Let me think about it for awhile. I'll come up with something."

They visited daily in his small room and Barry never tired of hearing about life in Paradise. He smuggled the technical manuals for his airplane into John's room, and together the two poured over the documents preparing for his return to Washington.
He explained the latest in navigational equipment which would make the plotting of the return trip almost foolproof. The craft was connected electronically to a navigational satellite which gave extremely accurate fixes for land and air craft anywhere in the vast continent of Noram. He told him of fuel caches, which were to be used in emergency situations, that were strung out along the still undeveloped Alaska highway.

Five weeks after his rescue on the muskeg, John was back to his fighting weight of 175 pounds and his lean, athletic body belied his 58 years. Except for the grey in his hair, his face was that of a youthful mid-life adventurer.

General Bird asked him to report to his office for a conference. Present in the meeting were the area psychiatrist and the physician who had nursed him back to health.

"You know Dr. Saunders. This is one of his associates, Dr. Mel Rubin."

"The psychiatrist?" asked John.

"That's correct," replied the doctor.

"This should be interesting."

"John, I've been in contact with Washington, and I've told them all about you and your adventures. They have authorized me to offer you employment here on rig eight. It all depends on the evaluation I get from these two medical men."

"But I've told you, General, I want to go to Washington to tell Mr. Thorpe my story."

"That's out of the question. You're very fortunate to be given this chance to live here with us in this pristine environment. No risk. No crime. Why you might even consider writing a book about your experiences. How does that sound?"

John decided to play along with their recommendations. "Sounds okay, General. From what I know about life down south, rig eight's the place to be. What about it, doctors? What do I have to do to pass the test?"

Dr. Rubin was extremely curious to hear more about the stories which had been spreading about John's missing years.

"Can you tell us why you felt it was so important to return to Washington?"

"Maybe you should wait until the book comes out."

"I'm serious Mr. Robins. I would like to know about these things that were supposed to have happened to you, and why it is you say you're John Robins?"

"Look Doctor, I'm not trying to be difficult. As for saying I am John, I had to be someone didn't I."

"You're telling us now, you just made that up?" Rubin wouldn't let him off the hook.

"Since I was a young guy, I've always wondered what it would be like to go on a journey to the Arctic like those guys did on the Nobile. Don't you daydream sometime, and wish you were someone else doing something different?"

"How do you account for the Eskimo man...what's his name?"

"Tuma."

"Yes, Tuma. How do you account for his story and his help in finding you."

"You want to hear the whole story?"

"Yes I do. Please go on."

"Several months ago, I came north in my Cessna, out of York Factory, where I met Tuma. He was there to teach his Innuit skills to whites who were going to be settling in the Arctic. He told me he knew of a place where the shield had streaks of gold that glistened in the Arctic glare."

"Shield...what shield?"

"The pre-Cambrian shield. North of the Mackenzie Delta, there's a massive area of solid rock. Apparently Tuma and his people were the only ones who knew about this gold field. Well we took off without filing a flight plan because we didn't want a bunch of gold crazy prospectors following after us. We made it to the area, but I tore off the undercarriage on landing and....."

John was amazed at the ease with which he was able to lie to these three professionals who were listening intently to every detail.

"I tried to get Tuma to stay with me after the crash. You know the chances of being found after an air crash are much better if you stay with the wreck. He told me how he was used to travelling on foot in the Arctic, and he wanted to go and bring help. I couldn't convince him to stay. Eventually, I deserted the wreck too. If I had stayed with it, I probably would've been found sooner."

"Then what was all that bumph about being inside the earth and Monads..." asked General Bird.

"You do without food as long as I did, General, and you'd hallucinate too."

"He's right, sir," said Dr. Rubin. "Obviously he regressed to a period in his life where he craved adventure. This fabrication is not any more remarkable than someone thinking he is Jesus or Napoleon."

"Then if you're not John, who are you?" asked the General.

"I wish I knew."

"Now I suppose you're going to say you've got amnesia."

"Sir, all I know is that somehow I'm sure I can fly. If you'll let Barry Muntz check me out on the helicopter, I'll be of more value to you."

"What do you think, Mel?"

"I think John is over his disorientation and if he is physically sound, I don't see any reason not to try it."

"He's made a remarkable recovery," said Dr. Saunders. "I'd give it a try."

The General breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that. That's why I asked all of you to meet. I'll have Barry take you on his next flight and let's see what he's got to say. I guess we'll just have to keep calling you John if that's okay with you."

"Suits me, sir. Thank you for your help, gentlemen. I'm a very lucky guy."

"Before you go, John," said Dr. Rubin. "Was there gold in them there hills?"

"It was pyrite...fools gold."

"Makes you think, doesn't it," said the General. "How gullible man really is."

By the time John had become proficient at flying the helicopter, winter was setting in. The open water surrounding the huge drilling rig was now as solid as concrete. Bird was delighted to see how well his new man was progressing and was also relieved that John no longer spoke about his adventures in the Domain. One day, he left word on the flight deck he wanted to see him in his office when he returned.

"You wanted to see me, General?"

"Yes, John. Come in. Sit down."

The General stood up and began pacing slowly in front of him. "How's the flying going?"

"I feel really good about it. Barry's an excellent instructor."

"I know. He's one of my best men. There's no question about his flying ability. And I might add, I've been watching your progress. Those landings you were making on the pack ice yesterday were first rate."

"Thank you, sir. You know what it's like with flying. Something like riding a bike I guess. Once you get used to the black boxes, the flying part is like it's always been, coordination, depth perception, stuff like that."

"Yes...I agree. But John, it's not flying I'm concerned about."

"How's that, sir?"

"It's my best man, Barry Muntz... I'm worried about him."


"In what way?"
"He's changed a lot since you've come aboard. Not the same happy go lucky guy he used to be."

"I haven't noticed any change."

"You didn't know him before. He loved to party and get high with the boys, but now...is something bothering him, something I should know?"

"Like I said sir, I don't see anything wrong with Barry. I think he's a first rate guy, and I'm very thankful you let him give me this refresher training on helicopters. I feel I'm ready to go on my own whenever you decide. Maybe giving Barry a break from the steady flying might ease him up a little."

"Good idea. I like it...There's something else I want to ask you. Do you and Barry ever talk about those things you told me when you first arrived."

"What things, General?"

"The Monads... and the Domain. You know what I mean. Those religious things."

"We have spoken about them...but that was sometime ago, when I was recuperating in sick bay."

"Well some of the guys tell me Barry's been doing a little evangelizing in his spare time, and quite frankly I don't like that kinda thing going on behind my back. I run a tight ship and I sure don't need any religious weirdo to screw it up."

"Believe me sir, Barry's not the kinda guy whose going to make waves for you. He has a job to do, and from what I've seen he does it very well."

"Thanks for coming in...One more thing, before you go. Do you really think you could take on some of Barry's work, alone?"

"I'm sure I can, sir."

"Good. I'm going to let you take the oil recces every other day and give Barry sometime off. And if it looks like you can manage it alone, I'm going to send him to Resolute to spend a little time with Mel Rubin. You know this isolation living on the rig gets to a guy after awhile. I think this religious thing, is Barry's way of trying to establish some escape from the tedious routine."

"I think he'd like to get away for awhile. It'll do him a lot of good. Was there anything else, sir?"

"No. That's it for now. Thanks again."

John couldn't believe how things were shaping up for his escape to Washington. That evening, on a brilliantly clear winter's night with the aurora borealis giving a peak performance, John and Barry, wrapped in parkas, went for a long walk on the ice pack.

"Don't you think you better wait until next spring before you take off?"

"I figured that when Bird sends you to Resolute, I'll disappear on a routine flight and head south. It'll take them quite awhile to organize a search. Following the course you plotted for me along the Alaska highway should get me back to civilization before too long."

"But gawd, John. The chances of something going wrong in the winter are so much greater than waiting for spring. What's a few more months?"

"He wants the shrink to see you soon. By spring it'll be too late. We've got to act while we've got the chance."

"It makes sense, I guess. It's just that if anything happened to you, how's the world ever going to know about Arcana?"

"If I don't make it, you can tell them."

"Oh sure. The chief wants my head checked now, because of the few things I've said about your experiences. Can you imagine the problems I'd have if I tried to convince him you're the real John Robins, who flew the Nobile."

"You're right. Bird would have you converted to coal picking in the Gulag just to get you off his back."

"So you'll wait until spring?"

"Look Barry. I can't wait any longer. I've taken so many chances since I escaped from the Domain. This seems like nothing compared to the Valley of Light and lord Photar. I've got to do it while you're away, so no one will suspect you had anything to do with it."

"Well if you've made up your mind, I might as well tell you, the General had me in after talking with you and he asked me to fly him to Resolute day after tomorrow. So I guess you couldn't ask for a better time to make your move."

"No kidding! Day after tomorrow?"

"That's what he said. Depends on the weather. Doesn't give you a helluva lotta time to get ready."

"I've been ready since they picked me up from the muskeg. Let's get back and go over those maps again. I want to know where the emergency fuel is kept. Just think, day after tomorrow I'll be going home."

As they reentered the silo, General Bird was returning to the officers' mess. Wearing a natty sport shirt and stretch jeans he looked like a travelling salesman prowling for an easy pickup.

"Hey. If it isn't my two hot shot pilots. How about letting me buy you a drink?" He obviously had had several already.

Barry knew his boss inside out. Bird had been sent to rig number eight because of a screw up during the revolution. Due to his bumbling, Thorpe's life had been endangered. His security men had allowed some disguised terrorists from the drug faction to enter the White House grounds and plant a bomb. Thorpe had been in the war room below his residence when the bomb went off and he narrowly escaped. When the investigation was completed, it was discovered that the General's men had been very careless in checking ID of persons dressed in military garb. Since the weakness in the procedure was a matter of policy originating from the senior officer, Bird was rapped for the security breach. His duty on an Arctic oil rig was Thorpe's way of letting him do easy time.

"Be glad to have one on you, General," said Barry, laughing.

They entered the semi-dark, smoke-filled bar of the officer's mess. This was the main watering hole on the silo, and everyone, regardless of rank, spent much of their time and wages here during off duty hours.

"So, what do you think of going it alone, John?"

"I'm looking forward to it, sir. It's a nice feeling at my age to know you still can cut it."

"Good man. What'll it be?"

"Rum and coke."

"And Barry'll have a Bourbon straight up...right."

"Right you are, General."

Grabbing their drinks, they sat near the end of the bar, away from the entrance. Two very attractive nurses entered, accompanied by the two spotters who had rescued John from the tundra.

"Look at those lucky sons-a-bitches. Bet they're getting it on," said the General.
"Wouldn't stand a chance if we were younger, eh, John?"

"Really nice girls."

"You damn right. They're here because I picked them. All kinds of young fluff out there'd like to be here. No hassle. Chance to meet lonely guys. Make some bucks on the side."

"Those ladies took care of me when I was sick."

"Like, you mean, really took care of you," he said, poking John in the arm.

"Not at all, General. These are really decent girls."

"What the hell's wrong with you. Don't you like a bit of tail once in awhile?"

John didn't wish to antagonize him by arguing, but he wanted to get out of the bar and get on with his preparations. He stood up to leave.

"Would you please excuse me, sir. I've got a lot of work to do for tomorrow's flight, and I should get back to my room."

The General grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into his seat.
"I'll tell you when you can leave. Now sit down and order us another round of drinks. What the hell kinda friend you got here, Barry?"

"John's right, sir. We both have a lot of work to do. One more drink, and I think, with your permission, we should get on with it."

"Okay, okay...I'm not trying to be a prick. We've been friends a long time, Barry. You've never known me to be a prick, have you?"

"Not at all, General. You're a hard, but fair, boss."

"Damn right. My men do good work. No one can say they don't."

John tried to soften the situation. "Barry's right, sir. If it hadn't been for you, and your men, I'm certain I would have perished on the tundra. You guys could have given up the search, but obviously you're the kinda guy who sees things through."

"Goddamn right. No one's ever said that Alex Bird doesn't give it a hundred and ten percent. You know what I mean?"

"And that's why you've got a waiting list of folks who want to be a part of rig number eight," said John, polishing the apple.

"Look. You guys want to go and get your work done. Go. Don't let me stop you."

"Thanks for the drink, sir. Have a good night."

"Damn right."

Out in the corridor John and Barry stopped and spoke in low voices.

"How did a drunk like that ever get to be a General?"

"That's probably how. You wouldn't believe the amount of booze they put away on this rig. For a moment there I thought we were going to blow it."

"You can say that again. Never argue with a drunk, even if he is your senior officer."

"You mean particularly if he's your senior officer."

"You've got it."

The cold winter night and the exhilarating walk, combined with the two drinks had gotten to John. Pouring over the maps spread on his bed, he could scarcely keep his eyes opened. The maps slid to the floor of his cabin and soon he was back in the Domain, talking to Stellar and Mehnra, and all his friends from the Nobile. He couldn't wait to start his journey south.

View other blogs by William James Johnson at www.noozoon.blogspot.com