The Elysian Fields

By T. Austin Campbell

The System is a universe of alternate realities; its purpose remains enigmatic. It throws its captives from one harrowing venue to another at whim. But why? System captives seize an international criminal from a Himalayan fortress, escape from time-traveling aliens, manage a wild Blues band, leap from modern Japan to a medieval Shogun's palace then into an abduction at an American 4th of July celebration, explore a new Andes cave complex and discover illicit research on materials with unstable quantum structures, and try to prevent sabotage of a deep-water oil drilling rig. What is this unfathomable System? What is its purpose?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543966541

T. Austin Campbell

A research geneticist with the U.S. Department of Agriculture, T. Austin Campbell, Ph.D., has traveled extensively in Asia and elsewhere. He published scores of scientific articles in the journals of his discipline. Now a full-time novelist, he continues to explore new places and weaves memories of his travels and those from his childhood into tales of high adventure, romance, and triumphs of the human spirit in a world of everchanging realities.

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Books in the Blue Plane series

The Grasshopper Man

The Blue Plane

The Temples

The Dark Plane

Copyright © 2019 by T. Austin Campbell

Campbell, T. Austin

The Elysian Fields: book 5 of the Blue Planes series

Published by BookBaby

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This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, organizations, and other entities are used fictitiously or are products of the author’s imagination and should not be interpreted as real.

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ISBN 978-1-54396-653-4 eBOOK 978-1-54396-654-1

To my high school English teacher

Irene Robin who believed

and to my wife Judith Abbott who shared my dream.

Remember, Love is the most important Reality.

Chapter 1

Sapporo and Ice

Stuart and Susan Briggs turned their backs to the relentless wind-driven snow of Sapporo, Japan. They had sworn to each other several times that this would be their last winter festival. But the money that the Japanese had offered their firm, Infinity Art, couldn’t be turned down and this was a new market. They had taken enough business courses to realize that you simply did not turn down a major contract in a wealthy area that you hadn’t penetrated.

They liked the food and hotels of Sapporo and the frontier spirit the denizens seemed to have—compared to the urbanity of Tokyo, for example. They were watching as blocks of ice were being set up in a park that split the main streets of center city. In keeping with the name of their firm, they could create any kind of large artistic display that you wanted. Their firm had been hired to create ten large ice sculptures to complement individual sculptures that would be created as contest entries. Infinity Art’s sculptures would be very Japanese and very elaborate, and they had acquired as many talented ice artists as they could. They recognized that it was an honor that their firm had been hired instead of a Japanese firm, and they were going to go all out to make their endeavor one that the Japanese would remember.

Susan asked, Have the ice artists arrived?

Stuart pulled his jacket zipper higher and his watch cap lower. All except for two, Scott and Rebecca Kelly from Minnesota.

They should get a lot of practice up there, Susan said, her teeth actually chattering. Do we have time to get some sushi and maybe warm up? I saw two of our hosts from Orion Studio heading for that mega sushi restaurant with the dancing crab over the door. Do you want to slip and slide over there and join them?

Yes, warming up would be nice! Scott and Rebecca will be here tomorrow. When they show up, we can start staging.

The arctic wind driving them back, they finally stumbled through the entrance of the restaurant, passing under the highly animated thirty-foot-wide red spider crab. Knocking the snow off their shoes and putting them into boxes in the large wooden shoe cupboard, they put on flip-flops that more-or-less fit and looked in the individual rooms until they spotted Fumihiro and Sumio kneeling gracefully on the tatami mats on one side of a low table, perhaps fourteen inches high. They had carafes of sake as well as large bottles of Sapporo beer and were probably already in a serious party mode. Stuart and Susan walked in, waited until the two men rose unsteadily to their feet, and then exchanged bows with them. Fumihiro, the taller of the two, motioned for them to sit on the other side of the table. Both Japanese men were wearing ill fitting, off-the-rack suits in a nondescript blue.

It looks like ice has arrived, Fumihiro said, reaching across the table to pour them each about two ounces of sake in a water glass. The waitress came by setting out two glasses and two large bottles of Sapporo Ice. They clinked sake glasses and downed it in a good-sized gulp, then washed it down with the beer. As was traditional in Sapporo, the walls were lined floor to ceiling with small sake casks of various qualities and, of course, varied prices. Stuart and Susan had tasted enough sake to realize that this was one of the more expensive ones—it was elegantly smooth on the tongue.

Because he was the man, Stuart was expected to do most of the talking in the still somewhat feudalistic Japan. He announced, Our last two sculptors will be here tomorrow and we can start working out the cuts. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with the ice melting, more likely with the artists freezing to death.

Obviously feeling their liquor and growing redder in the face by the minute, the Japanese men laughed heartily and raised their sake glasses for another toast.

When will the contestants arrive? Susan asked, reminding herself not to get too loquacious.

Fumihiro said, They should all begin tomorrow early as they have only three days to finish.

We have sixty contestants this year, Sumio said. All of them are good, and some are extremely good.

Young women—costumed in colorful kimonos and sporting geisha-esque hairstyles held up with several long wooden pins—carried in two huge platters of sushi and sashimi, the difference being that the sushi was made with rice and fish and the sashimi was simply slices of raw fish. They served each of their guests a flat plate with a small mound of pickled ginger and a dish with two reservoirs, one with bright green wasabi and the other with soy sauce. The guests lifted their chopsticks and began to eat the thirty or forty different kinds. Stuart and Susan had been told that Sapporo sushi was thought to be the best in Japan, outside that in extremely expensive sushi bars near the Tokyo fish market where it was incredibly fresh and high quality. Because raw fish is generally very low-calorie, the majority of the calories in a meal like this come from the rice and the alcohol. For this reason, you could shovel it in for all you were worth and, if you were at all active, actually lose weight.

So how many days will you be with us before you go home? Sumio asked a little blearily as he motioned for more beer.

Stuart was having a little trouble focusing and resolved to give his liver a rest when he got back to the States. We will be here through the Ice Festival and maybe take some time to visit the hot spring spas and drive up into the northern volcanic area.

That is very enjoyable, Fumihiro said. If you stay there long enough, you might actually get warm. He laughed exuberantly at his joke.

They were getting a bit too inebriated to think straight and finished the delicious sushi in silence, partaking of the excellent sake from the glasses that never seemed to be empty. Finally the sushi was gone and Sumio raised his sake glass. Kampai! he shouted.

Stuart and Susan were already familiar with the dreaded kampai, the Japanese equivalent of down the hatch. They weren’t crazy enough to drain their glasses, but they took a good sip, their anesthetized mouthparts not really tasting the sake anymore. They got to their feet a little shakily, and Stuart said they had a big day the next day and they had to get at least some sleep. He knew the Japanese would retire with a few of their colleagues to a room next door where they would sing karaoke for a couple of hours more.

For the first time since they had gotten there, they appreciated the driving wind and blowing snow—not that it sobered them up, but it did render them more wide-awake. They walked back to the Mitsu Urban Hotel and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. They thoroughly enjoyed the luxurious warmth as they walked to their room. They undressed rather clumsily and collapsed gratefully onto the double bed mattress laying frameless on the floor. The room with mattress and sit-down toilet was an accommodation for Western travelers; Japanese rooms were furnished with two-inch-thick pads they called futons that were stored in cabinets along the wall during the day and rolled out on the floor for sleeping. Worse yet, Japanese rooms didn’t have Western toilets but the infamous Asian holes in the floor of the tiny bathrooms.

I guess no sex tonight? Stuart asked, drifting into sleep.

I guess not, Susan mumbled, laying her arm across his back and essentially passing out.

Chapter 2

Sondra

Stuart stood in a beautiful quiet meadow. The grass was lush. Scattered about were rafts of flowers: whites and reds and yellows and purples in all manner of stripes, speckles, and shadings. Brilliantly colored birds glided around lazily, their peaceful, soothing songs surrounding him. An unusual number of butterfly species drifted back and forth on the gentle breeze, working flowers redolent of perfume and spice. It was one of the few dreams he had ever had when he was sentient and could examine it closely.

Beautiful, Susan said from behind him and he turned to smile at her.

She wore a bright yellow sundress, a straw hat, and white sandals. He looked down to see that he was dressed in khaki shorts, a light blue polo shirt, and tan leather sandals.

It is, and a far cry from Sapporo in the winter. How did we get here?

You’ll be going back soon, came a young woman’s voice off to their left. They turned toward her and were immediately dazzled by her presence. She was dressed in a pure white sundress and wore sandals of a soft pink. She was incredibly beautiful—long golden hair, light green eyes, and flawless features. She didn’t look quite real and Stuart thought, Why should she? She isn’t.

The woman walked gracefully toward them, smiling warmly. I’m Sondra. Welcome to the Elysian Fields. She reached out with both hands to take theirs and smiled again. I often greet people who visit, as do my many friends.

Susan asked the obvious question: I know I’m dreaming. I wonder if there is a real place like this? If there is, I want to go there someday.

Sondra gave a little laugh. This meadow is real to us, my friends and me, since we reside here. We find it very difficult to determine what’s real and what’s not. If where we are is real to us but not real to you, I suppose that makes it both. We can debate the philosophical concept of reality infinitely, but I believe we should talk about something else now.

It’s your reality, Stuart smiled, so I suppose you set the agenda.

Agenda. You people from the Outside love that word, don’t you?

Outside? Susan queried. You mean outside the dream?

Sondra didn’t answer and her face took on an expression of seriousness and compassion. Perhaps, she said almost to herself. The Elysian Fields can be a sanctuary for people like you and Stuart. It’s peaceful and safe here. In times of trouble, you can come back here in your minds and be at peace for a few minutes.

Why do we need a sanctuary? Susan asked. It looks like a nice place to rest. But Stuart and I never ran from anything. We’ve taken the problems that have come, and we’ve handled them.

This sanctuary doesn’t free you from problems, dangers, heartaches, and the myriad other things you will face. It is simply a temporary escape from them. I’m afraid it’s time to go, she said sadly, but remember that, during the hardest times, it will be here for you and anyone who needs it.

Sondra, Stuart, and Susan faded as four figures standing on the top of a small hill watched. The first two new ones, Doug said, putting his arm around Chris.

I guess we’ll be talking to them soon, not too soon I hope, Jane said.

Right, Doug answered. Let’s hope they’re not in too much trouble when we do.

I don’t quite understand the Elysian Fields yet. I guess they are back in the venues, Warren said, unconsciously stroking his fingers through Jane’s hair.

There’ll be more, Jane said with just a hint of exasperation. Damn, I want to get back into the venues.

Chapter 3

Medieval Interlude

Oh my God, Susan said, washing down another aspirin with lukewarm, incredibly strong Japanese coffee and wishing for a better thermal cup. Those guys are going to kampai me to death.

Stuart simply nodded as they watched their crews of ice artists set up scaffolding and check out their chainsaws, picks, hammers, and other accoutrements of their trade. A man and woman walked toward them, looking young and attractive as far as they could see under the bundling. The pair didn’t act as if the bitter cold was getting to them as much as to some of the other ice artists. They assumed this was Scott and Rebecca Kelly from Minnesota.

Stuart and Susan, I presume? the woman greeted them, a smile peeking through her balaclava.

Guilty. I’m Susan, by the way, and this is Stuart.

The new man and woman laughed and stuck out their gloved hands to shake. They’re bringing our equipment down for us. We should be set up in a couple of hours, Scott said.

Any problems with the diagrams? Stuart asked, watching the other artists set up.

Not that we see now. We’re going to start slowly, like we always do, until we get the feel of the design and the ice.

Susan teased, turning to watch the setup herself, Remember, you can’t put any back.

Really? Damn! Rebecca gave her an impudent grin.

There’s our stuff, Scott noted. I guess we’ll see you around?

Guaranteed. Be careful with the kampais or you’ll wind up with people hammering away inside your head like Susan and I have.

Good advice, Scott said as he walked back toward his block.

Stuart and Susan walked slowly past the huge ice blocks, watching the teams set up and visualizing the final products. In the back of their minds, they were mulling over the incredibly vivid dreams they had had last night, chalking them up to overindulgence and anxiety over the execution of their project. Were they just pictures put to random synapse firings? Was there a subconscious message in there that they should pay attention to?

They looked up beyond where the contest artists were setting up and stopped in their tracks as they saw men on horseback riding toward them at a brisk trot. Were they part of the Ice Festival? There were at least fifty of them riding stocky armored horses and dressed in medieval costumes like the ones Stuart and Susan had seen in one of the national museums. It was funny that no one had taken notice of the soldiers, but continued to measure off the areas where they would make their initial cuts. It seemed like the soldiers had turned to bear down directly on them. They moved quickly to get out of the way, but the soldiers made an adjustment to line up on them again.

Jesus Christ! Susan said. Are they trying to run us down? They turned to run and almost ran into Scott and Rebecca mounted on comparable horses and holding the reins of two more.

Get on the horses, now! Scott yelled, looking over their heads at the advancing horsemen.

What? Stuart said, briefly transfixed.

Get on! Now! Rebecca yelled.

Stuart and Susan took another look over their shoulders. The sight of the advancing horsemen, who now had their hands on their swords, galvanized them. They ran over, mounted, and reined their horses to follow Scott and Rebecca, already galloping away. The riding they had done as kids came back to them and they hunched down behind the horses’ necks and gave them a couple solid kicks in the ribs.

They could hear the horsemen rumbling on the ice behind them and didn’t try to rationalize any of this. It didn’t make any sense, but they couldn’t worry about that now. They obviously had to get away and then reconnoiter. Where the hell did Scott and Rebecca get the horses? They galloped past large groups of Japanese who apparently had something to do with constructing and managing the Winter Festival and, as far as they could see from quick glances, none of them was paying any attention to this anachronistic chase. Scott and Rebecca cut through traffic, and Stuart and Susan could visualize themselves getting knocked galley west; but somehow the four riders made it through unscathed. In fact the traffic appeared to pay no attention to them whatsoever—no squealing of brakes or cacophony of horns.

An icy plain appeared in front of them. Where had it come from? They couldn’t be out of the city already. The plain became a hill, and the horses slowed and began to slip and break through the sheet of ice. They could hear their pursuers break through behind them and hoped the Japanese would be as impeded as they were. They were headed for a stand of trees that stretched to the top of the hill and then over the crest. When they reached it, the ice gave way to snow and the horses began to get better footing and increase their speed. Of course, now there was the problem of dodging trees and brush. Their pursuers were still crunching through the ice, but the sharpness of the cracks was softening—they didn’t sound too far behind. The four riders were approaching a good-sized monolith as the first arrows whizzed past them, one of them sticking in a tree Susan had barely passed.

Get behind the rock, quick, Scott said, swinging his horse to the right and up a steep slope, pulling up behind a bulge in the large outcrop. The rest of them followed, their horses snorting as they slipped and fought for purchase. As they struggled behind it, Scott jumped from his horse and looped the reins over the pommel. Dismount. We have to hide. Now! We’re sitting ducks. Stuart and the two women swung their legs over and dropped to the ground.

Where the hell can we hide? Susan panted as the three of them followed Scott up the hill. The ground got steeper and steeper, and they had to use trees and rocks to pull themselves up.

Look, Scott said, pointing to the bottom of a depression. There’s an opening down there, like a cave. We don’t have any other choice. He jumped to the bottom of the depression with the others close on his heels, knocking the snow out of the way with his gloved hands to enlarge the opening. Inside, now!

The two women went in first, and they screamed as they disappeared. The men jumped in after them. They found themselves sliding after the women down an icy slope, almost in freefall. It was pitch black below and they had absolutely no idea where the bottom was.

Chapter 4

A Sinking Feeling

Jacob Parker’s train jingled along the Washington DC Metro rails. He was on his daily trip home from his job in the Department of Agriculture Building on the Mall to College Park in the Maryland suburbs. He had gone to school at the University of Maryland and now lived in an apartment near campus. He was looking casually at a dark-haired girl of thirty—about his age—who had unusual long-lashed eyes as dark as bitter-sweet chocolate. She always wore dark colors, quite often a black business suit. She worked somewhere on the Mall and often waited for the Orange Line Metro train near where he waited, wound up on the same car more often than he would consider normal, and—to top it off—lived in College Park, though he wasn’t sure where. Because she didn’t wear a wedding ring, he had done what any normal young single male would’ve done—that was, attempt to engage in harmless flirtation whenever he had the opportunity. To say that she wasn’t receptive to his forays was a vast understatement. She was always polite when she brushed them off, but at the same time there was a distinct lack of warmth emanating from her. He liked enigmatic women, but he had concluded this one wasn’t quite worth the effort.

The train slid to a halt at the College Park Airport and they got off and started walking in the same direction as usual, Jacob making sure he in no way encroached on her personal space. To his amazement, she slowed down to walk abreast of him and then closed the space between them. She didn’t talk to him; but, considering the way she had treated him before, closing ranks like this was tantamount to giving him a big smile and batting her eyelashes at him. He waited to see what would happen next.

I thought it was about time we talked, she said looking up at him and even curving her lips a bit. My name is Paige Elliott and yours is Jacob Parker.

You know my name? he asked, rather surprised.

I’m in Personnel at the USDA Building. It wasn’t hard to look you up.

I guess not, but why?

You made some advances, so ….

Advances! he said, trying not to overdo the indignation.

Very poor choice of words, I’m sorry. She shook her head as if she were reprimanding herself. I mean, you attempted to talk to me ….

Attempted is right, he said, catching her eyes and smiling wryly.

Okay. I apologize. I was interested in talking to you; but at the time, I just didn’t want to play the game.

I won’t ask you why.

Please don’t. But it’s been a couple of months and things of changed. Since I realized you had given up on me, if we were going to talk, I was going to have to make the first approach.

So …, he said continuing to look straight ahead.

So it’s up to you, you being the man and all.

So, how about something innocuous like a cup of coffee, if you have time now?

I have time now, she said, finally giving him a smile.

They sat looking at each other in a coffee shop on the University of Maryland strip. She didn’t say anything for the first three minutes or so after they had taken their seats. Her fabulous dark chocolate eyes seemed to scan him, projecting alternate melancholy and perhaps a flash of hope. The atmosphere had become strangely unsettled—that was about the only word he could think of, like the atmosphere when a storm is brewing. Everything she said seemed to be couched in indecision, as if she had to do something, tell him something, but she didn’t know how to begin.

You work as a program analyst at the USDA building? she finally began.

How did you … Right. For about two years. So, small talk first. How about you?

Not very long. She sipped her coffee and caught his eyes briefly, before turning away in a couple of seconds and looking at the traffic on Route 1.

At least a couple of months, he said, wondering about her vagueness. I’ve been seeing you on the Metro for at least that long.

Yes. Do you like your job? I don’t mean to pry, but I just thought we could compare job situations.

Yes, he said, a little impatient to get on with the flirting, except for the bureaucracy; but you can’t escape that in any government.

I know what you mean. Suppose an opportunity came along to move to another job, one where you had more responsibility?

Of course. I’m only thirty years old. I like the location and the work environment, but I’d always consider a better job. Are you going to offer me one?

Sorry, I don’t have one to offer. But I’m always ready for change, I think it’s a good way to live. Change is good, sometimes drastic change. … I’m trying to take this somewhere, she said shaking her head and finishing her coffee, but I’m not doing a very good job.

Do you have to be so mysterious? Jacob asked, searching her face. If you have something to say ….

She looked out the window and said, I think we need a little more privacy. Would you like to come up to my apartment for a while?

Wow! Talk about a stark transition. He sat back in his chair and put his hands on his hips.

Just to have some more privacy, that’s all I meant, she said quickly, seeing his expression. She stood up and grabbed her jacket and purse.

Okay. Why would he turn that down? He figured that he could handle the eccentricity if it was all part of a tête-à-tête. Jacob snatched his jacket and started to head for the front door, then turned to see her walking briskly toward the parking lot entrance. He got to the back door in time to hold the door for her and waited while she scanned the parking lot for a few seconds. When she seemed satisfied, she signaled him to follow as she weaved her way quickly through the cars, past a small restaurant, and then into a residential area. She walked toward a small apartment house and around to the front; but instead of going through the front door, she led him down some steps and entered the basement, past a laundry room and the sound of a spinning dryer. She stopped in the shadows to look back.

Totally mystified, he looked toward the door and then back down toward her intent face. Are we waiting for someone, Paige, or …?

Four very large men practically burst through the door and stood looking around.

Damn! Paige exclaimed. Follow me.

He was about to ask her what was going on when one of the men drew a gun. Jesus! Jacob hissed as he ran after her and followed her through a door that she locked as soon as he was in. He wondered what they were going to do behind the flimsy door.

A hard kick hit the door. They crossed the room and watched an opening appear in the wall. Hurry! Down the ladder, she whispered as she jumped into the hole and slid down the ladder, feet sliding down the outside. Another kick hit the door and he heard it splinter. Jacob scrambled down as quickly as he could, hitting a concrete floor. He looked up to see that the hole had closed.

A light came on and Jacob could see that they were standing in what looked like a sunken utility closet, except it looked old and unused, with broken pipes and bare electrical cables.

What … what in the hell is going on, Paige? Why are those guys after you? Christ, they had guns!

Not yet, she said and her voice sounded different, deeper, stronger, maybe more competent.

Not yet! What the hell have you gotten me into? He stopped abruptly when he realized that the utility closet was dropping rapidly, like a high-speed elevator. He was shocked into silence and waited as they descended seemingly hundreds of feet. They finally eased to a halt and the door opened—it didn’t really open, an exit just seemed to appear. Jacob stared unblinkingly at what he saw.

Chapter 5

Something’s Fishy

Jason Hart stood knee-deep in his waders in a crystalline Montana stream swollen by spring runoff. The three pound—at least—cutthroat trout was feeding lazily on midges as Jason whipped out line, estimating just when to drop the fly. He smiled as he laid it right on the trout and was anticipating a strong strike when there was a god-awful splash downstream to his right. The fish dove for the bottom like a grizzly was after it. Jason looked downstream, expecting to see at least a large fallen fir tree. Instead he saw a young blonde woman, her hair in a long ponytail, sprawled in two feet of water, trying her best to get her footing and cussing to beat the band.

He reeled in his line quickly and moved with all the alacrity his hip boots would allow to where the woman was floundering. He waded in, and began to lift her from the water by her armpits.

Hey, she said, trying to twist loose. Watch your hands! I can get up myself. He sighed and let go. He let her splash and buck for another few seconds. Okay, she said disgustedly, get me the hell out of here; I’m freezing to death.

He sighed again, grabbed her by her armpits and hoisted her up, water pouring