Ghosts of the Past

By C. Craig R. McNeil

The sequel to An Atlantean Triumvirate

The Nazis have invaded Britain, their rockets controlling the skies and their supersoldiers humiliating the British forces.

John Murdoch, leading MI6 agent has been kidnapped by the Nazis leaving behind a gravely injured Jane Archer. Captain Riley leads the hunt for the missing agent while battling his inner demons.

And Thule has arisen...

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Craig R. McNeil
• Release date: Dec 3, 2009
• ISBN: 9781102469414

C. Craig R. McNeil

C. Craig R. McNeil lives in Dunfermline, Scotland. He writes books when he has the time.

Book preview

Ghosts of the Past

by

C. Craig R. McNeil

Ghosts of the Past

C. Craig R. McNeil

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 C. Craig R. McNeil

All Rights Reserved

www.CraigMcNeil.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

*****

Other books by C. Craig R. McNeil

The Atlantean Triumvirate Trilogy

An Atlantean Triumvirate

Ghosts of the Past

The Centre Cannot Hold

The Terra Inferus series

The Pillars of Britain

*****

Madness is a rare thing in individuals but in groups, parties, peoples, and ages it is the rule.

Friedrich Nietzsche

If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you.

Friedrich Nietzsche

*****

The Ghost in the Machine

Today was the day the nation of the Tuatha de Danaan fell. Today was the day that the boulder fell into the calm reflective sea of history and sent waves washing through time to crash hard on the rocks of the present.

Thule! Thule! Thule! Thule!

The thousands of chanting voices resounded through the warm, muggy air that collected at the bottom of the wide canyon, echoing and rebounding from the distant rocky sides to form a wave of physical force that vibrated through the bodies of the white robe clad worshippers, sending them into a state of religious delirium. Waving their hands in the air and slapping their shaved heads, the fanatics’ eyes rolled up into their skulls as they absorbed the effects of the deep blue hallucinogenic bla’ re roses they had placed under their tongues.

The canyon, packed with an uncountable number of chanting and dancing Atlanteans, opened up into a wide circular clearing surrounded by steep high striated cliffs of brown and yellow sandstone. In the middle of the clearing stood a temple, countless lines of white marble steps rising from the uneven canyon floor, fluted columns of alabaster white soaring into the air to be met by solid triangular blocks of sandstone. Behind the great temple stood a grove of massive trees, their trunks easily forty foot wide at their base. They towered into the air, their lush canopies of green reaching almost to the top of the deep canyon, casting cool, ebony shadows on the ground below their widely spreading boughs, lending an air of calm and reflection so unlike the fevered and breathless atmosphere on the opposite side of the temple.

At the top of the temple steps, dwarfed by the two columns he stood between, was the white robed figure of the High Priest of the Tuatha de Danaan, the blessed Thule himself. The Atlantean stood a scant seven foot tall, small by his fellows standards, but he radiated an almost demonic power that was felt by all the thousands of swaying people gathered in front of him at the foot of the steps and beyond. Behind Thule stood two priests of Danu’s Fist, the warrior monk sect, their long faces and almond shaped eyes almost completely covered by the reflective silver face plates of their elaborately curved helmets whose brightly coloured rising wings made their owners appear even taller. Glints of ice blue showed through the narrow eye slits as they surveyed the huge crowd, alert for the slightest threat, their spears of blackest adamite glittering with surges of crackling blue and white energy eager to be unleashed.

High Priest Thule raised his arms as if to embrace the crowd, his beloved, and the chanting stopped suddenly, the deafening silence broken only by the moan and sigh of the hot scratchy wind blowing over the waving grassy plains and into the deep crack that the canyon scored across the otherwise featureless landscape.

Tuatha de Danaan, Children of Danu, pilgrims, said the priest, his strong deep voice amplified to unnatural proportions by the acoustics of the natural auditorium. You have travelled far and wide to be here on this holy day, to be here at Danu’s Temple of the Sky where Danu first showed herself to Sla' Ine MacAroth all those countless thousand of moons ago in the Grove of the Trees. I salute your commitment!

A roar of appreciation assaulted the skies. The faithful shook their power sticks in the air while some let off blasts of energy fire at the blue sky.

Thule smiled and nodded his head, Yes! I salute you! For the times are dark and we are assaulted on all sides by the unclean filth that pollutes those barbarians, those vermin, those other six tribes of Atlantis. Only we remain pure! Only we are truly Danu’s Children! And only we shall go to the Fields of Elysium when we die in battle! We have nothing to fear, we shall never surrender to the unworthy!

Spittle dripped from Thule’s lips as he worked himself into a frenzy swiping the air in front of him with his hands as if hitting out at an imaginary foe.

Out in the clearing and down the canyon, the pilgrims were working themselves into a similar frenzy beating their chests and shaking their fists in a fury. Many of the pilgrims were already in a state of semi trance having eaten the petals of the red leafed Jove Rose which, combined with the bla’ re rose petals, enhanced their reactions and senses and dulled their pain centres, preparing their bodies for the coming battle.

No, continued Thule, We shall never give in! We go to war, to defeat the heretics and to send their souls to the darkest El Worlds where they shall rot in eternal pain and damnation!

Thule raised his hands in time with the undulating wave of appreciative noise that washed over him.

So go now, my friends, my children. Go now and let your voices be heard as the Tuatha de Danaan sing their songs in salute of Danu!

With one final huge roar of defiance and fanatical zeal, the myriad faithful turned as one and, voices raised in salutation, marched to war, bright green, red and blue banners fluttering in the rising wind, their footsteps fading gradually into the distance along with the hymn of war and praise.

Thule waited until the last man was out of sight before swivelling on his heel and striding back into the welcoming cool shade of the temple, his two Danu’s Fist protectors struggling to keep up with him despite his lesser strides.

Thule stopped short as a figure stepped out from the shadows of one of the great pillars. The figure, obviously a warrior from the all enclosing silver-grey armour he was wearing, wore a long tartan cloak in shades of green with white and yellow stripes cutting through it. A sword hung sheathed at his right side while a short snub nosed shrak pistol was holstered on his left. He removed his helmet to a gasp from one of Thule’s protectors.

Army Leader Arn Holden, said Thule quietly. This is a… pleasant surprise. The pause ensured that the Army Leader knew it was anything but.

High Priest Thule, said Arn Holden as he bowed quickly and discourteously short, the plates of his armour clinking quietly against each other. I’ve come to thank you for your efforts in mobilising the faithful to our cause. Without you we could not be holding out against the six tribes as well as we have been.

Thule nodded gravely. Our cause is strong and just but we cannot win against the combined might of the great unclean hordes of the six tribes. Your armies are failing us, Arn.

Crystal pure eyes sparked in anger. Our armies do well against the energies of the six tribes. What can we do when we are outnumbered six to one?

You can fight hard and die well. The Elysium Fields await the faithful, Army Leader. We shall die defending our lands and the cause of Danu. The gleam of madness in Thule’s eye was barely perceptible, a mere flicker of insanity almost lost in his shining blue orbs.

Oh we are fighting hard and we are dying well, I can assure you of that, High Priest Thule. But we wish to save our women and children, we wish to escape and thrive beyond Atlantis.

Thule stepped back in shock as if Arn Holden had physically slapped him. "Leave Atlantis? Leave Atlantis? Never! These are sacred lands, sacred to Danu, sacred to the Tuatha de Danaan. Our purity of mind, people and purpose is only assured while we stay on these islands. The continents beyond Atlantis are ungodly places that do not dwell in the holy light of Danu! Our heathen brethren may be happy to incur Danu's wrath by living in those foul cities beyond our borders but we will never stoop to their level!"

Nevertheless, we must leave. The Council of the Tuatha has made its decision. We have launched the Sky Flower satellite which will reach perihelion over the northern ice wastes within two sunsets.

The Sky Flower! gasped Thule who staggered back once more as if he had received a physical blow. You mean to melt the ice wastes and flood Atlantis! No! No! I cannot allow this! I will order the faithful to rise against the Council and prevent this catastrophe, this blasphemy from happening!

I was afraid you might decide to do that, said the Army Leader calmly. He clicked his long fingers.

The air all around the four men shimmered, flickered and, as if stepping out from behind hidden doors, seven Tuatha de Danaan warriors appeared, force swords shining bright in the deepening gloom.

Treachery! screamed Thule as the two Danu’s Fist priests raised their spears to protect their leader. Call out the guard!

The battle was brief and bloody. Thule’s protectors battled bravely, killing three of the battle hardened soldiers in a shower of sparking smoke before succumbing to the overwhelming numbers. Thule himself was killed by Army Leader Arn Holden who sliced Thule’s head off in one brief motion with his short sword before swiftly interring the bloody head in a metal chest that was ice cold to the touch.

Danu forgive us, Arn Holden whispered to himself as he and his cadre of troops hurried away from the temple and the rousing guards, carrying their dead to the small flyer parked out of sight behind a huge boulder, a few tens of yards beyond the towering trees.

The flyer took off as soon as the soldiers were all on board, levitating rapidly straight up into the turquoise sky before swivelling to face the direction of the capital city of the nation of the Tuatha de Danaan, Aerin Ter. With scarcely a whisper the sleek machine shot off, slicing through the thin air and rapidly covering the distance between the Temple of the Sky and Aerin Ter.

Aerin Ter was a city at war. The high pale blue stone wall surrounding it was pockmarked with jagged smoking holes where the enemy’s energy beams had managed to penetrate the shimmering white force shield surrounding the great city. Slim towering skyscrapers that challenged the gods themselves were covered by the defence shield but even their once flawless stone skins showed the ravages of war. Neon energy fire lanced up out of the city at the aircraft that wheeled around overhead like vicious gnats and artillery batteries based within the city blasted explosive shells out beyond the walls to explode within the massed ranks of troops and war machines where the other six tribes of Atlantis were preparing to deal the death blow to the Tuatha de Danaan. Arn Holden saw the terrifying blunt shapes of the Ya Braeth siege cannon, dwarfing the soldiers arrayed next to them. Time was short. Once the Ya Braeths moved into position and opened up, the defensive shield would be overcome within hours despite the massive energy reserves held within Aerin Ter.

The flyer landed on the roof of the squat rectangular block that was the Institute of Research. Surrounded by beautiful green parks and elegant free standing columns of white marble, it could not be hidden that the Institute was rather an ugly building where for once function prevailed over form. The complex housed within the building was at the forefront of Atlantean research into subjects as wide ranging as gene doctoring, theology, para-psychiciatry, weapons manufacture, space flight and everything in between. Scientists had little need for grace and style and it showed.

Arn Holden was met by the Institutes Council Leader, a man whose name momentarily escaped him before it clicked into place: Hite Rate.

Arn acknowledged Hite Rate’s presence as the Council Leader matched his pace and they strode towards the lift that went hundreds of yards straight down through the building, deep down into the foundational rock beneath the Institute of Research.

You have the ermmm... the err... the head? Hite Rate asked.

Arn smiled grimly at the Council Leader’s hesitation. It had been Hite’s idea, to capture the religious and theological essence of the Tuatha de Danaan. Of course the dirty work had been left to the military. Yes, I have the head of Thule so let’s not mess about. The fresher the head, the better, yes?

Yes, you are quite right, pandered Hite Rate as they entered the rather cramped metal cubicle of a lift. Hite fiddled with an elaborate golden ring on his index finger, fidgeting as the lift raced down to the chamber that had been hastily prepared for the blasphemous procedure.

How is the evacuation proceeding? asked Arn, knowing very well how it was going but the silence and Hite’s fidgeting was getting on his nerves.

Very well, Army Leader, very well, smiled Hite. Our woman and children have been dispersed throughout the planet in total secrecy. The six tribes don’t know a thing.

And so the end begins, said Arn sadly, almost to himself. Atlantis will perish in barely a few days. Our civilisation falls.

That is true, replied Hite. But the Tuatha de Danaan will survive to forge an even greater and stronger civilisation, one free of the splinters and demons that have wounded Atlantis for so long. We have secured our tribe’s future physically and now we will secure their spiritual well being.

It would have been far simpler to kill Thule and tutor his predecessor.

No. We will ensure Thule says what we wish him to say.

By transferring his spirit into a machine? Thule will go insane with anger at the blasphemy!

He will do nothing of the sort, replied Hite confidently. Our programs will control and manipulate his soul without him even realising.

Arn did not share Hite’s confidence. In his experience, using complex solutions for simple problems was only a guarantee for disaster. If the citizens of the Tuatha de Danaan, religious to the core of their beings, discovered their spiritual leader was being held captive by the political and military factions then Danu help them all.

The lift shuddered to a halt and the two Atlanteans stepped out into a roughly cut chamber hewn out of the solid bedrock beneath Aerin Ter. Technicians in pale yellow clothing glided around the large room joining thick cables to an array of metalware covered in glowing coloured lights and glass tubes which flickered iridescent blue as barely controlled power surged through them.

I’ll take this, said Hite, picking up the freezing chest containing Thule’s head. You can watch if you wish. It won’t take long.

Arn shrugged, power sword clattering against his thigh. Despite the battle that would be now raging above his head, he wished to see the success of Thule’s transfer to put his mind at rest and confirm that his tribe’s future was secure.

Hite nodded to the technicians as he carefully lifted the bloody head out of the box, tendrils of icy moisture drifting out into the stuffy electrical atmosphere to be swirled away by the hastily installed air conditioning boxes. Even in death, even with blood clotting the once icy eyes, the mouth frozen in a rictus of shock and pain, the head of Thule held a frightening authority that drew the gaze of all in the room.

Placing the head carefully between a series of electrodes, Hite stepped back to examine his handiwork, smiling with satisfaction.

Has this been done before? asked Arn.

A few times, replied Hite non-committedly.

And was it successful? Arn persisted.

Army Leader, if you had bothered to attend the lectures on the military applications of psychic and soul transfer then you would know that the success rate is reasonably high.

Arn scowled at that. In case it had passed you by Hite, we have been at war for the past few decades.

Ignoring Arn’s glower and sharp rejoinder, Hite signalled the technicians to start the transfer process.

The lighting in the room dimmed and within the glass tubes pearlescent electrical bolts flashed and squirmed like trapped eels. The head of Thule twitched on its stand, eyes glowing and throbbing as power flowed into and through it.

The transfer is now in progress, Army Leader, said Hite calmly. It won’t take long and then we can all get out of here.

Through the soles of his feet, Arn felt tremors racing through the rough rock floor quickly followed by deeper sub sonic rumbles. Arn knew instinctively that the tremors were unconnected to the soul transfer. The giant Ya Braeth siege cannons had finally opened fire and were pounding the forcefield protecting the city. The power needed to maintain the forcefield was enormous even when it wasn’t being battered by siege cannons. Arn wasn’t a religious man but even so he whispered a short prayer to Danu.

The lights faded completely before slowly coming back on, their yellow glows spreading a much needed warmth into the cold chamber.

The power is fluctuating, Hite! shouted a technician who was rapidly punching buttons and typing procedures into a terminal. The transfer is only half complete and the software merger is crashing.

Arn heard Hite curse savagely and fluently. Stabilise the power flow! The process must be completed! I want no damage to Thule’s soul! It must be transferred without any breaks in the process.

As the technicians frantically re-routed cables, flicked switches and yelled into microphones, Hite rushed over to the watching Arn and, taking his arm, pulled him aside out of the hustle and bustle.

Arn, you must leave here. You will be needed in the city to direct our rearguard.

Are you sure you’re not a psychic? asked Arn. I was just about to tell you I was going topside.

Hite smiled nervously, Definitely not. I’ve had the tests. But yes, you must go. I will transfer the soul of Thule to the mainframe computer aboard the Yi’all a Sine Vire.

The Yi’all a Sine Vire was Arn’s flagship, one of the very few remaining air cruisers left in the Tuatha de Danaan air fleet after the ferocious and bloody battle against the combined forces of three tribes at Mobindon Skies.

Don’t take long, said Arn already heading for the lift that would take him back up to the city.

We won’t. We all want to get out of here as well.

Arn saluted as the lift doors shut, the only expression of the admiration he felt for Hite and his technicians. Hite knew very well that the chances of him and his team of technicians leaving Aerin Ter were slim. Very slim.

A cascade of light greeted Arn as the lift doors slid open again. The Ya Braeth cannons were firing almost constantly, sending out streams of searing white and mint green energy to pound against the fragile forcefield surrounding the city.

Gathering up his soldiers with a few quick commands, he entered the waiting flyer which lifted off and took him swiftly across the doomed city to the waiting Yi’all a Sine Vire, Spirit of Vengeful Fire. The flowing sleek lines of the battle cruiser hid the snub nosed energy cannons arrayed along the sides of the air cruiser. It was an easy ship to admire, a mistake that many enemies had made over the past months before being terminally surprised by the heavy firepower it sported.

The flyer was piloted into the waiting hold which snapped shut behind them as Arn and the soldiers quickly exited the flyer and made their way to their battle stations. Arn was greeted by hasty salutes as he entered the war room, a rectangular room filled with ever changing holograms and luminous maps of the battle raging outside the city. Arn took a deep breath and prepared to marshal his remaining forces to mount a final rearguard action against the six tribes.

Underneath the Institute of Research, Hite was struggling to complete the merging of Thule’s soul and the control software. Despite the rapidly fluctuating power, Thule’s soul had been successfully transferred into a data container where the supposedly straight forward merging of soul and software was taking place. Or rather, trying to take place. It was almost as if something was fighting the implementation of the control codes, protesting at the implantation of the data engrams. Suddenly it was finished. Hite blinked at the hologram in front of him that just a scant second ago had shown a completion rate of only a quarter. It now glowed a pleasant, muted blue indicating the software merging was complete.

No time to hesitate though, no time to double check, no time to waste as the ground tremors were increasing in violence and the energy supply was now fluctuating ceaselessly.

Rapidly tapping in a series of commands, Hite transferred Thule's soul from the data container onto the virtual transfer surface. To ensure that the soul transfer to the Yi’all a Sine Vire’s mainframe was successful, Hite had to implement a two part transfer. The first one from the current machine to the Institute’s mainframe. As this had its own energy supply it would be able to secure a more reliable and stable transfer to the Yi’all a Sine Vire. The glow globes around the room blinked yet again and greyish dust trickled from the ceiling. Hite didn’t wait any longer and sent Thule’s soul to the Institute’s mainframe. He heaved a sigh of relief and entered the waiting lift. The technicians had long since departed and he had a terrible sense of fear of being left behind which made itself felt as a flutter in his stomach. He had done his job well. Now he had to make his escape to the cold northern lands with the rest the scientific and military elite and merge with the Core. As the doors closed, trapping him within the grey, confined spaces of the elevator, Hite thought he saw the computer in the room flash an angry red.

The soul of Thule span through the cables linking the Institute’s mainframes, delicate streams of data linking and jostling for position, arranging themselves into definable elements of consciousness. In a few seconds the soul and its control programs were in the transfer section of the primary mainframe preparing to be swiftly sent onwards to the Yi’all a Sine Vire. And there they stopped. Tendrils of destructive data flickered across the transfer programs, eating and destroying the predefined destination codes. Tentative feelers pinpricked the control programs before angry sparks disintegrated the data handcuffs. Thule shrieked silently in triumph. He was free from the binds that held his soul. When Thule had felt the first tightening of the software restricting his thought flows he had fought a desperate and raging battle against the then unknown foe. He had learned quickly, tapping into latent psychic abilities he was aware of for the first time and he’d managed to fool the blasphemer Hite Rate, making him think that he had succeeded in binding the soul of Thule with his artificial constructs.

Thule was free but he would never feel the sun as it rose over the shimmering green of the Elysium Fields. Thule shrieked again, cursing Arn Holden and the political and military elite, raising a terrible prayer of revenge to Danu in her incarnation of the Old Crone of War and Death.

Thule stretched himself mentally, sending rivulets of consciousness out to the many mainframes housed within the Institute, inveigling his way around security programs that had no defence against a living program, a consciousness at one with software. And Thule learned. He absorbed the data held within the endless memory cores; data from countless research, from studies of the heavens, from missions into space, to Tron, texts from countless generations of philosophers, writers, gene doctors, great men of substance. Absorbed, analysed and probed the cold scientific data. There was no God, there was no room for Danu, the Great Horned One or any other god. God was dead. His entire life was a sham, a fallacy based on hopes, wishes and fears of death. Thule realised that he would never see the Elysium Fields, not because of this accursed blasphemy, but because they didn’t exist. The facts were there to prove it beyond all doubt. Some of the datum that formed part of Thule’s soul turned black, corrupted. Thule giggled uncontrollably, a mad, lonely ghost in the machine.

*****

1 The Oncoming Storm

Remind me Herr Sturmbannführer, said the immaculately dressed, jackbooted form of Oberstgruppen-Führer Hausser, Remind me why we’re here, all the way up here on this bleak and desolate place, away from the green and pleasant lands of the Fatherland.

Sturmbannführer Stern glanced down at the impassive face of the slight Oberstgruppen-Führer, taking in the livid scar that ran from his superior's left eye down to his chin, a memento from when he had taken on a Khadrae single handedly armed with just a knife. Tales like that ensured the legend of Hausser would live on long after the man himself had passed away. If he passed away. Some said Hausser had made a pact with Death himself where Hausser would reap a rich harvest of lives in return for his own being extended long past when all the sand had run out of his hourglass. Others whispered he was the Devil Incarnate. Either way, Hausser feared and bowed to no one, not even Himmler or Hitler. Certainly not God who he cursed and blamed for all the evil in creation. So it was said.

Simply to oversee the escape and resettlement of the Core, sir, replied Stern, carefully wary of his superior’s mood. Stern was large man with cold blue eyes that rarely seemed to blink but even he feared Hausser.

Hausser and Stern stood in the highest tower on the Nazi moon base overlooking the sprawling complex with its concrete walls and glass domes lined with frames of the finest Krupp steel. As they watched, a great silver rocket with the Nazi swastika adorning its side took off in a blaze of flame and headed towards the shining blue and white pearl of Earth that was peeking over the craggy lunar horizon. Yet another supply rocket had just landed and Stern could imagine the cargo bay doors swinging open to reveal another hold packed with food, slaves and supplies. He hoped the slaves had survived this time. Just a day ago a shipment of a hundred had been lost due to small leak in the cargo door. He’d seen decompression experiments before but hadn’t realised there would be so much mess when it occurred with so many in a confined space. The food supplies had been a bit battered but they could be defrosted so it could have been far worse. Stern made a mental note to tell the supervisors to take it easy on the slaves in the short term as they were dying at a rate faster than they could be replaced. So much to do, so little