Ship of Fools - A Flat-Earth Interlude (2)
[Start at the beginning of the novel: Prologue.]
[Go to the Table of Contents.]
Welcome back to Ship of Fools, my satire about a science journalist trying to make sense of conspiracy theorists, flat-earthers, moon-landing deniers, New Agers, and more.
After an expedition that never got underway, Sam Rowbotham returns with a plan even more outlandish than his attempt to prove the existence of an unknown continent called Antarctica.
“AH, SAM, you old devil, what brings you here?” Jareth said with outstretched hand as Rowbotham stepped through the office door. “Are you back from the Antarctic Ice Wall? What did you see?” It had only been a couple of months since their last meeting; the Roundhead could hardly have mounted an expedition and returned so soon.
Jareth brought up short as a second man followed Rowbotham into the room.
“Secretary Leeman,” Rowbotham said, giving Jareth’s hand a vigorous shake. “Well, sort of, but plans have changed. I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend. He can help explain our new plans. This is Brother Geraint, from the Druidical Order of Ancient Celts in Ireland.”
This new fellow was odd beyond belief, dressed in some sort of hooded cloak, with a gray beard, bushy eyebrows, and pale eyes peering out from the shadow of the cowl.
“Pleased to meet you,” Jareth managed.
The newcomer gave only a slight tip of the head.
“But what about these new plans?” he asked as he showed them to seats around the coffee table. “Don’t tell me you let those UN guards atop the ice wall scare you away.”
Rowbotham ignored the little joke. “No, we didn’t get far enough to find out whether there are guards or no. We never even left port in Ushuaia. The expedition faced one obstacle after another. Dreadful weather forecasts for the Antarctic summer, difficulty finding a properly outfitted ice breaker, loads of red tape having to do with penguin habitat. Most of all, a lack of funding. Ahem.”
“I was sorry to deny your request the last time we met. But dollars are stretched so tight we can practically hear George Washington’s screams.” He truly disliked this part of his job. He was tempted to call Rowbotham a deluded idiot and throw him out of his office. But he’d promised the president he’d make nice. “And your own government? Nothing forthcoming there?”
“I’m afraid they’re hide-bound and stuck in the past. No, for new ideas and fresh ways of thinking, one must come to America.”
“Well, we do love a good invention here in the States. It’s what’s made our country great. But we like to base our technology and explorations on sound science and reasoning.”
Jareth wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the monk rolling his eyes beneath his hood.
Rowbotham frowned. “Now, Mr. Secretary, let’s not go down that road. How can we decide the case before gathering all the evidence? And how can we gather the evidence without a properly financed expedition?”
“And so you want my department to fund it.”
“Yes…but in an entirely different direction.”
“But why? It seems to me there’s only one direction that will take you to the Ice Wall, or Antarctica as you call it, and that’s south.”
“Explaining that requires a bit of a tale. You see, I’d returned to England, quite dejected by the failure of the Antarctic expedition even to leave port. That’s when I ran into Brother Geraint here, at a meeting of the…well, where we met isn’t important. And Geraint persuaded me of the most astonishing and profound thing.”
“Oh, really. And what is that?”
“That to go south, one must first go north. Counterintuitive, I know. Perhaps I should let Brother Geraint explain it.”
He turned to the cloaked figure, who sat up straighter, as if awaking from a reverie.
“Yes, well, it’s like this,” the monk said in an Irish brogue. “The ley lines all point one way, and it’s to the North Pole.”
Ley lines. Is this what they’d come to? Jareth struggled to maintain a straight face. “I just said we like to base our decisions on reason and science.”
“Just because ye’ve yet to develop an instrument to detect such forces, it doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
“And you, Sam? I thought you insisted on basing your conclusions in what one could actually sense.”
“Some people have senses beyond the common five. And some, Geraint included, use those senses to detect the ley lines. It took some convincing, but I believe him.”
“And these ley lines, they point to your, as you call it, North Pole? What do you expect to find there?”
“We’re not certain,” said Geraint. “A place of great power, or maybe some sort of doorway to the Land of Faerie. Maybe there’s a tunnel that could take us right through the Earth from pole to pole. But whatever it is, it could hold the key to, well, everything.”
“And yet none of the previous expeditions to the Center Point discovered anything of the kind.”
“Because they didn’t have the right instruments.”
Jareth half expected the Druid to pull out a dowsing rod.
“And, as we now know,” Rowbotham added, “none of those expeditions quite reached the Center. Their bearings were off.”
“And based on this testimony, I’m supposed to secure funding for this expedition?”
“We were hoping so. You did mention your race with the Soviets. Since Peary’s claim of reaching the Center has been discredited, we could achieve that distinction for both our countries.”
Jareth hated these geopolitical concerns, but maybe a Center Point expedition would draw the Soviets’ attention away from the moon. No one much cared about the Center these days, since it was just a bunch of floating ice, no use to anyone. Maybe something interesting could come out of it anyway.
“And how would you get there? Dogsled? Skis?” He just hoped they weren’t going to propose riding unicorns, or, Heaven help him, dragons.
“C-47s, three of them, in case one or more has engine difficulty. We’ll fly from Svalbard and establish forward fuel caches before attempting the trip itself.”
At least the fellow had some sense. “It sounds as if you’ve thought this through.”
“Of course.”
“Once you’re at the Center, or pole, what will you do?”
“Geraint will use his abilities to locate the place of power. We’ll bring skis, camping gear, sleds, everything we’ll need for a journey over the ice. We’ll just have to hope it’s located near the geographic pole itself.”
“If the President agrees, I’ll want you to do some actual science. Ice cores, depth measurements, water temperature and salinity beneath the cap, et cetera.”
“Of course,” Rowbotham said with a smile. “The pursuit of scientific knowledge is my only interest.”
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Has Jareth finally gotten rid of Rowbotham for good?
Next up: Showdown at the HiLo, in which our brave cowboys attempt to rid Sombrero Flats of creeping Nazism.