Atlantis in Peril (14 page)

A Vivid Dream

R
eocoles was soaring, riding the winds high over Atlantis. Like a powerful hawk, he sailed through the sky, rising on the swells and circling the landscape far below.

Though he didn't have any wings or feathers, he rode the air currents with ease. His outstretched arms carried him wherever he chose. And with no need to walk upon the ground, he had left behind the clumsy metal brace for his leg.

Flying!
he told himself giddily as the winds tousled his gray hair.
I am, for once, moving freely!

And I am also dreaming,
he thought lucidly.
This dream feels so real, so true . . . I am certain it must be another dream sent to me from the gods on high.

Even as he flew into a cloud and out the other side, he smiled.
The last divine dream helped me discover this island called Atlantis—and begin my climb to greatness.
He banked a turn to the right.
What discovery, I wonder, will this new dream bring?

Below him, he saw clearly the City of Great Powers, dominated by the Divine Monk's temple. He saw, too, the market square, the City gates—and his great accomplishment, the Machines District. Despite the layer of sooty haze that for some inexplicable reason hung over that section of the City, he couldn't miss seeing how it bustled with activity and industry.

The true heart of this place,
he thought proudly. How these poor people ever managed to exist before his ship arrived, he could never understand.

The only irksome sight in the City was that dilapidated old bridge that the local folk had decorated with prayer leaves. Why, it didn't even go all the way across the river gorge! Just seeing the bridge annoyed him, since there couldn't be any purpose to having such a rickety, half-finished contraption.

When I'm finished with my more pressing projects,
he reminded himself,
it's high time my men tear that bridge down and build a shiny new iron one in its place.

He chortled, guessing that the Divine Monk might hear some resistance from the locals to this plan. In their ignorance, they seemed to be attached to such old, useless structures.
All I need to do to solve that problem,
he told himself,
is to name the new bridge after His Holiness the Divine Monk.

Banking another turn, he flew southward across the river. Soon he was sailing toward the Great Forest, that mass of unused trees and waterways. On the open land just north of the forest, he saw with pride, was the industrial complex he'd created over the past several years. Pit mines, ditches, and roadways hummed with the business of resource extraction and refining.

Suddenly—the whole scene shifted. The industrial complex expanded, pushing across the forest's rim and deep into the thick mass of trees. As steadily as oil flowing over a body of water, the complex grew swiftly larger. Before long, instead of only a few mines, a network of dozens appeared, complete with new ditches and tailings ponds. The Great Forest, meanwhile, vanished under a maze of roads, dams, and clear-cut slopes, along with the rows of tenement houses to enable more workers to labor for longer periods.

The future!
realized Reocoles.
Thanks to Zeus, I am being shown a glimpse of the future.

Soaring overhead, the master machinist marveled at how completely the forest's resources were being utilized. Why, even from this altitude he could see piles of glittering gemstones that had been mined! And he also took pride in how many of the roads, bridges, construction sites, and refineries he'd already been planning to build—and which could be found on the map labeled Great Forest Plan that graced the building he humbly called his “workshop.”

Yet there was much more going on in this vision of the future than he'd previously imagined. In particular, he could tell that some powerful new energy source was being extracted from the landscape. Though he couldn't tell exactly what it was, he felt certain it was not merely coal, oil, or timber. No . . . this new form of energy, being processed under large domed structures, seemed both immensely powerful and deeply mysterious.

Just one of the many treasures that awaits my discovery,
thought Reocoles. He swooped lower, pleased at how much more of the land was now visible without the nuisance of all those trees.

Then, miraculously, he heard in his mind a voice. The voice, he felt certain, of Zeus himself.

“All this and more awaits you, Reocoles. And with this progress will come all the power you desire—as well as the empire you deserve.

“But lo,” the godly voice intoned, “heed this warning! The future you have seen will come to pass
only
if you work much faster. For change is coming to your world—and you must be ready to seize every opportunity!

“Or else,” the voice concluded, “you and all your works shall perish forever.”

At that, Reocoles woke up. He wiped his face, drenched with perspiration, with his bedsheet. Though dawn was still several hours away, he strapped on his leg brace, dressed himself, and went straight to work.

Triumph

H
itch me, you fools!”

At Reocoles's bellowed command, six of his uniformed aides reached for the bundle of straps connected to a thick rope. After considerable fumbling and tripping over one another, they secured the straps to their leader's waist and chest. Then, in unison, they backed away.

“Finally,” he growled. “Now raise me up there so I can see.”

The men started pulling on the rope, which ran through a pulley atop an observation tower, lifting Reocoles into the air. He scowled impatiently until they set him down on a wooden platform just below the top. There two more uniformed aides unfastened him.

Reocoles limped over to the railing at the platform's edge. He gazed out on his growing industrial complex. Before him stretched the vista he'd seen at the start of his recent dream—although not now, alas, from the height of a soaring hawk. While that dream had come to him over two weeks ago, its memory remained as vivid as ever.

He could see a vast network of open pit mines, ditches, piles of tailings, and buildings that spewed black fumes from their smokestacks. Directly in front of his tower sat a large waste pool that gleamed putrid yellow. Whatever toxic substances bubbled in the pool produced a stench like rotting flesh.

“Beautiful,” he proclaimed.

Viewing the complex, he watched with pride as three huge mining vehicles, each the size of a house, tore at the rocks exposed in the pit mines. These machines, with jawlike scrapers protruding from their fronts, resembled giant, rock-eating beasts that constantly spouted black smoke. One of them worked at the edge of its pit, enlarging the mine by ripping out bushes and scraping away the rich brown soil.

Over the past several years, the mining complex had steadily expanded. Though still confined to the open plain north of the forest edge, the complex included three vast pits and a maze of ditches and dams, all gouged out of the land. To some, the aerial view might have looked like an open wound. But to Reocoles, it looked like a monument to human ingenuity and progress. He smiled at the sight.

Then, recalling the severe warning from Zeus he'd received at the end of his dream, the smile vanished. “As good as this is, it's not nearly enough! We must work faster and harder. We must push deep into the wasteland forest and turn it into what it can be—the hub of a new civilization.
The heart of an empire.
”

As Reocoles scanned the scene below, there was one thing he didn't notice. Though all this activity was happening near the border of the Great Forest, no birds or any other forest creatures came near. Except for one, apparently. The twisted carcass of a young bear cub lay beside the waste pool. Lured there by curiosity on a recent night, it had probably pawed the strange liquid, hoping to find a fish. Then, intrigued by the unusual smell, it must have taken a drink.

A small but plucky river, whose origins were deep in the forest, flowed out of the woods and into the complex. For countless years, it had cascaded northward to the Deg Boesi canyon, where it poured from the heights in a glittering waterfall. Locals who visited the place called it Rainbow Falls.

Today, however, not even a trickle poured from Rainbow Falls. Its entire supply of water had been dammed or diverted to help move tailings and other waste products into the pool. The river's disappearance did, in fact, annoy Reocoles—not because he felt any remorse, but because he needed more water for his expanding businesses.

“Have you done it?” barked Reocoles to his foreman who had joined him on the platform—Karpathos, who still wore a long, curled mustache. “Have you located another water source?”

Karpathos nodded. “Yes, Master. And you will be pleased to know—”

“I won't be pleased,” interrupted the machinist, “until we no longer face such mundane obstacles to meeting our demands!”

Karpathos nervously pulled at one end of his mustache. “Nor will I, Master.”

“So where is this new river?”

“As I was starting to say, Master, it lies only a short distance inside the forest. We found it during the expansion survey.”

“Good. When can you start to build the dam and redirect its flow?”

Karpathos swallowed. “Well, er . . . Master, there is a slight problem.”

Reocoles's glare could have ignited a torch.

“It's that cursed forest, Master. As you know, the survey is the first time we've actually entered there, going past the trees at the very edge.”

“Get to the point, you fool!”

“Well,” continued the foreman, “the trees in there are denser and taller than anyone expected, slowing our progress. And Master . . . there seems to be some uncooperative wildlife.”

“What?”

“Animals, Master. Ferocious ones! They are resisting our efforts to do what needs to be done. Just yesterday, one of my men—er, sorry,
your
men—was gored by a wild boar. And our lead surveyor was attacked for no reason—by a flock of fierce little birds he likened to those fictional things called faeries.”

“Zeus's thunderbolt!” cursed Reocoles. “That forest is my nemesis!”

He cast a steely eye on his foreman. “That, however, will soon change.”

“How, Master?”

“The same way anything changes—through hard work and determination. As well as a good supply of weapons, tools, and machinery.”

Reocoles limped over to the side of the platform nearest to the wide swath of green that stretched to the horizon. “The local urchins call it the Great Forest,” he sneered, “as if it were a true place deserving a name.”

Karpathos frowned. “But no one lives there.”

“Correct. It's only an untamed mass of trees and whatever beasts inhabit them.” Reocoles paused, gazing at the distant greenery. “And it is also something more.”

“What?”

“A treasure chest,” declared the leader of the Greeks. “Trust me, Karpathos! Once we cut whatever swaths are needed to open it up—to lift the lid of the chest, you might say—we will find resources beyond anyone's imagination.”

He gestured at the mining pits. “Look how much coal and iron and gemstones we've already found just outside the forest. Why, I'll wager Apollo's chariot that there is more, much more, under all those trees.”

Eagerly, Karpathos added, “As well as much useful timber.”

“Correct. We can always use more wood.” He lowered his voice. “Which someday we will use to build not just one ship, but a whole fleet of them! To trade those resources, as well as my inventions, throughout the world. And to extend the reach of what will one day be called the Empire of Atlantis.”

“You will make this island rich and powerful, Master.”

“Yes.” He grinned slyly. “And it won't do me any harm, either.”

Karpathos twirled the end of his mustache with mounting excitement. “I have also heard, Master—not from anyone reliable, mind you, just monks and other native folk—that there is also another kind of treasure to be found in those trees.”

Reocoles raised an eyebrow. “What treasure is this?”

“Magic. The locals swear that—”

“Blast the locals!” said Reocoles dismissively. “There is only one kind of magic in the world.
Human ingenuity.
Yes, and only one source of that magic—the human brain.”

“Of course, Master.” The aide nodded anxiously. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”

“Good, Karpathos.” Reocoles tapped his fingers on his leg brace. “Because if I ever thought you did, I would have to demote you for such superstitions. You wouldn't want to spend the next several years working at the waste pool, would you?”

“N-n-no, Master.”

“Then see that no more obstacles slow our progress. If you meet animals, kill them. Trees, fell them. Boulders, move them. Do you understand?”

Karpathos bowed. “Yes, Master.”

Glancing down at the yellow waste pool, Reocoles said, “If we are to open that new pit on schedule, and also accommodate our growing supplies of resources and the chemicals needed to process them, we will need to enlarge that holding pond. By at least threefold, I estimate. How long will that take?”

Furrowing his brow, Karpathos calculated for a few seconds. “Six to eight months with the workers I now have.”

“Too long!” fumed the machinist. “I want you to bring on more men and women—as many as you can handle. Scour the City for them! Offer them bonuses for beating your timetable. Make them taste the wealth that could be theirs if this project succeeds.”

“Excellent plan, Master.”

“I don't need your flattery, Karpathos. I need your success!”

“I understand.” Karpathos tugged on both ends of his mustache. “We will succeed.”

“No,” countered Reocoles firmly. Seeing his foreman's surprise, he added, “We will
triumph
.”

Quietly, the machinist added, “And our triumph will be felt across the world.”

“Shall we lower you down?”

“Yes. Make it fast. I have too many projects back in the City to dally here any longer.”

As the aides secured the straps, Reocoles looked gravely at the swath of trees that bordered the complex.
You shall not stand in my way,
he vowed.

Shifting his thoughts, he mused about the name he'd chosen for his ship:
The Control of Nature.
In ancient times, primitive times, those words meant that nature controlled man. But now, a new era had dawned. Thanks largely to his own superior talents!

“Soon,” he muttered to the deep green forest, “it is
I
who will be in control.”

Seconds later, the men lowered him down from the tower. As his feet touched the ground, he waited impatiently to be unstrapped, wobbling slightly on the uneven turf. Then he noticed one of his workers who, unlike everyone else, was not working hard at his assigned task.

No more than ten paces away, the man lay on his back in the dirt, wheezing loudly. Each breath he took was a labor. A wet rag covered his face. His hands twitched for no evident reason.

Reocoles gestured in the man's direction. “Why isn't he working?”

“Fell sick,” an aide replied. “He's a digger at the waste pool. Been there several months now, but yesterday he started complaining about his head and his breathing, that sort of thing. Then this morning—he just fell over in a heap.”

The aide shrugged. “Didn't want him tripping up the other diggers, so I just dragged him up here.”

Reocoles scowled at the sick worker. “Weakling.”

Turning to the aide, Reocoles commanded, “Put him in that supplies vehicle over there. Bring him back to town come nightfall and dump him somewhere. We don't want his bad example to spread among the others, do we?”

“No, Master.”

“Good. Now get back to work.”

As Reocoles limped to his waiting vehicle, one word kept echoing in his mind. It was a word that seemed closer to reality than ever before, a word that inspired him like no other.

Triumph.