The Fifth Codex (6 page)

“
Mne hvatit!
” he shouts with a hand thrown into the air.  As for me getting the last word – maybe not.  That I do not understand Korzhak’s response does not surprise me.  That he appears to understand my outburst shocks every sense.

A Russian picking up random cables around us laughs madly as he does so.  “Ha, ha – ‘Old Man’ – ha, ha, he tells you, how do you say – ‘I have enough’!”  This one continuing to laugh, our dirty looks finally shut the stray Russian up and he wanders off.

“
Comment se fait-il qu’une telle brute peut parler Français?
[7]
” I ask breathlessly more to myself than anyone else.  “It is much too beautiful a language for so stubborn a mind to learn!”

“
Russians
,” Alistair chortles with a wink to Alfred.  No matter how often or to whom I ask this again, Dr. Ravensdale’s answer will most likely be the best one I ever hear.

Within moments, Admiral Vanderbilt slides into me with a sweeping hug.  More than once, he kisses me on my forehead and left cheek.  “Nothing but minor flesh wounds, and here I thought something might be broken!”  These joking words spoken, his quivering lip and red, puffy eyes tell me what he really wishes for my ears to hear.  Of course, my heart already knows.  More hugs only make this more obvious.

“The codex is already inside y’all!” Saddlebirch calls out.  Quite a ways away, he stands about halfway between the entrance to the green dome and us.  Aside from Antarctica, there are few places on this planet where a clear voice could carry so far.  The question on the tip of my tongue answered brings a weak smile to my throbbing face.  This pained grin as if an invitation, the three men lift me to my feet.

As we gingerly walk in the direction of the green dome, I catch a curious sight out of the corner of my eye.  I stop and glance back toward the drill.  The others, more carrying me than not, stop and look back too.

Dr. Korzhak stands at the drill’s base.  His hands folded, he just stares at it.  Next, he puts his hands on his head.  After a few moments, he then starts to make hand gestures as if he and the drill now engage each other in conversation.  Whether thanking the drill, saying goodbye to it, or something else, this appears to be a sad moment.  As I believe it as such, I genuinely pity him.  For the man who has just saved my life; despite his previous insults, this is the least I can do.

A yellow snowmobile with a raised sled behind it pulls up alongside my limping self, Admiral Vanderbilt, Dr. Ravensdale, and Dr. Leitz.  Saddlebirch having already made his way inside the green dome, Victor Korzhak still chats with his beloved drill to our south.  After the driver drops us off after a quick ride, I hobble toward him.

“Dr. Korzhak – he is a very important part of our group.”  I point over the driver’s shoulder and in the direction of the towering drill.  “If you can, please give him a ride back as well.”

The driver nods.  He then turns his snowmobile around and heads south toward the drill.  The fifth codex safely inside, we enter the green dome.  As I lean left, Admiral Vanderbilt firmly tugs me to the right.

“What – where – I am going to my barracks,” I protest in vain.  “I need to get out of this ragged suit and into the CIC!”

More than anything, I want to get the gems out of my pockets and into vaults.  Especially the newly found one.

“Infirmary,” the Admiral commands with an endearing coldness.  He turns his eyes to the others.  “Alistar, Alfred – grab some chow and then head to the CIC.  Alexys
Élisabeth
will be there in about an hour.”  He then turns back to me.  “We have to clean it up anyway, get it ready for you. 
Please
, just do as I ask.”

With a heavy sigh, I give in.  As would a teenage girl being dragged by the principal into a washroom to clean off her harlot-inspired makeup, I mope alongside him.

“W-w-we meet a-again,” I stutter as the doctor walks in.  So stunned by the sight of this face, I cannot even fake a smile.  My favorite witty hobo breakfast grinch smirks back at me and sets about collecting a few instruments scattered about the exam room.

“I know you are eager join the others,” Dr. Kirwood (from her nametag) tells me.  “I will be quick.”

After some pokes here and there, she is kind enough to hand me a first aid kit to fix my cuts and scratches.  She does not offer to help nor do I ask for it.  As she pokes and prods, Dr. Kirwood appears much more interested in my head than she is anything else.

“Your hazel-colored contacts are pretty, but the shades are off,” she remarks while shining a light into them.  “One is darker than the other.”

“Are they?” I lie with a goofy giggle, as if I have no idea.

As a doctor myself, I am quite certain she will demand that I remove the contacts.  As to what my next words and actions will be once she asks this, a couple of ideas drift into hazy focus.

“
Normally,
I would have a patient remove her contacts.  But as you are quite the celebrity heroine all of a sudden, we both know you are far from normal, don’t we?”

More witty charm; a clearer head would have hurriedly mocked back.  Considering her next words, however, I am almost thankful for the fuzzy mind.

“So in celebration of your shiny new status, I will try to grade your concussion with them still in.”  After a couple more minutes to look me over as I grimace throughout, she finally steps back.

“I do not have a concussion.  I had a helmet, it was just a couple of ––”

“Grade I,” Dr. Kirwood interrupts.  “Your helmet split into three,
Madame
Rothschild.  You are very lucky it is not much worse.”

I groan knowing what this might mean.  Her sigh nearly matches my groan.  Those beady, piercing eyes, however, are very different from my rolled ones.

“Well,” she says in the midst of a deep breath, “I
suppose
what Admiral Vanderbilt does not know won’t kill him.”

Dr. Kirwood dumps into my hand a few medications I already have plenty of and sends me on my way.  Out of the infirmary quicker than I had initially feared, a great sense of relief sweeps over me.  Starting to feel the effects of my concussion, I carefully walk back to my barracks.

Once inside, I take a double dose of pills Dr. Kirwood had given me and hurriedly rip off my suit.  After a star-crossed stare, I place the newfound twin gem in a portable vault, remove my contacts, throw on some clothes, and pocket the gem I brought to Antarctica.  Ready to step out, I snag another pair of darkened sunglasses, push them onto my somewhat dizzy head, and make for the CIC.  The time now a little past 1530 hours, once the door opens, I barge through.

“Where is it, where’s the codex?” I growl as if a rabid animal in search of its next victim – there it is!  And even better, two of my men, retired Navy SEALs sporting active duty stares, stand guard on each side of it.  The Admiral and three of the four scientists present (Korzhak is not among them); I caress the striking cover with twitching, eager fingers.  “
It’s here
,” I gush more than once.

Five massive rings of a rectangular shape with rounded corners bind the Sapien Codex together.  The other codices contain about 200 thin copper plates each; this one enormous – it looks to have easily three, maybe even four times as many!  Now outside the vault and in decent light, the codex appears even taller than when I had first seen it.  For many moments, I simply stand and stare at our glorious find.  In good company, the others stare with me.  Its cover almost identical to the covering atop each of the four codices I already possess, only the slightly larger Sapien engraving at the top of this codex’s raised circle is different.

And those all too familiar differently colored eyes, of course.

Dutifully waiting until I approach them, the two Navy SEALs and I share warm embraces.  My eyes then fix again upon the rescued codex as they resume guarding it.  The medicine for my concussion finally kicks in and my mind begins to clear.

“I can almost read your thoughts,” I tease.  I point to the mix of elegant script and handsome hieroglyphs that run around the upper half of the raised circle of gold.  “Would you like to know what it says?”

“You can already translate the texts?” Dr. Saddlebirch asks in shock.

“Yes and no – I have my ways,” I answer slyly as I both shake and nod my head.  “You will soon see how, but of what I can decipher is very limited.”

As a confused look seeps into the cowboy’s face, Alistair and Alfred eagerly nod their heads.  Admiral Vanderbilt simply smiles as he strolls passed us and toward the panel controlling the door.

“Wait!  Wait!  I want to see it too!” Dr. Korzhak yelps as he barrels into the CIC.  More excited than I have yet to see him – actually more than I ever thought possible – he smiles brightly as he squeezes himself into our beholden half-circle.  He too takes a good many moments to touch and admire the codex.

As if by some miracle, this happy soul has replaced the grumpy old man!

“It says,” I begin once the Admiral joins us, “‘I am the Sapien historical codex.  Inside my golden cover and scribed upon my copper plates, I tell the story of Sapiens and our beloved homeland.  The oldest of five, I am the first sister to four siblings – another sister and three brothers.  A wise mind and our kin at your side … unlock my secrets.’”

A different version of ‘
Wow …
’ escapes four mouths as I step back.  Dr. Saddlebirch, however, appears to be more deep in thought than awed.

“
Wow
, indeed” I gasp back.  “As for how I know the meaning of these symbols, it is only because most of the same is repeated on the other four codices.  Once past the cover, I am lost.”

Dr. Ravensdale points directly at the Sapien engraving.  “The gems for eyes – one blue, one orange – did every one of these ancients have this heterochromia?”

“Or a single infamous one,” I say cryptically with darting eyes.

“Either way, we have found it, my friends,” Dr. Leitz proclaims.  “The fifth and final codex now ours, we stand on the precipice of unknown history.  It is quite possible once we unlock its secrets – as it pleads with us to do – that what it reveals will rewrite nearly every historical text ever written.  And if so, may redefine how we came to be and who we truly are.  Even more, could what these codices reveal offer a glimpse as to where we might go next?”

I let a long pause pass.  As if they slowly realize I will taunt them even more than did Alfred, each turns in my direction one by one.  A devilish smile to match my playful eyes foreshadows a question I know they greatly wish for me to ask.

“As for the kin it speaks of, would you like to meet them?”  Begging by way of bobbing heads, pleas through wide, wondrous eyes, and groveling twitchy fingers – “Oh goodness, look at the time!”  It is 1545.  “And just before I die of hunger too.  Afternoon tea is on its way!”

A near riot ready to erupt within seconds of me saying this, Admiral Vanderbilt swiftly squelches it.  “The other codices are on their way too,” he announces in a commanding tone.  “Into the conference room if you wish to make their acquaintance!”

Opened by Alistair from the inside, café trolleys pass through the doors, into the CIC, and toward the conference room.  The six of us gather behind to follow them in.

“Quaint sandwiches, tea, biscuits – oh, and look: choco milk and cookies for the Americans!”

Aside from Dr. Saddlebirch, everyone laughs politely at my tease.  The other scientists near soar into the conference room on the wings of glory-riddled joy.  Saddlebirch, on the other hand, does not appear to take much delight in our discovery.  As I watch him mope into the large rectangular room with short, suspicious steps, delight seems to be the last thing on his mind.

Dr. Korzhak and Dr. Leitz have completed their duties for the most part.  I fully expect a successful translation of the codices to lead to many questions of just how such a world could come to be.  For answers only he can give us, we will lean heavily on Dr. Ravensdale’s insight.  Admiral Vanderbilt’s task as our leader is to keep us all on the same page.  And then there is the wildcard in this gathered brilliance: Chance Saddlebirch.  More than any of the others, I now need our gifted cowboy most.  Somehow, someway, I have to find a way to bring Saddlebirch to my side.  I reach into my pocket and repeatedly rub my blood red gem.

Perhaps this soothing motion will tell me how to do so.

The far end of the CIC branches off into two separate rooms.  The conference room opens to the right and a mostly empty space, nearly as large, is to the left.  The two Navy SEALs still standing watch over the Sapien Codex; another four of my men are now on their way with the other four codices.  While one SAS soldier works to set up my equipment in the near empty room, a French Legionnaire – the youngest of the eight – helps me in the conference area.  As for my readied presentation upon finding the fifth codex many years in the making, the time I need to give it will be short.  After a few minutes of setup, the Legionnaire helping me departs.

A four meter long richly colored wood table with a reflective surface dominates the well-lit conference room.  This table easily spans two meters across.  Strewn out atop it sits digital tablets and other gadgets.  High backed leather chairs, six of them in total, await our bottoms.  Five will receive them.  Admiral Vanderbilt sits at the short end of the table closest to the door; I stand just behind him.  To his left sits Dr. Korzhak and Dr. Saddlebirch.  To his right, Dr. Ravensdale and Dr. Leitz.  Everyone in place, our hungry bellies tear into an afternoon teatime that cannot end quickly enough.  Teatime finished, those who brought in our afternoon delights whisk the dishes away, and an eerie silence replaces the clattering of cups, dishes, and spoons.

Those seated take turns looking around the room and then at each other.  No one yet to say a word, but all most likely thinking of something worth saying – my men arrive.  Led by Major Sinclair, another SAS soldier and two Legionnaires enter the conference room.  They wear their dashing dress uniforms – the Admiral’s idea – complete with berets and gloves.  And they are not alone.  Each well-dressed man pushes a wheeled vault chest high and parks his alongside one of the four scientists.  Next, the farthest man from me and on each side takes a step toward the vault closest to me.  One soldier stationed on each side of the two closest vaults, all four snap to attention.

“Enter initial access codes!” Major Sinclair orders.

Each soldier removes a single glove and types his access code into a digital keyboard on either end of the two vaults.  From what I can tell, the scientists sit too low to notice the encrypted code displays.  With a whirring sound, pneumatic rush of air, and titanium locks unlocking, the top of each vault opens into two halves.  The two pairs of soldiers then withdraw yet another vault and set these down onto the conference table.  The two smaller vaults shiny and handsome, they are downright ugly in comparison to what each keeps safe.

“Enter secondary access codes!”

These smaller vaults have only a single small keyboard and digital screen.  This second set of codes entered, my four soldiers move on to the vault farthest from me on each side and do the same.  With the utmost precision and professionalism, of course.

“Dr. Rothschild!  Each vault is now ready for your access codes.  Enter them into your tablet when ready.”  Major Sinclair does not
really
have to tell me this, but it is good form to do so, nevertheless.

Once I enter the code for each, one vault after the other emits a series of piercing clicks and clacks.  With a final release of forced out air, the four codices are ready to be unveiled.  Each soldier removes the now open top of these smaller vaults.  As if an impossible dish served on a silver platter in an unbelievable manner … there they are.