Beginning author's notes:
I don't own any of the existing Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons characters, vehicles or locations. My thanks go to Hazel Köhler for reviewing this story and to Chris Bishop for putting this on her website. Please note that this story will not be to everyone’s tastes, as it is quite ambiguous and convoluted. I would recommend reading Edgar Allan Poe’s The Pit and the Pendulum before this for clarity, but it’s not strictly necessary. See the end notes for more detail, but be aware there may be some spoilers. If you do decide to proceed to read, thank you and I hope it entertains you!
Captain Blue wasn’t in a generous mood as he left the pub at quarter to nine and began the long walk to the street where he’d left his car parked. He had spent the entire day tracking a so-called ‘enemy agent’ around Exeter, then southwest through two local districts, mostly without radio contact. In reality, it was all a part of a training exercise developed by Spectrum Intelligence, who were keen to test the independent capabilities and decision-making strategies of Spectrum senior officers.
SI had specifically hypothesised situations where individual officers may become completely cut off from Spectrum, or where they may identify a potential threat off duty. It had been a sore point for the colour-coded officers, who considered the program as poorly formulated and wasteful: the second scenario was downright mind-boggling, as they all felt professional enough to ensure that they never left Cloudbase without some means of contact, and the first was too specific to warrant an entire program being devoted to it alone. As it was, Spectrum’s commander-in-chief had agreed to a trial run; Captain Blue had subsequently been selected as the first subject.
By now, even Blue’s long-standing patience had been thoroughly tried. It had started as an ‘undercover mission’ to ‘investigate the dealings of a possible enemy agent’, before he had been ‘accidentally’ isolated from his field partner, his gun and his hand-held radio during a ‘confrontation’. He had known immediately the course of action he would take, namely to commandeer a vehicle to re-engage surveillance of the ‘enemy agent’– in reality an SI operative–until the opportunity came to present himself to the nearest Spectrum Police station.
After making his report to Cloudbase, Blue had swapped his acquired car for an unmarked Spectrum vehicle and borrowed a pistol, radio transceiver and tracker, before resuming his surveillance until reunited with his field partner, en route. Unfortunately, the SI operative had decided to throw a spanner in the works, jamming his beacon signal and actually frying his transceiver. Like a cat on a hot tin roof, the operative had led Blue on a winding journey out of the city, clearly trying to shake his tail. Still, Blue had identified her general, intended direction; taking a gamble, Blue had deliberately lost his quarry for a time, before he attempted to pick up the trail. Luck had been on his side, as he successfully tracked the operative to a small civil parish in South Hams.
Oddly, the operative had abandoned her car, only to opt to walk a few kilometres to a neighbouring village. At first, Blue had thought that this was for his benefit, but it soon became apparent that she had now finished her shift: pausing at the front entrance of a local pub, the operative had been greeted exuberantly by several women, before they all disappeared inside. Annoyed as he was for being led on a wild-goose chase, Blue had marched into the pub, intent on taking the operative aside and letting her have it. Having then thought better of it, Blue had decided to keep up his surveillance pretext; at least the colonel couldn’t argue that he had been anything other than thorough. Grabbing a spare costumed party coat and hat without the operative noticing, Blue had settled himself down at a booth and discreetly observed his quarry. After the frilly cake had been brought out, and the chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You’ completed, Blue was satisfied that the birthday girl was officially off duty. Without a backward glance, Blue had slipped out into the night.
The sun was still visible above the horizon when Blue reached his car twenty-five minutes later. Checking his watch, Blue saw that it would be due to set in another twenty. For a few moments, Blue simply soaked in the view of the burning, yellow circle, sunk low in the fiery-orange sky framed between thatched dwellings.
With a weary sigh, Blue dug his car key out from his pocket. As he began to turn to unlock the vehicle, he suddenly felt the sensation of something brushing roughly past him; the keychain went clattering onto the ground.
“Hey, mind where you’re going!” Blue snapped automatically, stooping down to pick up the fallen object, only for the offending party to collect it first, before thrusting it into Blue’s hand.
As he straightened up, Blue got a better look at the person who had bumped into him. It was obviously a man and, from the way he was dressed, Blue guessed he had been jogging. Unusually for the time of day, he also wore darkly-tinted sunglasses.
Blue felt certain he could see the jogger roll his eyes beneath his shades, but all he said was, “Sorry, I mustn’t have been paying attention. Farewell, my lord. Toodles!”
With a dismissive wave behind him, the dark-haired man resumed his jog. Blue glared after him, self-consciously adjusting the forgotten, green frock coat around himself. Blue’s gaze dropped down to the back pocket of the jogger’s sweatpants, where a dark object could just be noticed peeking out; given the shape, Blue was pretty certain it was a small gun.
Turning back to the driver’s side door, Blue noticed a slip of paper fall onto the ground when he opened his palm. Curious, Blue retrieved the paper and unfolded it.
CB,
You’re being trailed: suspect is a dark-haired Caucasian male, about 185 cm, dressed in grey sweats, a dark baseball cap and dark sunglasses. Sight and lose suspect’s trail, then progress to rendezvous at the corner junction at precisely 2130 BST for debriefing. Will notify base of mission completion.
– CS
With a slightly grim smile, Blue tucked the note into his pocket...
The Corner Junction.
The destination the rascally Captain Scarlet had chosen turned out to be a secluded little affair, tucked away from the main street behind another building. It was such that Blue had some difficulty identifying it as the specified meeting place, having initially wasted precious minutes of his time waiting by the railway junction near a crossroad corner. Having no way to contact Scarlet, he’d been forced to ask for directions from some hospitable locals, much to his chagrin.
The front of the cafe faced out onto the south-eastern seaboard of the English Channel, where the summer-solstice sky had darkened over; civil twilight was almost over as Blue quietly pushed the glass-panelled door open, triggering the dinging of a shopkeeper’s door bell. There were few patrons to be seen and, given the time of night, Blue was frankly surprised that the cafe was even open. Giving the youth behind the counter a brief nod of acknowledgement, Blue ambled over to the occupied table farthest at one end of the cafe.
Captain Scarlet looked up at his colleague’s approach. “Hullo! There you are. I was beginning to wonder what happened to you.”
Blue slid off his borrowed coat and hung it over the backrest of the chair opposite Scarlet, before settling himself down. “It never occurred to you to simply look for me?”
Scarlet gestured down to his half-finished cup of tea with a flicker of a smile. “I didn’t want my tea to get cold. Besides, I told you where to meet me. If I left to start hunting you down, we’d be playing hide and seek all night.”
Blue gave a small sigh of vexation. “Yeah, well...next time try and be a little more specific about the location details, will you? Maybe then I won’t be forty minutes late to our rendezvous.”
Scarlet took a sip of his tea, raising an ironic brow. “I take it that your little road trip went as well as we originally surmised?”
“Brilliant deduction. Yeah, everything went just fine–insofar as I know, anyway. Who knows? Maybe this ‘trip’ proved I’m still capable of doing my job.”
“We don’t need any proof of that, Adam.”
Scarlet went quiet and shifted his gaze up behind Blue, as the lad from the counter approached the captains’ table. Blue was surprised at his approach, even more so when he asked to confirm Blue’s order. He gave an easygoing laugh at Blue’s befuddled brow, as Blue studied him and his reaction. It was immediately obvious that he hailed from the north of England, possibly West Yorkshire. His timbre was unusual; strong and slighted congested, suited more to a performer than the owner of a sleepy, little cafe. He had introduced himself as such, leaving Blue a little dubious: between his orange hair, and the prominent freckles strewn across his nose and cheeks, he looked a close image of the eponymous, teenaged Archie from the 1940s comics–and someone too young to be the sole proprietor of a business.
Still, Blue had no reason to argue. Scarlet, anticipating that Blue would need the nourishment that SI had neglected to factor into their plans, had already ordered, and paid, on Blue’s behalf. Blue had no intention of telling his colleague that the order was just what he felt like, nor would he show any appreciation for his shout. He was in no mood to inflate Scarlet’s proud ego, and he knew it was needless, at any rate; Scarlet would understand.
So Blue simply confirmed the order to the proprietor, with a minor correction to add a more-expensive detail, just to mess with Paul’s head. Blue’s apathetic disinterest was belied by his hearty appetite; for the second time that night, a ghost of a smile played across Scarlet’s lips, as he quietly watched Blue dig rapaciously into his meal. Blue stole a glance up and conspicuously slowed his pace right down. Scarlet took the hint and turned his head to stare out the window, clutching his saucer in one hand, and sipping at his tea with the other.
Blue’s irritation began to wane in the ensuing silence, as the men temporarily ignored each other’s presence. Blue’s slowed pace became natural, as he finally felt he could unwind from his hectic day.
The sound of a chinking, then a scraping against the old, timber flooring, distracted Blue from his repast. Partly lifting his gaze up, he saw Scarlet’s torso moving as the man got to his feet to order another tea for himself at the counter. After several minutes, Scarlet returned, clutching his new brew; he resumed staring out at the shifting murky waters, growing choppier as the wind picked up. Blue had spent just under an hour at The Corner Junction, when Scarlet once more got up to use the bathroom, thereafter taking the opportunity to order yet another cup of tea.
Scarlet had just settled himself back down into his chair, when a whip-like crack suddenly resounded above their heads. The next moment, the loud clattering of rain hitting the roof sounded, as a deluge took hold.
“Good thing we decided not to leave just yet. I’ve grown a little more wary of lightning lately,” Scarlet commented, watching as twin strikes hit the water. “It’s pretty to look at, though.”
Blue nodded his head, listening to the hypnotic rhythm of the ongoing precipitation. A faint tingling ran through his body, as the hairs on his arms stood up on end. The violence of the electrostatic discharges, and subsequent shockwaves, was still an awe-inspiring example of the potential calamity of the natural world on Earth. Juxtaposed with the knowledge that he was dry and warm, the entranced Blue grew increasingly dozy, at odds with the alighted inferno that bubbled at the edge of his subconscious.
Captain Blue was pulled from his thoughts when the cafe suddenly became dark. The sky outside had cleared up, but the storm was clearly still close enough to cause a localised power outage. The proprietor was quick to reassure his customers, and began rounding up light sources for each table.
Allowing his eyes to readjust to the lack of light, Blue was able to make out the form of Scarlet. The last remnants of twilight filtered into the darkened cafe from the northwest side window, faintly silhouetting him from behind. To the west, a waxing crescent moon was visible, streaking reflected sunlight onto the right half of his face.
Sensing a figure approaching, Blue looked up to see the proprietor standing near them.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t find a spare candle for you two. I hope you don’t mind, but the Moon is pretty bright where you’re sitting. In any case, you can always borrow a torch from my flat upstairs.”
“We’ll be quite alright, Tom, thank you,” Scarlet replied.
“You’re a good sport. Here, let me get you another round of drinks, this time on the house.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t see that we’ll be staying much longer.”
The proprietor quirked an eyebrow at this. “You’re English, aren’t you? Since when does an Englishman turn down an offer of a high-quality, freshly-brewed cup of tea–especially a free one?”
The disingenuous comment earned an ever-so-slight smirk from Blue, prompting Scarlet to shoot a side-long glance towards him. Waving his hand in playful dismissiveness, Scarlet caved in. “Oh, alright. I’ll have the same as before. Adam?”
“I’ll just have a black coffee this time, thanks.”
It must have seemed no time at all had passed, as the hands of the analogue clock twisted to twelve, apparently unnoticed by the cafe patrons.
Captain Blue played with his cup, the last portion of coffee abandoned, letting his fingers glide along the rim with absence. He had fallen quiet some time before, having lost the motivation to keep up the conversation that his work compatriot had struck up.
Nature and consummate learning may have laid down the foundations for them to jibe so well, but it irked Blue that some assumed that their constant and intuitive communication did not require active nurturing and vigilance. Indeed, there was a kind of unspoken agreement between Scarlet and himself, where a lack of words was perfectly acceptable, provided that their mutual understanding overall wasn’t impacted.
“Did you hear me? I was asking you a question.”
Right now was an example of poor workmanship, as Blue was letting his side of the bargain slide. Blue fancied Scarlet as something of an ambivert. He was private with even the closest people in his life; his social withdrawal had only become more marked since his rebirth from a fiery death, much like that of the solitary phoenix. Yet, his blood ran hot, and the exultation of socialisation filled his spirit in his lighter moments; he was craving that interaction with his friend right now, that much Blue could perceive.
“Sorry, I got a little distracted. What were you saying again?”
Blue’s words held the promise of attention. Instead, he let his thoughts wander once again, as he contemplated that there were further similarities between the man and another mythological avian. The darling of Spectrum’s high-ranking combat personnel, and the glorified test subject of SI and Cloudbase’s Chief Medical Officer, Scarlet’s unique abilities made him as valuable and sought-after to Spectrum’s cause as the magical, golden feather of the folkloric firebird.
Wasn’t it a very human desire to seek dominance and glory? Even in learning, scientific achievement was inescapably linked with a rise in social status and personal pride. Self-fulfilment, no matter how benign, was still a display of success and domination in a given area.
Spectrum had made implied assurances to Scarlet of his equality, but that was only an unwitting half-truth. Spectrum personnel were, naturally, not equal in their strengths and positions. However, they each commanded a sense of respect for their services, and had the protections that came with being human lives. On paper, Scarlet held the same worths; reading between the lines demonstrated that there was an element of personal investment, a captivated objectification by even the most ethical of Spectrum’s boffins. Unlike his mythical counterparts, Scarlet seemed to hold the answer to resurrection, and eternal life, for real. It was all too easy to fall into the trap of playing pretty trophies.
The radiating lunar illumination paled Scarlet’s features, leaving a soulless shine in his eyes that resembled dread to Blue. A jolt of ecstasy shot up his spine, quickly disintegrating into a diseased delectation that left him feeling faintly woozy.
“...Adam, are you even listening to me?”
“Huh? Yeah, yeah...go on.”
It wasn’t normal for Blue to feel like this, but then he was in a rather queer mood; in-between frequent pauses to swallow, Paul was gabbing on more than was charming, his pervasive, genteel accent lending an increased impression of superciliousness. It was without merit, as he wasn’t actually kibitzing. Still, Blue idly entertained the notion of getting the other man, paying no mind to its inevitable fallacy.
“Are you sure you’re...feeling alright?”
Scarlet’s faltering voice broke into Blue’s thoughts once more, catching him off-guard.
“Well, now that you mention it, I guess I do feel a bit odd.”
He looked across at Scarlet again, noticing that he appeared to have grown paler and was shivering. Before he could say anything, however, the proprietor walked over.
“Is everything alright over here?” he asked, before tipping his head to one side. “My my, you look a bit peaky, sir. Nothing wrong with the tea, I hope?”
Keeping his head level, Scarlet lifted his gaze up towards Tom. “I–I just feel...a...bit...light...t’at’s al,” he mumbled, clumsily mopping at his brow with a napkin.
“Oh, it looks a bit more than that. I should see a doctor, if I were you.”
Despite feeling mentally off-kilter himself, the proprietor’s casual tone reached another level of warped that seriously raised Blue’s hackles.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked gruffly, pulling himself to his feet, noting that he really wasn’t feeling all that good himself.
The proprietor simply shrugged and shook his head. “I’m afraid my videophone connection is down. You’re free to ask one of my neighbours, though I don’t see what good it would do. It’s a little late to get help.”
The world seemed to take on a Dutch angle as the proprietor crouched down beside Scarlet, who stared across at him apprehensively, his clear eyes glistening feverishly with malady, as he automatically continued to try to dab at his now-drenched face.
“I’m real sorry about this. It won’t be much longer now.”
Realisation spun through Blue’s whirling mind. His heart pounding, Blue swung around to see the tilting figures of the other patrons, either quietly observing the scene before them, or else outright ignoring it.
“You’re all in on this!” he panted huskily, slipping back down into his chair and softly shaking his head, trying to clear it.
Ahead of him, he became aware of the sounds of gasping, as Scarlet was clearly having difficulty catching his breath. Scarlet let out a half-choked “Ad–go!” reaching down blindly for his gun, when the proprietor suddenly grabbed his wrists.
“Shush, now. You’re dying, Paul, so you really don’t need to play the hero this time. I made sure I stuffed you full of poison, so even you’d be thoroughly drugged.”
The gasping shortly developed into full-blown stridor, sending a panic through Blue as he realised that Scarlet was entering respiratory arrest.
“Paul!”
Blue shot to his feet, trying to ignore his vertigo in an effort to aid his friend. Without looking, the proprietor easily shoved away the hand clutching the heavy sugar dispenser, causing Blue to stagger backwards and lose his footing.
Quickly raising up his head, Blue watched blearily as the proprietor caught the almost-paralysed Scarlet’s head on his shoulder, as he began to slump forward.
“You know, I like you. Pity your kind had to be so stupid to launch that attack, maybe it could have been a different story for us both.”
Scarlet suddenly grew silent. The proprietor released him, allowing him to flop sideways onto the table and causing Blue to involuntarily recoil. Scarlet’s face gleamed with a mix of sweat and tears under the moonlight, dripping down past his partially-open eyes, lacklustre and glazed with the hallmarks of the deceased, down to his slackened jaw.
A rush of rage boiled through Blue, prompting him to scramble to his feet and holler at the top of his lungs.
“You b–bloody bastards! You–you won’t get away with this, I–I promise you...”
Blue clutched at the table in a desperate effort to stay upright, as the vertigo intensified and his body seemed to grow heavier. He knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the poison, but he fought back regardless, unwilling to give up fighting until the very end.
The proprietor, who had, until this point, remained by Scarlet’s side, pulled himself up and went to stand by Blue, who had sunk down onto his knees.
“Don’t worry, Captain. I’m not the kind to hold people to their promises. You’ll be a bit more comfortable once you fall asleep, you’ll see.”
As though acquiescing to Tom’s wishes, Blue finally released his grasp on the table and collapsed fully onto the ground.
“You’ll have a good, long sleep, Captain Blue. We aren’t done with you yet.”
Blue weakly opened his eyes at the sound of the proprietor’s voice, before again closing them as he surrendered to oblivion.
Self-awareness and identity were strange concepts.
Deliberation of such was often considered to be a hallmark of the educated and the development of higher thinking. Philosophers had devoted millennia to the study of self, while individuals had spent their whole lives searching for their own interpretation of the eternal riddles.
Memories from the first few years of life provided glimpses into a time when the experience of being alive was so raw and complete, like a film reel set to intangible and exclusive emotions, of intensities unbridled by sentient wisdom. Conscious contemplation of the external world was seemingly absent; this experience was a state of pure observation of the present, interpreted as being outside the window of one’s own eyes and being–whatever that really meant.
That presence of comparison suggested the establishment of self-awareness, without the, perhaps extraneous, justification of such abstract subjectivity; with the growing preoccupations of becoming an active player in the game of life, it was seldom that an individual could recollect this childhood experience. States of vulnerability, and the triggering of sensual memories, occasionally provided a window to the past, but even these were prone to fallacy.
Indeed, how remarkable was it that anyone, in states of semi-consciousness, could so easily find the critical traits of their identity unfamiliar, lost to the dark void of nothingness?
When Blue finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by the same void-like blackness that had plagued his half-sleeping mind. He had no idea where he was, though he doubted he would even if he could see. The ground beneath him was cool and hard, applying a sharp pressure against the back of his already-pounding head which radiated to his temples, making them feel like they were being inflated to bursting point. He felt something awful; a permeating foul smell made him feel nauseated and his dry mouth seemed to make the intensity of his headache worse. He was also desperately thirsty and pretty sure that he was at least moderately dehydrated.
Still, he wasn’t going to achieve anything by just lying still; he might as well investigate his surroundings. Wearily, Blue got to his feet and began to slowly walk forward, gingerly massaging his head. He could feel that he was no longer dressed in his own shirt and jeans, having had them replaced by a loose-fitting jumpsuit of canvas. His shoes had also been stripped, leaving him to pad unsteadily on the cold ground in his socks. His motion gradually became more balanced as he encountered a wall and began to follow it around the room’s perimeter. The walls felt to be of the same construction as the floor, namely raw concrete, making it uncomfortable to trace his hands along. To mark his starting point, Blue had dropped one of his socks near the floor line; when he again reached it, he had been able to gather that the area where he was being held was square in shape, with no doors or other openings from at least a foot above his head.
Disappointed, Blue decided to continue exploring the remainder of the room. Walking from one end of the room to the other, Blue used a compact zigzag approach to cover the entire floor. He took only small and steady steps, wary that there may be some kind of trapdoor built into the ground. His caution paid off when he suddenly felt empty space below his left toes.
Drawing back slightly, Blue crouched down and carefully inspected the opening. He estimated that the mouth was about a metre in diameter, and the source of the poor smell that he had detected earlier. Experimentally, Blue dropped his sock down into the abyss. It took roughly five seconds before he heard a gentle splash, some fifteen metres below, followed by an ominous bubbling. He didn’t need to see to know exactly what liquid was producing that acrid stench; it was, however, the other unmistakeable odour that sent a sliver of fear coursing through him.
Growing tired of aimlessly wandering around, Blue located a section of wall a safe distance from the pit mouth and propped himself down against it. It was easier said than done; no matter how Blue adjusted himself, it didn’t take long for the concrete to begin hurting him. He finally managed to settle with his arm cushioning his head.
Lying there in the darkness, Blue’s mind began to wander. He thought about the training exercise, and how everything had gone horrifically wrong when he and his partner set foot in that accursed cafe. He had really believed that he was going to die, but his last conscious thought hadn’t been about his family back in Boston; he hadn’t felt regret for not seeing them more often, or for failing to make peace with his father. His last thought had been that he had let Spectrum and the colonel down...and Symphony.
Guilt tugged at his mind, especially when he thought about Captain Scarlet. He wasn’t surprised that they were being held separately, but he wished he could make sure he was okay. Recognising that wallowing in self-pity would not benefit him, Blue forced himself to refocus his thought processes. To distract himself, Blue hummed the memorised scores of his favourite classical musicians. Eventually, he found himself interrupted by his own constant yawning; a pleasant weightlessness came over him, as his eyes began to grow heavy. Surely, it couldn’t hurt to just rest them for a little bit?
When Blue next woke up, he found himself lying atop a padded surface. He tried to sit up, but found his movement hindered; craning his neck up, Blue saw that the entire length of his body, sans his head, was restrained to a thin mattress by a blanket of straps. Closer examination revealed that there were actually only two straps which criss-crossed over each other.
It was only afterwards that he registered the immediately-obvious observation that the room was now lit up.
Realising he was trapped for the near future, Blue took the opportunity to take visual stock of his prison. It was relatively large for a cell, square in shape and composed entirely of bare concrete; much as he had guessed earlier. The bunk he was on was situated almost dead centre in the middle of the room, with nothing either ahead, or either side, of him. Swivelling his neck to look behind him, Blue spotted the pit opening a short distance away. Still able to smell the horrible stench from his position, Blue screwed his nose up in distaste and turned away.
Having exhausted his options, Blue let his head fall back onto the mattress as he gazed up at the ceiling. Now that he had taken the time to properly inspect it, it seemed tremendously high. That wasn’t what piqued his curiosity, however; directly above him, Blue was sure that he could spy an opening, partially blocked by an object protruding below. Grimacing as he strained to get a better look, Blue thought he saw the object moving–swinging, to be precise. Finding the straining was exacerbating his sore head, Blue shut his eyes to rest. In the back of his mind, as he drifted back off to sleep, he couldn’t help but get an odd sensation of déjà vu...
Under different circumstances, Captain Blue would have awoken feeling livid for permitting himself to become vulnerable by falling asleep yet again. As it was, he was feeling too ill to be angry. His head still felt a train-wreck, but now he was also dizzy and no longer thirsty. Feeling his heart beating rapidly in his chest, Blue was confused when he found himself bound. Carefully rolling his eyes around without lifting his head up, Blue saw what looked like somebody being lowered on an anchor above his head. It was such a strange idea that Blue may have burst into giddy laughter if his sorry state had allowed. Closing his eyes again in disbelief, he forced himself to clear his mind. After what seemed like hours, Blue had finally regained enough strength and sense to try and ascertain what was actually going on.
When he finally opened his eyes, they widened as he took in the sight of a bladed pendulum swinging from side to side above him. Now that it had dropped further, Blue could clearly see the corpse of Paul Metcalfe, bound to the neck of the pendulum. He’d been neatly dissected along the trans-umbilical plane into two parts; each was secured on opposing sides of the rod, parallel to the curving edges of the bob. Blue wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and deny the grisly sight, but his shock seemed to render him paralysed.
Blue lost all sense of time as the pendulum continued its imperceptible descent...swinging widely...continuously. Like a ship out at sea, Blue thought absently. A ship locked in a neverending journey...always moving, but fated never to see new lands or its homeland again...Blue’s sympathetic gaze shifted back to the black-haired figure–the lone passenger of the cursed vessel. His permanent stare was directed out, as he silently rocked along with his ride; Blue fancied that he could perceive the hopelessness in the dead man’s countenance, and wished he could relinquish him of his torment and guide him back home.
Blue’s lapse into insensibility was distracted by the appearance of a faint, green hue around the pendulum. His mind instantly recalled the Mysteronised proprietor, Scarlet’s murder and his own impending death under the blade of the bob, sending him into a panic. Some of his apprehension turned into confusion, as Scarlet’s remains disappeared. Blue shortly became aware of a disturbance to the right of him and turned his head; his confusion blossomed into complete bewilderment, as he saw the segments of his friend’s body reappear and begin to reattach under the same green aura he had previously witnessed.
It was too much for his weakened body to take, and Blue felt an increasing lightheadedness before he was plunged into darkness.
“Adam! Adam, can you hear me?”
Blue let out a low moan and struggled to open his eyes. Blue’s dizzy head was pounding and it seemed like a losing battle, but Blue still persisted. When he finally opened his heavy lids, he was greeted by the concerned face of Captain Scarlet. Such was Blue’s shock that he let out a cry and immediately made to scramble backwards as far away as he could.
“Adam, stop! You’ll fall into the pit!”
As the warning was being spoken, Blue felt the sensation of open air beneath his hand, and halted. Looking around, he saw the opening of the large pit mouth less than an inch behind him. Horrified, he quickly shifted away and pulled himself to his feet.
“That was close,” Scarlet breathed, before turning to face Blue. “Adam, are you alright?”
Blue leant against the comparative safety of one of the walls, as he tried desperately to calm his racing thoughts and nerves. Slowly, he lifted his head up to gauge his surroundings. He was still in the same concrete dungeon; up ahead, and to his right, was, of course, the dreaded pit. A short distance to his left, the giant pendulum was still swinging in its wide arc. It had lowered down even more, and now skimmed across the empty mattress and tangle of straps. Blue shivered when he realised the fate he had only narrowly avoided; only avoided due to the timely rescue by Scarlet.
Blue finally let his gaze fall onto the man, as he inspected him closely. It was definitely Captain Scarlet and he was most definitely alive and well. Dazedly, Blue remembered the teleportation of the body, the reconstruction...and the green aura that accompanied both...
“I saw... you were... how did you do that?” Blue croaked.
Scarlet frowned, before narrowing his eyes. “I gather something... different occurred with my retrometabolism this time. Well, it’s not important at present: we need to get out of here before these crazy people think up another death trap for us.”
Blue nodded. His head was still spinning, but he felt a little more coherent. “Edgar Allan Poe, right?”
“Yes,” Scarlet confirmed. “The Pit and the Pendulum. Only there was another death trap that isn’t mentioned in the title: retractable, glow-up walls.”
As Scarlet spoke, Blue felt an increased pressure against his back.
“Oh, god...”
“Adam, come, let’s make haste!”
“But the only way out is into the pit!”
Blue was already beginning to feel warmth on his back when Scarlet grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him closer to the pendulum, which was beginning to rise back up into the air.
Scarlet ignored Blue’s exclamation and instead barked, “Adam, when I give the word, jump up! One, two–”
“Paul!”
“–Three, now!”
With Scarlet’s arm still latched around his, Blue blindly followed after Scarlet onto the pendulum. The foothold on the bob was dangerously thin, and Blue clung to the rod for dear life as the pendulum jerked unsteadily with the sudden force. A thought occurred to Blue, and he cast a tentative glance down. He briefly closed his eyes and looked heavenwards in relief when he saw that Scarlet was on the opposite side of the bob, crouched down to avoid overlapping onto Blue’s hold.
The downward and counteractive force of the men’s mass had shortened the arc and, ultimately, brought the pendulum to a stop. There was a pause where nothing happened, and Blue realised that the walls had stopped moving. In fact, it seemed that both the position of the walls, and the pendulum’s height, were about the same as when they had jumped up; clearly, their enemies could see exactly what the Spectrum captains were doing.
Blue didn’t have any more time to his thoughts, as the pendulum suddenly started moving up again.
“I get your drift now, Paul, but I think we’re going to have company when we get up there.”
“I know,” Scarlet responded through gritted teeth. “Just stay by me and stay alert.”
“SIG. And Paul...thanks.”
“SIG,” was Scarlet’s only reply.
The area to which the two captains were transported appeared to be the ground floor of an expansive warehouse; the continuum of shadows was interrupted only by misty spotlights beaming down periodically under a second-storey mezzanine, making general visibility challenging. Still, Blue swung his head around both ways, trying to ascertain if anybody else was present, but the only perceivable disturbance was the creaking of the pendant lights as they swung absently in the muggy draught.
Upon completion of the pendulum’s ascent, the rectangular hole beneath them was sealed off by an automated trapdoor. Scarlet readily jumped the two-metre distance down, with Blue following suit a little more cautiously. Landing in a crouched position, Blue accepted the proffered hand from Scarlet and pulled himself to his feet. No sooner had he straightened up, and Scarlet opened his mouth to speak, than he felt a jolt of incredible pain radiate through his back. Overwhelmed, his muscles seized up, leaving him to drop to the floor.
The shock was swiftly repeated, rendering Blue incapacitated for several seconds each time. Still stunned by the assaults, he hardly registered as a needle was advanced into his cephalic vein. Contrary to the few minutes it actually took for him to fall unconscious, nothingness seemed to come immediately–Blue simply would never remember the truth.
Blue’s eyes snapped open. The physical manifestations of alarm bells struck him immediately, a few seconds before his conscious reasoning took over. He tried to remember what had transpired, but he was having difficulty thinking straight; instinct, something in his subconscious mind, told him something was very wrong.
A creaking suddenly sounded from nearby. The noise was subtle, as though someone was trying to creep up unnoticed. Blue thrust himself up onto his elbows with a start, feeling his pulse throbbing in his ears, as a cottony wave of lightheadedness took hold. As the captain’s blood pressure stabilised, he was aware only of eerie silence.
Carefully, Blue got to his feet. All around him was nothing but pitch blackness once again. He was unnerved, almost to the point of paranoia; his eyes were wide and his muscles tense, as he strained to pick up any stray sound.
Almost out of the blue, another set of creaks could be heard. Somebody, or something, was definitely there.
Moving backwards, with one hand behind him, Blue called out. “Who’s there?”
His question was met by silence. The footsteps abated for a moment, before returning, this time closer to him.
“I said: who’s there? Answer me!”
Creak... creak
Blue’s eyes darted back and forth, as he continued to back up. He felt like a cornered animal, a caged specimen in a laboratory. The suspense was unrelenting, retching a dangerous uncertainty that sent his agitation up towards panic. Some vestige of rational thought told him that his adrenaline wouldn’t last in his current state: he needed to find some way to regain control of the situation.
It was at that moment that his hand suddenly made contact with something solid. Suppressing his initial surprise, he felt along it and soon realised he’d reached a table. Surreptitiously, without taking his attention away from the unknown antagonist still approaching, Blue slid along the length of the table, still searching behind him. He was painfully aware that he was unarmed, unwell and trapped; he was prepared to use or do anything to help himself.
Blue stopped when he felt something cold and narrow beneath his hand. A grim smile almost formed at the corners of his mouth: he’d found a blade. Struggling to take in several deep, yet quiet, anticipatory breaths, Blue dragged the knife into his grasp.
He was caught off-guard when an overhead light suddenly came on. Standing a few metres ahead of him was Captain Scarlet. One hand was resting on a light switch, as he cast a puzzled glance across at the highly-strung Blue.
“Captain Blue? Are y–”
“Why didn’t you answer me?” Blue abruptly demanded.
Scarlet’s expression grew even more confused. “What are you talking about? You didn’t say anything.”
Blue shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t,” he hissed. “No more mind games. Just who–no, what–are you?”
Scarlet’s eyebrows furrowed and went up in utter disbelief, his pale cheeks flushing slightly in his shock. He appeared to quickly recompose himself, before he cautiously moved to approach Blue. “Adam–”
Blue reacted in an instant; swinging his hand around from behind his back, he angled the Scottish dirk in preparation to stab his opponent.
“Back up, Scarlet, or I’ll kill you.” Blue advanced forward tentatively, brandishing the blade threateningly in front of him.
Blue knew himself to be dangerous, even when medically ill. Scarlet calmly did as he was told, holding his open hands up by his head, as Blue spoke up again.
“I saw you in parts on that pendulum...then, you were whole again...that green glow...y-you’re a walking corpse!” Blue blurted out, his voice pitching up, as he tightened his sweaty grip on the dirk.
“That was my retrometabolism, Adam,” Scarlet gently explained. “I’m still Paul.”
The look on Scarlet’s face conveyed wariness, but also concern; Blue felt a tremble of hope as he could almost perceive Scarlet’s heart reach out to him.
“Adam, breathe. I’m not going to hurt you. Watch me: take a steady breath in...and out. Breathe in...and out. That’s it, Adam. It’s alright; I’m not going anywhere. Paul Metcalfe isn’t going anywhere.”
Blue’s eyes widened as he saw a shadowy figure coming to loom behind Scarlet. The next moment, a gloved hand reached around and wrapped itself over Scarlet’s mouth, while another promptly slit his throat with a hatchet. Overcome with emotion and revulsion, Blue seemed to only watch as the dirk in his hand was swiftly thrust into the executioner’s neck. The world tipped downwards as the blade was repeatedly cast into the dead man’s chest in a frenzied stabbing attack which left it the consistency of minced meat.
Realising what he had done, Blue backed away in horror. Frantically, he dropped the knife onto the floor and looked down at his blood-soaked forearms, littered with small bits of fleshy tissue and membranous peritoneum. Distracted, he stumbled over an obstruction behind him and fell to the ground. Looking around, he saw he had tripped over Captain Scarlet’s body, sitting crumpled in on itself. The hatchet was buried deep into his brain stem, leaving his head vertically split into two halves. He was confusingly stiff on impact, though his posture echoed waxy flexibility more than rigor mortis, which itself had to be impossible. It was too early for that...
Blue’s eyes gradually began to open. For a long moment, as his senses slowly returned, he thought he must have fallen unconscious from shock; the realisation that he had only been dreaming was a relief, but left him a little uncertain what was fantasy, and what had really happened, up until now. Carefully sitting himself up upon his elbows, Blue assessed his current situation. The make-up of the room he was in was similar to the one with the pendulum, only smaller. The area was reasonably well-lit, and Blue was relieved to see nothing but blank concrete along the high ceiling and floor. In fact, aside from a broad, horizontal mirror built into one wall, the room was nothing but a concrete void.
A few slices of bread and a pitcher of water stood on a wooden tray immediately to the captain’s left. Blue was suspicious, but was also aware that he had to take the chance. He took several tentative sips of the water, before roughly tearing off part of a bread slice. Nibbling to avoid being sick, Blue took a break to down a few more sips of the water. He knew he could probably finish off the entire pitcher slowly, but steadily, but he consciously reminded himself to save some for Captain Scarlet.
Scarlet.
Blue vaguely recalled witnessing a struggle shortly before he fell unconscious, but he hadn’t actually seen what had become of his friend. The fact that he was not present concerned Blue. He just hoped he was alright, wherever he was. Finishing his handful of bread, Blue slowly got to his feet and took a closer look around the seemingly-exitless room; he supposed that it was the roof that opened, as in the pendulum room. However, there was no chance of finding out at the present. Having made his deductions, Blue turned towards the mirror.
It was a strange place to find a mirror. As Blue studied it more carefully, it suddenly became transparent, as the room behind it was lit up. Blue regarded the scene before him with both horror and grim fascination: the area resembled an electrical room, lined with switchgear, transformers and a battery. The majority of the floor, like the walls and ceiling, was coated in thick rubber matting. A narrow window ran along the ceiling line of the back wall, where the bleak darkness of a night storm remained unheard by Blue, making him realise that the room he was in was soundproofed.
In the centre of the room, a large steel frame supported an analogue clock face, tilted backwards at a slightly-oblique angle. Structured as a wooden annulus, its alien numerals surrounded a concentric opening which showcased the internal mechanism: hidden partially behind a magnetic pendulum and gear train was a clear case housing a circuit board and maser. A network of rainbow wires projected chaotically out of the case, each winding up coiled around a series of small, metallic cylinders situated behind the forced path of the pendulum bob.
Laid out upon the two-metre minute hand was Captain Scarlet; he was restricted, with steel wires and cables securing him against the timepiece structure. Even several feet away behind the darkened glass, Blue could see the evidence of Scarlet’s struggles to free himself: long lacerations, weeping with sanguineous fluid, were visible beneath the steel tautly spooled around his wrists, neck and knees, where the thin wire had efficiently sliced into the dermis. Gagged, the viewable corner of his lips was gaping, torn apart from the shearing and tensile forces exerted by the cable in his mouth. Able to peripherally see Blue staring at him through the glass, Scarlet appeared to try and speak, discernibly ripping the flesh further apart. Knowing that Scarlet couldn’t hear him, Blue hastily placed a finger to his own lips, before gesturing for Scarlet to calm down.
His concern for Scarlet manifested into his professional instinct towards a duty of care, giving him an advantage to retain a relatively-cool head. Blue quickly reassessed the situation before him, tracing back several electrical cables from the clock. Two of the cables went from the switchgear to the clear case, while the third, which led to the clock face, originated directly from a step-down transformer; Blue frowned when he saw that this cable ended wrapped around Scarlet’s right ankle, stripped back to its copper conductors.
A tingle of foreboding crept up Blue’s spine, as his gaze drifted up; another insulated cable was supported up near the twelve-hour mark. At its termination, the cable was twisted into a copper hook that, once the minute hand was in position, would create a closed circuit–running directly through Captain Scarlet.
Blue instinctively jerked his head around to find a weapon, but found his options severely lacking. Undeterred, he moved back over to the abandoned food and grabbed the tray. Adjusting his stance to utilise his full body mass, Blue rammed a corner against the glass. A series of spidery cracks appeared, but the overall surface remained intact.
Blue’s frustration grew as he threw more power into the next thrust. This time, the wood splintered under impact, as the glass further fractured into a web-like mosaic; still, it did not give way.
The percussion and cracking of the tray meeting concrete chimed with the hoarse roar of fury that bounced within the room. He knew the composition of a two-way mirror rendered it more susceptible to breakage, but his mistreatment had left his strength to ebb away. He was furious at his helplessness, but time was running out. He had to remain calm. He had to be strategic.
Blue extracted his left arm out from its union-suit sleeve, before tearing the fabric apart at the seam of the inset armhole. Doing the same to the other side, Blue quickly wound a sleeve around each of his hands. Recovering a fragment of the tray, Blue lunged it against the weakened glass until it disintegrated; it was not in vain, however, as the mirror had finally been penetrated.
Wasting no time in celebration, Blue tossed the wooden fragment aside and carefully used his hands to pry out shards to create a hole large enough for him to get through.
Bright red seeped out from under the light material, as Blue hurried to Scarlet’s side. Scarlet was drained of colour, shivering heavily from the coating of water that covered him from head to toe. Blue’s heart skipped a beat when he saw that he couldn’t simply unwind the stripped cable from Scarlet’s ankle: the rubber matting had been torn up where he would need to stand, and he would be electrocuted himself if he dared try. If he wanted to save Scarlet’s life, he would need to free him first.
Streaks of lightning, now accompanied by the audible rumble of thunder, flashed outside the narrow window. Ten minutes had passed since Blue had become aware of Scarlet’s predicament; it was now five minutes to twelve. The incessant ticking of the seconds bombarded Blue’s ears, as he desperately worked to uncoil the bloodied wire from around Scarlet’s knees.
A whole minute passed as Blue finished; dragging a step ladder across, Blue began to work on the steel wire securing Scarlet’s neck to the clock hand. Scarlet’s breathing was laboured, as he struggled to contain himself, clearly as frantic as Blue felt.
With another grinding click, the minute hand ratcheted upwards: two minutes left.
Sweat dripped down Blue’s forehead, stinging his eyes and blurring his sight. Blue did his utmost to keep his eyes open and maintain his tentative position on the ladder, as he untwisted the last of the thin wires away from Scarlet’s neck.
Now there was only the cable holding his head; one minute left.
Scarlet was almost vertical as Blue shakily located the clamp that held the stainless-steel cable taut under the arm of the timepiece. Below them, the swinging pendulum cranked the escape wheel continuously forwards, completing twenty-two and one-half periods; fifteen seconds left.
Scarlet let out a gasp as the cable was released from his mouth. Allowing the cable to drop limply to the floor, Blue quickly gathered his arms around Scarlet and pulled him from the minute hand. Off-balance, Blue lost his footing and fell from the ladder with Scarlet.
The men landed in a heap on the insulated matting. They had made it to firm ground. The danger was over; Blue could scarcely believe it.
Blue checked Scarlet over as he unwound the copper from his ankle and helped him to his feet: his friend was cold, hurt and still bound, but he was alive. For that alone, Blue was thankful.
“Are you alright?” Blue asked, letting out a sigh of relief. A quick glance back at Scarlet’s injuries caused him to hastily add, “don’t answer that.”
Scarlet nodded his head slightly in response. Bringing his tied hands up, he gingerly rotated his arms to clasp Blue’s shoulder in silent thanks, before stepping back with a frown on his face, his hands still resting against Blue’s shoulder.
Blue smiled slightly when he recognised the probing look in Scarlet’s eyes. “I’m fine, Paul,” he answered reassuringly.
Scarlet gave another curt nod, the frown still present on his face. Scarlet twisted his head around to gesture towards the whole room, as Blue gently unwrapped his hands, before looking back at Blue with a slightly-raised brow.
Blue nodded his understanding. “You’re right: we’d better take a good look around.” Dropping his voice to a murmur, he added, “and find a way out of this hell, once and for all...”
‘Butterfly Blue’/‘Crystal Blue’
Adam laid back on the grass, his eyes closed. He listened to the sound of birds singing and children laughing; they seemed to be so distant, yet he knew they were close by.
A hand brushing his prompted him to open his eyes. Standing before him was Paul. He grinned at Adam beneath a straw boater, which framed his face in a halo that seemed to touch the fluffy clouds in the bright, blue sky above them.
“Come on, Adam, the kids want you to play with them,” Paul admonished him good-naturedly.
“Anything for the next generation, huh?” Adam heard himself reply, as he accepted Paul’s outstretched hand.
Straightening up, Adam spotted Karen Wainwright sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket; Adam waved to her, feeling his heart pound a little harder as she waved back to him with a broad smile on her angelic face. Adam smiled coyly in return, shyly dipping his head forward.
A sudden noisy ruckus to his right caught his attention; Adam turned in time to see a mass of children come charging toward him. They knocked him over, shrieking as they tugged his arms in the directions they each wished him to go.
Above him, he saw Paul chuckling. “Okay, kids! Give your dad some breathing room. Now why don’t you all have a drink and then we can work out something you’d all like to do with him.”
As the children began running away, Paul called out, “And make sure you wash your hands before eating anything!”
Seeing that the children didn’t hear him, Paul rolled his eyes and smiled at Adam, before taking off in pursuit. Adam smiled after them, before becoming aware that one of the kids was still standing beside him. The boy was younger than the rest, with raven-black hair and azure irises between a thick set of lashes.
“Daddy, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay,” he announced in a small voice that all at once carried a precociousness and a lack of true comprehension.
“Why? Where am I going?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want you to go. Please, Daddy.” The boy’s eyes were brimming with tears now.
Adam looked down, wringing his hands in an apprehension that he could not understand. After a pause, he addressed the child with another question.
“You keep calling me ‘daddy’...Look, this will sound silly, but I want you to tell me your names–all of them.”
“But, Daddy...”
“Humour me.”
The boy let out a small sigh. “Michael Metcalfe Svenson.”
Adam let out a resigned sigh of his own, before looking back across at the child with a smile that hid his sadness.
“I can’t make you promises about the future, but no matter what, you’ll always be in my heart. Always, somehow.”
Getting to his feet, Adam placed his hand down for the boy to take. “Come on, let’s go join the others.”
Rubbing his sleeve against his nose with a sniffle, the boy took his father’s hand, as the two began walking toward the picnic, set against the backdrop of a now-setting sun...
The late-afternoon sun of yet-another new July beamed down upon a grassy landscape, its rays almost blinding as it bounced off the paler granite formations protruding from the peat below. Bordered by a sea of bracken, a quad-toned wheatear stood erect on a small boulder, bowing to preen his breast plumage. The soft chirrups of meadow pipits in the background contrasted with the chinking call of a stonechat, as a small heath fluttered by close to the grass, unseen by the wheatear. Further away, a small herd of moorland ponies could be seen grazing near a high stone wall; the wall extended around as a closed perimeter, with the only window to the inside–and, conversely, the outside world–available through the chained, wrought-iron gate. Beyond, the rugged beauty of the moor shifted into a cottage-garden oasis.
Floral blooms, in all the colours of the rainbow, filled the secret garden, contrasting against the lush greenery of the surrounding shrubbery; from pale-blue salvias, to scarlet field poppies and deeply-toned dahlias, the variation in shades seemed nigh endless. Besides the aesthetic appeal, the assortment of midsummer flowers–lupins, larkspur, catmint, cranebills, digitalis, coneflowers, irises, phloxes, bergamots, cornflowers, scabiosas, yarrow and sea holly–provided another integral habitat for a myriad of wildlife. As it was, the cloying fragrance of a native honeysuckle could be discerned in the air, attracting colourful butterflies and moths, gracefully flittering between blossoms, as the sounds of chirping and birdsong blended with the constant hum of bees. An orb weaver, taking advantage of the boom, waited patiently in the middle of her silvery spiral for a meal of her own. By all accounts, it was a beautiful day.
The gentle chaos of the cottage garden transitioned into a clearing of flush, green lawn, where an octagonal gazebo stood. Sunlight glinted off the white structure, echoing the glare cast off of the moorland tors. The clearing itself eventually gave way to a smaller paved area, separated by a border of roses.
Seated at an old-fashioned white table, near the rose border, Captain Blue seemed unaware of his tranquil surroundings. He was smartly dressed, wearing a teal-green skivvy under a freshly-pressed, white lounge suit. A matching straw boater sat atop his head, blocking out the worst of the late-afternoon sun.
Across from him, Paul silently sipped at his tea. He was similarly dressed up, in an independence-blue blazer left open over a white skivvy and slacks. His own boater was tipped back on his dark head, in a peculiar reminiscence of something lost from Blue’s memory. Underneath, his boyish, choppy fringe peeked out, falling short of his eyes.
Paul’s face was unaffected by the turning of time that was showing its mark on Blue’s. It was hard to know exactly how much time had passed since this tale had begun; the seasons had come and gone, and even those witnessed by the men seemed to mean little. Still, the perfect summer day in the moors was not denied its inspiration by forces outside their own.
The draped table between the two men held the contents of a traditional afternoon tea. A three-tiered stand of rose-quartz glass rose up like a fountain, holding an assortment of savouries and sweets: cucumber cream cheese and egg salad finger sandwiches gave way to pillowy scones, with the top tier filled with brink-pink slices of Tottenham cake. To one side of the centrepiece stand, a twin silver server of strawberry jam and clotted cream rested near a small plate of napkins, whose edges fluttered in the warm wind, threatening to lift off in a glorious aerial display. To the other side, a silver creamer and sugar bowl bordered pots of polished silver, holding eponymous brews of Earl Grey and chamomile tea.
Blue’s gaze fell upon the table knife lying next to his plate. Paul caught the direction of Blue’s attention, and laid out a warning hand over Blue’s.
“Now, Adam, don’t think of doing a fool thing like that. You know they don’t like it when we misbehave, and I didn’t really like hearing your screams after they caught you the last time.”
Blue didn’t respond, his gaze still locked fixatedly on the knife. He followed after it as Paul pointedly picked it up and began using it to separate a scone. Blue lifted up his gaze to glare furiously at Paul, but his frustration didn’t go beyond the moment. The futility of such a reaction was loud and clear by now, and if the glimmer of hope was over, it wasn’t worth caring about.
Pretty much like everything now.
“Do you want jam and cream with this, Adam?” Paul asked, unmoved by Blue’s disenchantment.
Blue stayed silent, staring off blankly into the distance once more. Paul carried on, regardless, dolloping helpings of both preserves onto the scone halves with their allocated teaspoons, before spreading them out with the knife.
“Here you go. Would you like a cup of tea to go with it?”
The youthful brightness of Paul’s upper voice filtered a sweetness into the surrounding natural paradise that was at odds with his soulless eyes of blue.
“I think I’ll join you in another cup,” Paul continued, as he poured steaming fluid from one of the teapots. “You like it with only one teaspoon of sugar, right?”
The coma of doldrums that seemed to envelop Blue remained unbroken. Paul continued to carry on a one-sided conversation with his compatriot, like a young child having a make-believe tea party with their stuffed toys and imaginary friends.
Paul Metcalfe replaced the sugar tongs and stirred the two cups of tea, finally falling quiet. When he eventually spoke up again, his voice held a modicum of Captain Scarlet’s depth.
“Come now, Adam. This isn’t such a bad day. It’s almost lovely.”
“It’s lonely.”
“You have me.”
“You’re as much a robot as anybody here,” Blue said, his rarely-voiced words low and husky with monotony. “An echo, nothing more.”
Scarlet’s eyes glowed green. As his irises faded back into clear azure, his expression showed no trace of offence, concern or much of anything at all. He remained silent, as he lifted himself out of his seat and approached Blue. Then, softly, he began to hum.
Still humming, Scarlet seated himself across Blue’s lap and let his head come to rest against his friend. The fingers of one hand intertwined with Blue’s, as the other tapped out notes against his shoulder.
Closing his eyes, Blue focused on the melody; like a soothing breeze, images of musical notes began to flow through his mind, as he intuitively picked up the sequence of ‘Elegischer Gesang’. Some of the notes twirled, dancing together with the joy of camaraderie, as the slow rhythm extolled the legacy of a life, love and passion lost.
The sensation of another warm body beginning to close him in a loose embrace sent a cry of forsaken grief and yearning quaking through his whole being. His heart pounded, his mind already aching longingly in anticipation: they would soon be arriving. Still, in this precious moment of borrowed time, Adam Svenson allowed himself to dream of a day that brought peace and freedom–with his body in the earth and his spirit reunited with the dear friend he had lost so long ago.
This story was spawned from an extract I wrote after having recently read about the details of the Black Dahlia case. I was rattled, but I morbidly wondered if Scarlet could survive being dismembered, but without intervention (as happened in Shadow Whispers). I decided to expand the extract, and see where it went. The primary inspiration for the story is The Pit and the Pendulum, following on from the content of the extract.
The first day is on summer solstice (June 20 2072) in Devon, UK. Sunset, and the ends of civil and nautical twilight are at 2131, 2216 and 2324, respectively (based on the June 21, 2022 summer solstice).
The various sections are titled after the common names of specific flowering plants, which include variations of ‘blue’ (whether the flowers are truly blue, or not). All these flowering plants are also mentioned in-story (in the pavilion garden).
So-called ‘atomic’ clocks do come in analogue form, and there are quartz-adjusted pendulum clocks. I just haven't heard of atomic pendulum clocks, specifically, but it's definitely possible in theory (I just don't know how practical it would be).
The sections ‘Blue Armor’ and ‘Butterfly Blue’/‘Crystal Blue’ are both dream sequences of Blue’s, while the rest is happening in reality. ‘Blue Ice’ is set many years after the rest of the story, and it is not set in Dartmoor, despite the cues. Its setting is up to the reader to wonder. For my own reasoning, I am not prepared to have any of the existing moorland urbanised, even in fiction.
The trihybrid Michael Svenson comes from another storyline – and a parallel universe – the result of an illegal genetic experiment. How this universe’s Blue has knowledge of him, I do not know. Perhaps it’s down to the Mysterons, taunting him in his dream with the alternate future he’ll never get to have.