The Quest For Captain Ernst

By Chris Hawley

Hermann Winke, the brilliant inventor of the Magnobile is dead, and the manner of his death is shrouded in mystery. In his will, he leaves his valuable papers to his only son, Ernst, who has just returned from years in the Amazon jungle. At Hermann’s funeral in London, Bill, Sonia, Ben and Tim meet the mysterious Ernst.

Having helped the Martian people defeat Zigismo, the evil dictator of Zeronera, and having saved the world from annihilation by the massive asteroid, appropriately named Attila, Bill and his friends have been asked by Zeris, the Chief Elder of Similaria, to undertake a dangerous mission that involves travelling back in time, a mission that no Martian would dare to even contemplate. But things don’t go according to plan. An act of betrayal and a chapter of accidents befall the party, causing deep rifts in their togetherness, and casting doubt on their ability to return to the 21st Century. Would they be doomed to live out their lives in prehistory? It would seem so, but aid comes from an unexpected and scarcely believable source.

Born and brought up in the UK, Chris took his young family to work in Nairobi, Kenya and later operated tourist hotels in Lamu on the Kenya coast. He also founded a charitable trust for destitute children and worked with Kenyan teachers to promote human values.

In his spare time Chris has been a water colour artist, poet, short story writer and finally a novelist. Chris is married with three grownup children, four grandchildren and several adopted African children. He now lives in Shella Village on the island of Lamu.

'Secret of the Red Planet is really interesting. You don't know what is coming next, so you want to read more and more. It gets more exciting as the book goes on. I can't wait for the second one.' Gianluca Albano Silva, aged 10 years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirador Publishing
• Release date: Oct 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781908200839

Chris Hawley

Born and brought up in the UK, Chris took his young family to work in Nairobi, Kenya and later operated tourist hotels in Lamu on the Kenya coast. He also founded a charitable trust for destitute children and worked with Kenyan teachers to promote human values.In his spare time Chris has been a water colour artist, poet, short story writer and finally a novelist. Chris is married with three grown-up children, four grandchildren and several adopted African children. He now lives in Shella Village on the island of Lamu.

Book preview

FOREWORD

Albert Einstein, the greatest scientist of the Twentieth Century, postulated that there can be no time without space and no space without time; that the two are inextricably linked. No-one has successfully challenged his theory so far. But the Indian sages have been saying for thousands of years that there is no such thing as time, and that it is merely a creation of the human mind. How else would spiritually advanced souls be able to see past and future? If we accept this, we have to embrace the idea that going back or forward in time are perfectly possible, once we are able to truly internalise it. I believe time travel is feasible and may one day become a reality for mainstream humanity.

In The Quest of Captain Ernst, our young heroes breach the barrier of time at the behest of Zeris, the Chief Elder of Similaria. In this story, I have tried to trigger in the mind of the reader just what emotions would be felt being many thousands of years from one’s own era, and especially what one might feel at being told one has been robbed of the means to return home. What would you feel like if it were to happen to you?

There have been many theories put forward to explain the swift demise of the last Ice Age. It is generally believed that it lasted from around 100,000 years ago until perhaps as recently as 12,000 years. During that time, much of Northern Europe and North America was experiencing glacial conditions, and an enormous quantity of water was locked up, with the result that the sea level was probably more than a hundred metres lower than it is today. One or more catastrophic events between 17,000 and 20,000 years ago began a rapid meltdown. Could this have been caused by the impact of huge asteroids similar to the one that caused the extinction of the dinosaurs 65 million years ago? Could our solar system have been bombarded at this time by cosmic debris that ripped off part of the crust from the northern hemisphere of Mars, slowed down its rate of spin and destroyed its magnetic field, so that its atmosphere drifted off into space?

In The Quest of Captain Ernst, Bill and his friends find themselves in an age when, according to orthodox scientific opinion, the world was inhabited by none but savage cave-dwellers. However, they meet humans who are not only far from savage but are far more caring about their environment than we seem to be. These human beings are refugees from an advanced culture that has disintegrated. Although there is virtually no evidence that such an advanced civilisation existed before the dawn of history, it is not inconceivable that the evidence will one day be discovered deep below the ocean.

In the story, our heroes also meet extraterrestrial beings with unbelievable powers. I am convinced that spirit beings do exist within our solar system and other solar systems in our galaxy, and in other galaxies too. One day, perhaps the human race will be evolved enough to acknowledge their existence and be able to communicate with them.

I am also sure that 2012 will prove to be a turning point for life on Earth. As the wickedness becomes more and more wicked, there is a yearning in human beings today for spiritual understanding. I believe that the Age of Enlightenment will soon be here. Love will replace fear and hatred: the barriers of tribe, race and religion will be broken down and humanity will be at peace with itself.

Chris Hawley

LAMU

April 2012

This book is dedicated to:

my three children,

Isabel, Cathy and Christopher.

You were a joy to bring up.

PART ONE

HERMANN WINKE’S LEGACY

CHAPTER ONE

A FUNERAL IN LONDON

Drops of rain fell from a leaden London sky on that cool and blustery afternoon in mid-July. Around an open grave in the Golders Green Cemetery a little group stood silent and solemn. As the raindrops increased, an assortment of umbrellas opened, swaying in the strong breeze. The colourful shelters contrasted sharply with the sombre dress of the gathering.

I stood in my dark suit next to Sonia, who was dressed in black skirt and white blouse, with a grey half-length coat. The end of a single golden plait protruded from a black scarf covering her head. She held onto my left arm with both hands. I sensed a pair of blue eyes peering up at me and I squeezed her hands gently.

The Rabbi was speaking. I lost concentration as I looked around the group. Each one had come to pay their last respects to a great man and a good friend. From far and wide we had gathered to celebrate his life and mourn his passing. Hermann Winke: brilliant scientist, humble soul, fearless space traveller. Hermann Winke: Saviour of the World. Yes! He was that too! There was no doubt in my mind that, had it not been for Hermann’s wonderful invention, none of us would have been standing there. Without the amazing Magnobile, there would be no Earth to stand on. Without his determination and courage, our planet would have been shattered into millions of pieces on that fateful day, the 25th of April. Without the genius of Hermann Winke, rock, lava, water and air would have been blasted out into the Solar System, almost certainly creating a new asteroid belt, revolving around the Sun between Venus and Mars, and perhaps bombarding both those neighbouring planets with damaging debris. Without his utter confidence in his invention, the entire spectrum of physical life on Earth would have been annihilated, and henceforth limited to the realm of spirit.

I surveyed the faces of the assembled figures huddled around the open grave. Ivan Ivanovich was there, his red pock-marked face creased up. My mind went back to that day nearly two years before, when Ivan had strode angrily up and down the interrogation room, furious at my audacity in breaking into the computer room to send a message to my close friends, Ben and Tim Armstrong. But I could not help a smile when I remembered Ivan’s attempts at English proverbs.

Sandwiching Ivan like two large chunks of bread were Professor Emilia Resichenko and Dr George Kaznikov, those illustrious Russian scientists who had worked closely with Hermann on his Earth-saving invention. The Professor was dressed in her usual tweed suit. Dr George, who was wrapped up in a voluminous overcoat, held in his hand his beloved pipe, which he occasionally moved to the space underneath his large moustache, but thinking better of it, returned it to his side.

Next to Dr George stood the diminutive figure of Priam, father of my good friend, Michu. He looked like the perfect City gent, dressed in an elegant black coat, bowler hat and furled black umbrella. How ironical! Priam was completely at home in any London scene, and yet he was the only one in the group who was not of this World. He was one of the five hundred or so Martians on Earth, helping to bring about change in our attitude to the environment. Priam was a great friend of our planet and someone I admired tremendously.

Tim Armstrong and I exchanged glances and he smiled across at me. He was standing with his elder brother, Ben. These two brave fighters, who had taught the people of Mars the art of Tae-kwon-do, had gone on to help lead the Martian revolution against the tyrannical dictator, Zigismo and had finally defeated him. Zeris, the Chief Elder of Similaria, had invited the two boys to Mars during the following school holidays, to carry out further training of young Martians, under the guidance of Atik, formerly a Captain of the Guard of Zeronera and now a respected elder. They had willingly given up three weeks of their summer holidays that year. These were my special friends. I was unaware at that time, standing beside Hermann’s grave, how many more adventures we were to share, those two brothers and my wife-to-be, Sonia, whose arm was locked in mine. Already we had shared great events: like our frantic efforts to dislodge Attila, the huge and horrific asteroid, as it raced towards the Earth on its mission of destruction, and the joy of success when we learnt that it was safely on course for its rendezvous with the Sun; like our defeat of the fleet of giant Zogg spaceships, with Sonia at the front panel controls of the Magnobile. These unforgettable times we had shared together with dear Hermann.

Albert Smith’s large frame occupied the space beside Sonia, his only daughter. Dawn, Albert’s new bride, was beside him. How that local newspaper reporter had changed since the time he had cruelly locked me in the dark cupboard beneath the stairs of 43, Myrtle Avenue! To think that he once vowed to stop at nothing to make himself rich out of the sensational story of my first visit to Mars. His new wife, the soft and loving chief librarian, had certainly made a new man of him.

The Rabbi was still speaking but I was hardly aware of his words. The stiff breeze carried them away among the headstones, in the company of stinging raindrops and tumbling green leaves. I could not help wondering about the lives of those whose mortal remains lay beneath the stones. Did they achieve their dreams? Did they make a contribution to the improvement of our World? Were their lives cut short by disease or disaster? One thing I was certain about: Hermann made a contribution unsurpassed in human history. How ironical then, that the world was almost totally unaware of it. Apart from a few highly placed Russians and the people of Mars, only those standing by the grave knew of the true significance of the life that had just recently come to an end.

One by one we threw handfuls of earth and flowers into the grave. The ceremony was almost over. Sonia released her hands from my arm and reached down to collect some brown London soil. As she did so, I looked to the left past Albert and Dawn. It was then that I saw a young man I had not noticed before. Strange, I thought; how could I have missed him? He was the only person there I did not know. He was about the same height as Albert but much slimmer and slightly bent. He had long straight black hair that danced in the breeze, and lashed his thin weather-beaten face and long neck. I guessed he was in his mid-thirties. He was dressed in a crumpled and shabby grey suit that could have been taken from a chest after decades in mothballs. He seemed visibly distraught, shaking his head from side to side. He reminded me of someone but I could not think who.

We had been told that Hermann’s sister, his only known relative, was organising the funeral. Why was she not at the graveside? And why had she not been at the funeral service?

A few minutes later, the little cluster broke up and filed off towards the car park, leaving the cemetery staff to complete the remaining formalities. The rain had stopped, but the wind continued to bend the branches of the trees and lift the coats of the mourners. Hardly a word was spoken as we crunched the gravel path. There was to be a lunch in a nearby hotel, and we had all been given maps to show the way. Sonia and I sat in the back of Dawn’s little car. Ben and Tim had the dubious honour of riding to the hotel in Albert’s rickety old Mercedes. The Russians had hired a car for the occasion, paid for no doubt by their Government. And Priam? He was nowhere to be seen. Priam needs no car, I thought to myself. He’s probably already in the hotel, having bubbled there in a matter of seconds. And the Mystery Man? I caste my eyes around, but he seemed to have gone.

Within five minutes of leaving the cemetery, we were entering the hotel through swing doors, glad to be out of the wind.

‘And this is meant to be summer,’ I said to Sonia, as I helped her off with her coat.

‘With climate change the way it is going,’ she replied, ‘we’ll be skiing in summer and sunbathing at Christmas!’

‘While the poor people in the tropics starve to death,’ I added.

‘It’s a miracle we’ve had any cricket at all this summer,’ said Tim, as he came up behind us.

‘Maybe it’d be better if they don’t play at all,’ said Ben, ‘judging by England’s dismal performance in the first Test. Only one wicket left to fall at close of play. They were lucky to survive.’

‘Be positive, bro,’ said Tim. ‘The Ashes are not yet lost. There are four more matches to play. The Aussies were bragging about a complete whitewash, 5-0. They might be in for a surprise.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Ben doubtfully. ‘By the way, who was that thin man with long hair standing next to Mrs Rogers?’

‘You mean Mrs Smith,’ said Sonia sharply.

‘Oops, sorry! I’m way out of date. Anyone know him?’

‘Never seen him before,’ I said, ‘but he intrigues me.’

I looked around the lobby of the hotel. He had apparently not arrived yet. At that moment, a rotund middle-aged lady with makeup so thick you could peel it off with a knife, approached us.

‘Welcome, dears,’ she said warmly in a thick London accent, spreading her arms wide. ‘Me name’s Miriam, ‘ermann’s younger sister. Actually I’m ‘is only sister.’ She paused. ‘You’re wonderin’ why I weren’t at the cemetery.’ She looked at the four of us in turn. ‘I said me goodbyes to dear ‘ermann this mornin’, before they came to take ‘im away. ‘e was never one for empty rituals. I begged leave an’ ‘e understood.’ She turned to go, and then she said over her shoulder, ‘sorry, I ‘ave to organise. Make yerselves at ‘ome, dears.’

Hardly an empty ritual, I thought, as we made our way into a small banqueting room, where a long table was laid out with drinks and buffet lunch. And what can she have to organise? Anyway, it takes all sorts to make a world.

Sonia frowned but said nothing.

‘Odd woman,’ remarked Ben to no-one in particular.

Tim muffled a laugh. ‘That makes two in the family.’

I glanced sternly at my friends. ‘Hermann was a bit odd, I agree, but where would we have been without his odd brilliance, or his brilliant oddness?’

‘Touché,’ was the only reply.

Glasses in hand, we moved across the room to where the three eminent Russians were whispering together.

‘Ah, the fearless four!’ cried Ivan, as we approached the trio.

We all shook hands enthusiastically, Ivan’s vice-like grip almost crushing poor Sonia’s dainty hand in the process. Knowing smiles were shared, like the great secret that bound us together. Ivan surveyed the room before continuing in a hushed voice, perhaps automatic reactions from one involved in top secret work.

‘A sad day for the scientific world,’ he said in a voice completely bare of sadness.

Ben, Tim and I all nodded in agreement. Sonia stood nursing her limp hand and said nothing.

‘But Dr Winke left enough papers behind for us to continue his work,’ went on Ivan, looking at his two colleagues. He switched his gaze to my face. ‘I will not forget that it was you, young Mr Bill, who brought him to Russia. I was reminding the Prime Minister only the other day. Make no mistake, Russia will use Professor Winke’s invention for the good of the Motherland… and… and of course the world too.’

I guessed that was an afterthought. ‘And the people of Mars,’ I said.

‘And the people of Mars,’ he repeated halfheartedly.

Ivan has not changed, I thought. He is only interested in the future greatness of Russia, not in the security of the world, or the wider wellbeing of the Solar System. And is he really sorry about Hermann’s death? I wanted to know more of his plans. ‘And when is Russia planning to put men on Mars?’ I asked in an off-hand manner.

Ivan studied my face before replying. ‘Top secret, of course,’ he said with a sly smile. ‘But be very sure, young man, it will not be long. And the Americans, they should give up now: they will only waste their time.’

I wondered exactly what he meant by that. ‘Two thousand ten?’ I prodded.

‘We could do it even today,’ he boasted, ‘but when we do it, the world will gasp in wonder: it will be spectacular. By the way,’ he said, lowering his voice still further. ‘Did you know I have been put in charge of the Russian space programme?’

‘No, really?’ I was genuinely surprised, as were my friends.

‘Last week,’ said Ivan proudly. ‘And this too.’ He put his hand inside his coat and drew out an elaborate medal on the end of a gold chain. ‘Vladimir himself gave it to me.’

We were allowed to admire Ivan’s latest award before he slipped it back inside his jacket. Then he turned to his colleagues and started speaking in Russian.

At that moment Priam was crossing the red fitted carpet towards us and we four turned to meet him. He looked serious.

‘You’ve just arrived?’ Tim mocked good-humouredly. ‘Bubble jam, was it?’

‘That’s right,’ replied Priam, patting Tim’s arm. ‘Now, two things have come up,’ he said in his best official tone. ‘Number one, we have been called to Hermann’s solicitor’s office tomorrow morning at nine. He is going to read Hermann’s will.’

‘And we are invited?’ queried Ben.

‘Yes, I have just talked to his sister, who is one of the executors. She asked me to tell you. Apparently Hermann has mentioned all of you in his will.’

‘It’s not normal for non-family to be there when they go through the will, is it?’ I asked.

Priam shook his head. ‘On Mars we don’t have all those complications because nobody owns anything. Much simpler, no?’

‘Absolutely,’ I replied. ‘And are you invited, Priam?’

‘I am: we all are. Don’t ask me why. It was apparently Hermann’s suggestion, or should I say, ‘command’, at the time of making the will. So you’ll be there at nine.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘The offices of Einstein, Einstein & Einstein, No. 99, Chancery Lane.’

‘Any of them related to the famous Albert?’ asked Tim.

‘All, I believe,’ said Priam. ‘Which brings me to the second matter.’ Priam gave a short cough and continued. ‘You may have noticed a young man at the funeral.’

‘We did,’ I replied. We all held our breath, waiting for Priam to enlighten us on the identity of the stranger.

‘Well, you will meet him tomorrow.’

‘So who is he?’ Ben said this rather loudly so that the three Russians turned their heads towards us.

‘You will find out tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late.’

‘Is he related to Hermann?’ I asked.

‘You will find out tomorrow at nine,’ Priam repeated. Then he turned abruptly and was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

THE WILL IS READ

‘‘This is the Last Will and Testament of Hermann Frederik Winke of 62 Clairville Gardens Hornsey in the County of London made this thirtieth day of June. I hereby revoke all Wills and Codicils made by me at any time heretobefore. I appoint my sister Miriam Rachel Strange and George Einstein of Einstein Einstein & Einstein Solicitors and Notaries Public to be my Executors and direct that all my debts and funeral expenses shall be paid as soon as may be convenient after my demise. I give and bequeath…’’ At this point Mr George Einstein paused and surveyed the attentive faces before him.

Messrs. Einstein, Einstein and Einstein were all indeed descended from the great scientist. Mr George had pointed this out at the start of our meeting in his lofty chambers at 99, Chancery Lane. Now he sat behind his enormous hardwood, leather-topped desk, which was stacked with piles of legal files, and peered over the top of a pair of steel-rimmed glasses, and beneath the largest set of eyebrows I think I had ever seen. He was a man in his sixties, I guessed, with untidy grey hair, much as I imagined his illustrious ancestor had. He spoke with a slightly guttural voice, belying a Central European origin.

Seven upright chairs were arrayed before the giant desk. Six of them were occupied by tense figures with attentive and expectant minds. The seventh chair remained empty, but no mention was made of this fact. I knew that the mysterious young man was supposed to attend the meeting, and assumed he had not turned up, for whatever reason I could not tell. But as these thoughts were going through my mind, the man himself was ushered into the large room by an elderly clerk. The unknown mourner of the day before was dressed in the same crumpled and shabby grey suit he had worn at the funeral. He sat down on the empty chair and, placing his hands beneath his thighs and crossing his feet, he sat looking at the man behind the desk, who stared at the newcomer with some irritation, before redirecting his eyes to the document in front of him.

‘Good! Now we are all here, we can proceed with the reading of the Will. Kindly turn off your cell phones. As I was saying ‘…I give and bequeath unto my sister Miriam Rachel Strange all that house situate in and being No. 62 Clairville Gardens Hornsey in the County of London including all property therein.’’ Here Mr Einstein lowered the Will and fixed his pale eyes on the decorated lady whose name had just been read out. She nodded her grey head gently but made no sound. He continued to read. ‘‘I give and bequeath unto William Stanley Steadman Benjamin Mark Armstrong Timothy James Armstrong and Sonia Ophelia Smith each the sum of One Thousand Sterling Pounds to be kept in trust until their eighteenth birthday where applicable.’’

We four unexpected beneficiaries shared looks and smiles. Sonia was already over eighteen and could collect her legacy immediately probate had been granted. Ben and I would turn eighteen in the coming year and Tim the year after.

Mr Einstein lowered his eyes and read on. ’’To my only son Ernst Walter Winke I give and bequeath all my scientific papers and documents in whatever form whether it be hand written typed printed or stored in computer generated form.’’ He fixed his eyes on the young man who sat in the seventh chair.

So that is who he is! Ernst Walter Winke, son of our departed friend and fellow traveller. I studied his face and began to see a likeness to his father, the relationship that had eluded me the day before in the cemetery. All eyes were now on him. He looked around nervously, but managed a weak smile.

‘‘I give and bequeath all the remainder of my property to my sister the aforesaid Miriam Rachel Strange.’’ He concluded the reading with some personal wishes of the deceased. Then he placed the document on the table and reached for a thin file, which he proceeded to open. He withdrew a sheet of paper and studied it briefly before speaking. ‘I should point out that, at the date of death, the balance on the deceased’s bank account stood at…..fourteen pounds and thirty three pence. Divided into four, this will enrich the aforementioned persons,’ here he looked at the four of us, ‘to the tune of three pounds and fifty-eight pence each. There will be one penny remaining, and since we cannot easily divide that into four equal shares, I suggest we donate it to the charity of your choice.’ He stared over his glasses at me, but seeing only a face full of bewilderment, he continued. ‘However, it is possible, remotely possible, that the deceased had other liquid assets apart from the balance on the account I have just mentioned. Any further assets that come to light will, of course, be distributed to those mentioned in the Will.’

My pleasure at receiving the news of my weighty inheritance had quickly evaporated at these last revelations. I could see that my friends felt the same way, although none of us wished to reveal our feelings. And Priam? I knew that he would expect nothing material from Hermann. Why had he been invited to the meeting?

‘I have one further duty to perform this morning,’ Mr Einstein continued. ‘On the morning before his death, Dr Winke came to my office to deliver a letter addressed to Mr William Steadman.’

I started at the sound of my name and my heart thumped against my ribs. What could Hermann be writing to me just before he died?

The advocate pulled a white envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, and stretched out his hand towards me. I got up from my chair and, visibly shaking with anxiety, took the envelope from his hand.

‘Do I have to read it out now?’ I asked nervously.

‘It is addressed to you, Mr Steadman. Dr Winke said nothing about sharing, or not sharing the contents with anyone. He merely said it should be delivered to the addressee as soon as possible after his death. The decision to share or not to share with any of your family, distant relatives, close friends, lost friends, casual acquaintances or total strangers, is entirely yours.’

I slid the thin envelope into the inside pocket of my suit. My mind was racing. Did Hermann know he was going to die? I was longing to slit open that envelope and read his letter to me. On the other hand I was terrified at what I might find.

The business completed, Mr Einstein relaxed and started chatting with his visitors. I sat with my left hand against the outside of my suit jacket, as if I expected the envelope to jump out and run away. I could not resist any more; the temptation was too great. I slowly and silently removed it and, holding it between my legs, I started picking at the back. Sonia was watching me, aware of the state of my mind. All the others were listening to Ernst Winke, who had begun to relate a story. I heard the word, ‘Amazon’ but was too wrapped up in my task to take any notice. At last the envelope was open and the two-page letter was