The Ant Returns – Chapter VIII (753 hits)
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Rating: 1.67 on 18 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-02-08 12:34:12 EST
(Prologue - http://www.ubersite.com/m/57985)
(Chapter I - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58042)
(Chapter II - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58125)
(Chapter III - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58205)
(Chapter IV - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58437)
(Chapter V - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58529)
(Chapter VI - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58649)
(Chapter VII - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58931)
==Chapter - VIII - Le Comte==
Pfaltzer's eye was bothering him again, the eye that wasn't there.
Thanks to Rob, his damnable number thirteen, he only had one eye now. And although he was perfectly aware he was well into old age, he still took what appeared to be the beginning stages of glaucoma in his remaining eye as a personal insult.
Thanks to Rob, he did not rule the world, not even a small part of it. He wasn't so delusional as to think that he could have held the entire planet within his grasp, but he did think he deserved to be ruling over a small empire of his own, the Americas, perhaps, or Australia.
And thanks to Rob, he was stuck in the distant past.
If Rob had only joined him years ago, when he had invited the young man to join his 'children,' the small band of genetic mutations created by the gene therapy he and Schroedecker concocted to cure diabetes, Pfaltzer would not be here now, trapped by his own hubris in a time so primitive to a man of his advanced knowledge and technical requirements that homo sapiens may as well still be playing with fire and eradicating the last of the Neanderthals.
He understood phantom pain, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. He knew his left eye socket was empty, merely a withered hollow of puckered flesh, but it felt as though his eye were intact, the retina awash not with vitreous fluid but with some acidic, burning compound that shattered his concentration and gave him spectacular migraines.
If he wanted the relief that came from his accustomed large doses of acetaminophen, he would have to make the compound himself, since he had arrived in France one hundred and seventy years before the drug would be developed.
That his arrival in this time and place had surely been spectacular enough to warrant a written record somewhere irked Pfaltzer to the highest degree.
*
It had begun as a simple test of the ability to assert greater control over the gravitational vortex that made time-travel possible.
Many years ago, when they were still comrades, he and Wolfgang had discovered that occasional instabilities interfered with the hardware in numerous experiments with the vortex. He and Schroedecker had gone their separate ways long ago, but each knew how to create a prototype of their various time-travelling devices should they ever want to iron out any further flaws in the mechanism.
It was this prototype, a sphere of lightweight, impenetrable and nearly translucent metal alloy that carried Pfaltzer back to Revolutionary France, along with Angela and Rudolph.
These second-generation mutants, created by Pfaltzer via Petri-dish fertilization and engineered for rapid maturity, had grown up hearing stories of Rob at the knee of the man they called Gramps. They had nearly completed the training he was driving them through every day, learning skills that would allow them to survive and triumph in any assault launched at Rob, an assault that would already have happened had Pfaltzer not become marooned in the past.
Ernst wished he had been inspired enough to think of coming back in time to remove the Collison line from the human equation before ever setting out, but his plot was born of sheer desperation. He had come back first, and planned the destruction of Rob's family afterwards.
Even though he had not yet guided Henri directly to the guillotine from behind the scenes, the simple fact of his being here and having set Henri on the road to his execution was evidence that in time, he had already done so, and the result of his actions would be the appearance of Rob himself, using one of soft-hearted Schroedecker's time-traveling devices.
It was a huge gamble, but as the Americans liked to say, it was the only game in town, and it had paid off.
The price one pays for being a braggart. Angela and Rudolph had not believed Pfaltzer when he had told them that he could master time.
At his Brazilian estate, he had led the children into a laboratory, and had shown them the sphere. They had taunted him. He had enclosed them in the sphere. He had spouted some foolishness concerning the possibility of glimpsing genuine dinosaurs, and when they laughed more, they had set off.
Something had gone wrong. According to the chronometer it seemed the further back in time they traveled, the more corrupt the sphere became, its structure showing signs of near-impossible degradation.
Pfaltzer was losing control of every major system, from the containment of the gravitational vortex to consistency in the geosynchronization units which were essential to keep the sphere in the same place, if not the same time, lest he end up under the sea, or frozen under the Greenland ice cap.
He had reversed his course on time's river and almost made it home, having to slip out of the timestream on the morning of June 12th, 1790. To go one day further ahead in time would have destroyed the sphere that instant.
Pfaltzer would later learn that he had arrived in Alençon, about one hundred miles southwest of Paris.
All he knew when he opened the door to the sphere and breathed fresh air instead of the foul stench of melting electronic components was that it was early morning, and the sphere had settled on a hillside.
Pfaltzer quickly ushered the children out, telling them to hide in the nearby woods and wait for him while he salvaged what he could from the sphere. He had watched Angela and Rudolph dash for cover, and then he had resealed the sphere and tried to manipulate the vortex again, incorrectly assuming that perhaps it would deal better with one body inside than three.
The sphere had reacted violently. Monitors displaying a view of the area just outside the sphere carried pictures of bushes and grasses bursting into flame as the device vibrated madly.
White flakes were falling by the cameras like snow, and Pfaltzer was horrified to realize that these were actual fragments of the sphere itself being shed like dead skin cells.
Worst of all, a small group of villagers was just arriving at the crest of the hill to investigate this otherworldly artifact.
Pfaltzer had tried everything he could during a few frantic hours.
More curious Frenchmen arrived.
The inside of the sphere had grown oppressively hot. Pfaltzer had stripped down to the light coveralls he normally wore in the laboratory, realizing he was trapped two hundred years in the past. He would have to run, and he would have to scatter the villagers.
There was an emergency hatch mounted on explosive bolts. He had blown the hatch and run for the woods as most of the villagers took to their heels.
A few men and women blocked his way, gaping like bovines under the hammer. He yelled at them, unaware in his rage and fear that he had spoken in the language he had become accustomed to speaking over the last few decades, modern English.
He had dashed into the woods as the villagers marveled over his strange vestments and stranger words, and then he was forgotten as a series of self-destruct mechanisms destroyed any remaining essential components. Smoke drifted out of the hatch in a mushroom shape.
Within minutes the sphere quickly disintegrated to such a degree that little was left of the craft but metallic and plastic powder.
He and the children had spent the day hiding in the woods.
That night they entered Alençon, and stole some contemporary clothing and three horses from the biggest house they could find.
An old man came into the stable as they were gathering the animals, and Rudolph turned on him and used a technique he and Pfaltzer had developed. The boy's fists were a blur as they hammered against the Frenchman's chest, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to induce ventricular tachycardia. The older man dropped dead a moment later, and they went on their way.
Two nights later they arrived in Paris.
Angela and Rudolph had experienced little trouble procuring food and a few gold coins along the road.
Pfaltzer was glad he had spent every childhood summer at his tante Hilde's estate outside Freiburg near the border between Germany and France. He could speak perfect French; his only accent a regional one identifying him as a native of the northwest.
As a matter of personal interest he had studied everything he could discover about Rob years ago, when he first began trying to convince the young man to join his cause. He had learned then that the Collisons had originated in France, dismissing the knowledge as trivia. Now that trivia was going to save his life.
After making inquiries about the Collisons of this era, Pfaltzer decided would go to Pont Chandon, where he could easily pose as a German noble, and he would have a better chance of not being considered an Austrian, or a Prussian, his greatest fear. Thanks to the Queen, Austrians were not the most favored visitors in France at the moment.
Years before Rob arrived Pfaltzer decided he would go to Pont Chandon, uproot the Collisons from history, and wait for his old friend Wolf to send Rob back to set things right. Then he would acquire transportation back to his own time and place, and if only one traveler were able to make the journey, he would sacrifice Angela and Rudolph to be that one.
After arriving in Paris he had arrangements to make. He needed a tailor to make him fine clothes, and an artist to give him an identity, making him a Count, perhaps, through a fine work of forgery. To do this, he needed money. He had a good idea how to acquire it.
He would go to the Academy of Sciences. He knew from his considerable knowledge of European history that at this time a committee of scientists were working to finalize the standards for the metric system at the request of King Louis. The King wanted the entire country to adopt this much more logical system of weights and measures, and he was growing a little frustrated with the delays from the Committee.
Pfaltzer would offer his services to the members of the Academy, providing, of course, that some of the more well-to-do members were wiling to sponsor his work.
It would only be a matter of time, he had thought then, fully aware of the ironies winding through the old phrase, before his plan bore fruit.
Now, years after his arrival in Alençon the fruit was on the vine. Pfaltzer hoped to pluck it while it was ripe, and before it began to rot.
User Reviews
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-03 11:54:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Supreme Overlord damage control...
Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:24:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shite
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-02-16 15:34:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-16 04:15:51 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
yawn.
Submitted by tlozoot (user info) at 2005-02-11 20:41:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I believe I missed reviewing this.
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-02-08 19:22:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
World record cumshot?
Yeah, that'd probably work....
Probably more so if it was a woman as well...
(Hey, they tell me it's possible..)
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-08 18:06:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Maybe you'd get a few more hits if you included some photos of some of the UberGirls dressed (..or undressed, as the case may be..) as characters from your tale........
--
Maybe I should title the next chapter 'The Ultimate Cumshot - World-Record for Distance Caught on Video!!!!!'
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-08 18:04:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks, man. Make me think of a pint while stuck at my desk...
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-02-08 17:50:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
...and yet again.......
Hey, are you still on some kind of Uber-ignore list?
A monumental story by the UberLord, and only 62 hits?
What's with that?
Maybe you'd get a few more hits if you included some photos of some of the UberGirls dressed (..or undressed, as the case may be..) as characters from your tale........
Submitted by Remission (user info) at 2005-02-08 17:16:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This beamish Irish stout is for you good man!
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-02-08 16:19:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-02-08 15:00:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Indubitably exquisite, Mr. Jack!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-02-08 14:54:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
love it
Submitted by EatMeCompletely (user info) at 2005-02-08 14:32:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
God-damnit I hate waiting for the next installemnt of things. I waited for you to finish the first part of the series before reading it. Then, you go and start another on and I have to wait around for the next installment.
Curse you and your literary prowess.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-02-08 13:52:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-08 13:15:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ess-arr (user info) at 2005-02-08 12:57:05 (#)
Ranking: 2
More curious Frenchmen arrived.
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Noooooooooooooooooo we already have Caulaincourt...
anyways good as usual
--
There's a difference between 'I say, how terribly inquisitive,' and 'I say, how utterly queer.'
Submitted by ess-arr (user info) at 2005-02-08 12:57:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
More curious Frenchmen arrived.
-----------
Noooooooooooooooooo we already have Caulaincourt...
anyways good as usual
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-02-08 12:45:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment