Christopher Golde
Date: 6th April 1976
Location: Finsteraarhorn, Swiss Alps
Nigel Stansen, anthropologist, sociologist and now the leader of a United Nations research team, stood staring up the forty-five-degree angle slope of the massive glacier. Above it stood Finsteraarhorn, the highest peak in the Swiss Alps. It was bitterly cold, but the winds of the previous day had abated, giving them the window of opportunity to at last approach the object beneath the ice.
Nigel looked away from the snow-capped crags of the alpine giant and down the slope to where his base camp had been built. There, his team was preparing to descend one hundred meters below the glacier surface into ice that had been at rest for more than three thousand years. As he stared down at the small group of tents, he could make out Fliedner, his assistant on the project, walking up the slope towards him.
He couldn’t see a face for all the thick garments and reflective eyeshades, but he knew it was Fliedner by his limp. Joseph Fliedner was an expert in alpine exploration, especially in these parts, but he had paid the price of scaling glaciers when one had come down on him. It was a professional hazard for glaciologists and he had been lucky to escape with only a limp, when three other of his companions had perished, one being Fliedner’s fiancée. There was never a need for Nigel to tell his assistant what they were doing was dangerous, as no one on the team understood better how risky it was. Because of this, Nigel left most of the decisions to Fliedner and felt completely at ease with whatever he decided was the best option.
As he came up to Nigel, Fliedner removed his scarf from his mouth and spoke.
“It’s time, Mr Stansen,” he said, breathing heavily from the uphill walk, “just need you’re okay to send the extraction team in.”
“Joseph, if you say it’s time, then it’s time, let’s get going while the weather is holding.”
They both headed off down the slope towards the tents as a few wisps of cloud spiralled up behind them over the top of the glacier. Once at the tents, Nigel saw his team of scientists and climbers standing fully laden and ready for the descent.
“How long have the heating rods been turned on now, Joseph,” asked Nigel?
“About sixty minutes’ boss,” said Fliedner, ”and drainage has now reached the maximum two hundred litres per minute.”
“Good,” Nigel said approvingly, “by the time your team gets there, the ice should have melted sufficiently.”
The plan had been simple enough; they had used a mechanical mole for digging underground tunnels, to bore a hole that a man could walk through into the glacier and down to the metallic object. The tunnel was nearly five hundred meters long and cut at such an angle that the team would only have to use ice shoes to descend and not require ropes.
Holes had been drilled from the surface directly above the object and heat rods inserted that would encircle the ball shape to its meridian, melting the ice around it. The tricky part had been not to flood the tunnel with water from the melting ice, so two other tunnels had been drilled beneath, and off to either side of the object, with drain holes drilled to siphon off the melting seepage. They could only guess at how heavy the object was since they knew not of what it was made, but they had left an extremely geometrically sound configuration under the object that would support a ball this size that would be ten times denser than any substance known to mankind.
Once the ice around the object had melted, the scientists would inspect it and take sample tests, and then the engineers would work out how to extract it. Supposedly, all they had to worry about was the weather and avalanches, both major hazards here.
Fliedner walked over to a bank of monitors set up next to one wall of the tent, where a technician sat looking at digital printouts and testing monitors for images.
“Heaters working well sir,” said the technician.
Fliedner turned to six of his team that stood, waiting by a large cylindrical door which had a submarine-type rotating handle on it. He gave them a salute.
“Owens, it’s all yours.”
At this, one of the team turned and rotated the handle, pulling back the door and indicating to the others to enter. Each member of the penetration team turned on halogen lights positioned either side of their mountaineering helmets, then climbed through the portal and into the tunnel.
After the last team member had entered the open hatch, it was closed tight and Nigel and his assistant went to the bank of monitors. On one, could be seen a picture from inside the tunnel took with a camera on the head of the leading member.
“Can you hear me,” said Fliedner, into a microphone on the desk in front of him?
“Yes boss, loud and clear,” came back a voice through a speaker mounted above them on the tent wall.
“Temperature about the core is now almost at 10 degrees Celsius, Mr Stansen,” said the young technician, sitting in front of the monitors.
“Good,” said Nigel, watching the camera as it moved from side to side showing an open tunnel in front of the leader. “How long do you estimate the climb will take, Joseph?”
“Probably twenty to thirty minutes at the slow rate they will have to travel,” answered Fliedner, “but the object should be exposed by the time they get there.”
The next twenty minutes seemed to go on forever, as they watched the monitor marked ‘team leader’ and the seemingly endless tunnel unfolding before them. At regular intervals, the technician would read out temperature and a drainage flow reading.
“The objects surface temperature is now at fifteen degrees Celsius, Mr Stansen,” said the young technician after seventeen minutes, “and the flow rate is two hundred litres per minute”
“Well, your team should be almost there Joseph, and the object should now be completely visible,” said Nigel looking expectantly at the monitor showing the view of the tunnel.
On the monitor marked ‘sonar image’ they could see a cross-section of the object and the surrounding ice. One hour ago it had been a dark blob surrounded by solid ice. Now, it was beginning to change to a warmer colour and a shaded area around it was becoming larger. The heating rods had been positioned in such a way that it would heat from the bottom upwards, eventually, leaving the object sitting in a pool of water.
As they watched the ‘team leader’ monitor eagerly, the tunnel suddenly appeared to end, becoming a black hole that their headlights no longer penetrated. At last, they had arrived.
In the tunnel, the team leader motioned for the others to halt. He went ahead alone, cautiously, step by step, towards the edge of the ice wall, until at last, he pushed his head out through the hole and into the darkness of the abyss. His lights immediately plunged into a hole twice as deep as the tunnel was wide. Ten meters beneath his position sat a huge black shiny object in a large pool of water. The team leader rotated his head slowly, his lights cutting a swathe through the inky blackness of the icy cavern that had been created by the heating rods. He could see the drainage holes in the chamber where water was still flowing, but there was not enough light for him to judge the true dimensions of the entire cavern.
He reached down to his utility belt and removed two giant Cyalume light capsules, putting them down on the ice floor in front of him. Slowly he rotated a knob on the top of each; until there was a crunching noise as a glass vial inside broke, causing the interaction of two chemicals. He gave them a shake to mix the chemicals together, and they began to glow. Soon the light had intensified, creating a brilliant halo around the team leader and silhouetting him against the darkness of the chamber. One at a time, he threw them out to opposite sides of the giant metallic orb. Now, it and the long heat rods that protruded from the ceiling at intervals of a meter could be seen clearly.
He turned to his team that was waiting obediently some distance behind him and indicated for them to come forward. He then positioned a collapsible ladder to bridge the ten-meter gap between the tunnel entrance and the floor of the cavern. In turn, each of the team members lowered themselves into the chamber, the floor of which was still covered in knee-deep freezing water.
On the surface, Nigel, Fliedner and the technician watched the monitor as the Cyalume's and the headlights of the team member's illuminated the image of the alien object.
“Sir,” said the technician, “the temperature on the surface of the orb is now twenty degrees Celsius.”
“What,” said Fliedner with surprise, looking across at the instrumentation in front of the technician?
“What is it, Joseph,” Nigel asked, a little concerned by his assistant’s reaction to this news?
“It’s strange, the heating rods are only capable of heating to fifteen degrees Celsius, but the heat monitor focused on the object has reached twenty degrees.”
“So,” asked the anthropologist?
“Well, under the conditions down there, that‘s impossible.”
Now Nigel looked at the gauges himself.
“Sir,” said the technician again, “it’s still going up, sir, it’s now twenty-two degrees.”
They all stared at the temperature monitors, oblivious of the other screen, which was now showing the team approaching the object, ready to begin testing.
Three scientists in the group had reached the shiny surface of the black globe and were beginning to prepare their tests, which would involve sampling, core scans, and multiple frequency scans. The first scientist to approach and touch the object with a metal tool noticed that the surface, although smooth, was covered in what appeared to be perfectly hexagonal plates, or scales, interlocked across the surface.
He wedged his metallic tool into the slight gap between two of the plates and to his surprise, he found that he could lever it away from the object. He took the plate off and after examining it put it into a sample bag. He repeated this process four more times until he had uncovered an area of the surface about ten centimetres in diameter. Underneath he could see another layer of interlocking plates of the same size and shape.
On the surface, a drama was unfolding as the temperature now clicked over to twenty-six degrees.
“It even appears to be getting warmer quicker than before,” said the technician as he watched the decimal increments of a tenth of a degree click over faster and faster.
“I don’t like this Joseph,” said Nigel, sensing something was just not right, “get your team out of there now.”
“Are you…” began Fliedner, but then he turned to the microphone, “team leader, this is the surface, come in.”
“Yes boss,” came back the reply straight away.
“Get your team together and get them out now, Owens,” ordered Fliedner trying to make it sound urgent enough to make it happen without question, but not enough to cause them to panic.
“But, boss, they are still testing and the engineers are just starting to take measurements,” came back the reply from below.
“Owens, this is an order,” said Fliedner, making his position clear, “wind it up and get out with what you have.”
There was only a very brief moment of silence.
“Yes boss, we’re on the way.”
On the monitor, they could see the scientists working on the object turn around, make a few gestures with their hands, then turn and begin walking towards the tunnel entrance. The scientist, who had taken the samples put the last of ten pieces into his carry bag and followed the others.
“It’s just over thirty degrees now, sir,” said the technician, sounding more alarmed, “and increasing rapidly.”
Fliedner looked at the temperature monitor then back at a screen marked ‘chamber’ that showed the object sitting in the cavern. This picture was being taken from a camera that had been mounted in the chamber and left there. On the other monitor, he could see the penetration group climbing slowly up the icy tunnel slope in front of their team leader. Back in the cavern, the water was rising quicker than the drain holes could cope and it was beginning to cover the object.
“Sir, this is not good,” said the technician,” it won’t be long before it hits forty degrees and the water is going to begin boiling.”
Nigel looked at Joseph as if hoping for some answers. Fliedner was busy calculating in his head before he spoke into the microphone again.
“Team leader, listen carefully, the object is generating heat on its own and has almost reached forty degrees Celsius. The ice is melting very quickly behind you and I have no idea when, or if, this thing is going to stop. My guess at this stage is that it isn’t and for some reason, it is going to go off with a bang. I have no idea what the affected area will be, but you have to get your team out of their real quick. Do you understand me?”
There was no pause this time and Fliedner could hear in Owens’s voice the military person beneath the surface take over.
“Yes, sir will step up our pace.”
Owens had been chosen for the job mainly because of his military credentials. In his previous life, he had been a decorated Navy Seal, by education he was a qualified mechanical engineer and as a bonus, he was also an experienced mountaineer. On the screen, Fliedner saw the team begin lifting their legs faster as Owens was obviously pushing them to their max.
“Fifty degrees sir,” said the technician nervously, “it might be a good time for us to leave too, sir. We are only five hundred meters away.”
“Just keep watching it son,” said Fliedner sternly, “we’ll be okay.”
Below the surface, the team was now at a scramble, trying to make sure the spikes of the ice shoes took a grip before pushing off to the next step. Most of them, apart from Owens, were breathing heavily and some gasping had pulled the covers from their faces to help them get more air. The person in front stumbled and the team member behind fell over him. The third helped them with a little push but the progress stalled momentarily. Owens at the back could sense the danger and yelled to them to get their asses into gear.
‘Still about one hundred meters to go,’ he thought, ‘got to pick up the pace.’
On the surface, the three watched anxiously, feeling completely helpless.
“Sixty degrees,” said the technician, almost swallowing his words before he could get them out.
The camera in the chamber was showing an image of the object that had not changed in any way. Except now, it was as if it was raining in the chamber with the ceiling ice melting rapidly. In the tunnel, they could see more tripping and staggering, as the team seemed to slow rather than speed up.
“Seventy degrees,” said the technician, swallowing harder.
“Come on,” said Nigel, under his breath and feeling the strain.
All of a sudden, on the team leader’s camera, they could see the entrance to the tunnel about thirty to fifty meters away.
“I’ll get the hatch,” said Nigel, rushing to the entrance of the tunnel, anxious to do something other than just stand there.
“Eighty degrees,” shouted the technician, wanting to be sure that everyone heard him.
Nigel unwound the hatch door and pulled back on it. The door swung open and he could now see the lights of the team.
“Ninety degrees,” yelled the technician, again.
Fliedner looked at the monitors, but now the underground chamber was just a blur from the steam that had been generated and he could no longer make out the object.
As the first team member climbed out of the tunnel the technician yelled.
“One hundred degrees!”
‘This had to be a critical temperature,’ Nigel thought, ‘one hundred always was, time to get everyone out of the area.’
“Okay son, get out of here,” Nigel yelled at the technician.
The young man took no further encouragement, picking up his coat and running to the entrance of the tent. As each team member came out of the tunnel, Nigel said the same, and in turn, they each headed for the outside. Fliedner was next to Nigel now at the tunnel entrance, and as he helped each one climb out, he would give them a push that sent them launching towards the exit to the tent.
Finally, Owens was the last up and Nigel took a long-distance glance at the temperature monitor and could swear from that distance it said one hundred and fifty degrees. The three remaining, Nigel, Fliedner and Owens, all dashed for the exit. Once outside they saw the team all sitting in the snowcat waiting for them. Off about one hundred meters, and sprinting, was the young technician. Only one more could fit into the vehicle, so Nigel grabbed Fliedner by the arm and swung him towards the spare seat.
“Not me, you should go,” objected Fliedner.
“I’m not the one with the gammy leg,” yelled Nigel, “besides; Owens and I are the fittest, now go.”
Fliedner looked at him disapprovingly but then jumped in. He knew this was true if anyone could make it on foot, Owens and Nigel would.
The vehicle sped off across the glacier, down the slope towards the roadway that had brought them up from the town of Fiesch. Fliedner looked anxiously back at the two left behind.
“We are better to cross the glacier sideways,” said Owens, “it’s shorter.”
Nigel nodded his approval and sprinted off as quickly as he possibly could; restricted somewhat by all the cold weather gear he was wearing.
Owens was extremely fit and soon caught up, easily pacing him. About a hundred meters away they could see a rocky outcrop that most likely indicated the edge of the glacier.
‘Must not stop,’ thought Nigel, ‘even if this is a false alarm.’
But it was no false alarm, and all of a sudden, they could both feel the ice under their feet rumbling. Something was happening. Both men now sprinted, and Nigel discarded garments as he ran.
‘Only fifty meters to go,’ he thought.
Then there was a screeching noise behind them. Nigel did not look around for fear what he might see would slow him down.
Behind them, a section of ice, one hundred meters in diameter, lifted up a huge bubble in the ice and snow, before immediately being sucked back down. With that, the surface ice that had lifted just disappeared. As it sank, there was a roar and the hundred-meter circumference began to grow rapidly. The surface of the glacier began to vanish into an expanding massive hole stretching out in every direction.
Owens, just behind the anthropologist, looked over his shoulder when he heard the screeching roar, only to see a giant section of ice behind him disappear. The hole that followed, then began to grow rapidly, the outer rim gaining on him at the speed of a fast-moving locomotive.
Owens looked towards the rocky outcrops, which were forty meters away, then back at the hole, which was one hundred meters away and approaching fast. He then shot forward, determined to outrun the certain death of being sucked into the ice hole. Once alongside the anthropologist, he could see the look of determination on Nigel’s face.
‘Twenty meters to the rocks’, Owens mind counted mechanically, as he rationalized his probability of survival.
He looked back quickly.
‘Fifty meters to the edge of the hole.’
His muscles exploded.
‘Ten meters to the rock,’ he counted down, as he heard the edge of the hole getting closer and closer.
‘Five meters to the rock.’
He glanced down, and his left foot lifted off from solid ice that in a split second did not exist, as it plummeted into the darkness of the abyss. His left foot hovered impossibly over the churning whiteness of the collapsing glacier and with his right leg still on firm ice, he took one more push and catapulted through the air towards the shingle rock that seemed still to be so far away. His arms landed on the bare rock and he desperately grabbed at what he could. It broke away and he began to slip back into the chasm.
‘I’m gone,’ was all he could think, ‘so close, but in the end, I didn’t make it,’ his last desperate thoughts screamed at him.
Fear began to savagely envelop his mind as his mortality was presented to him, but then as if from nowhere, something snagged his wrist and his body crashed back into the crumbling rock face. He stopped his bounce with his free hand and managed to grab some rock that was stable. He looked up and in total amazement saw a bloodied hand reaching down holding his wrist from above him on the ledge. Somehow, Nigel had beat him to the rock and had managed to land safely and grab his arm in the process.
Owens clawed his way up the loose shingle surface rock of the ledge, while below him, he could hear what was left of the glacier thundering down the slope. Once up next to Nigel he collapsed, lying outstretched and exhausted. All he could do was look into the bleeding face and relieved eyes of Nigel Stansen.
‘Without a doubt, I owe my life to this man,’ he thought, as he turned his head slightly to look down the glacier once again.
They both lay motionless and gasping to breathe on top of the outcrop for several minutes before Nigel made an attempt to sit up. He stared down the mountain as the ice and snow still rumbled and roared in the distance. Neither said a word, as they both came to terms with their own survival and the fear that their comrades may not have been so lucky.
Chapter twenty eight
The Glacier
Joined here by sky as dispatched by manifest,
Taken then abandoned but mortality uncertain,
A little rain at entry from sky to earth when dry,
In fact at taken be death arriving at a bad hour.
Nostradamus-1557