The Lost World: The Mars Series book 4

FOREWORD

The Lost World is the fourth book in The Mars Series and follows the events described in the third book, The Quest of Captain Ernst.

The year 2012, the subject of many predictions about the future of life on Earth, came and went. It was to be a watershed year, in which monumental changes were to take place on our planet. Some said that an Earth-shattering natural disaster would change forever the world we live in, possibly another asteroid impact to rival the one that wiped out the dinosaurs sixty-five million years ago. In the event, nothing catastrophic took place. We waited in suspense but the end of the year came and 2013 is well on its way to the history books. But we cannot dismiss the prophesies outright. Perhaps our descendants will look back on the year 2012 and agree that it was the year when humanity turned the corner. Only time will tell.

It is hard to imagine a better world just around the corner. Turn on the news and you are bombarded by an array of horrors: earthquakes and hurricanes; vicious floods and parching droughts; terrorist attacks and suicide bombings; mass murders and shootings; devastating civil wars and genocides displacing millions of innocent people. What we have to understand is that we as a race have created those atrocities and disasters. Many of us pursue lifestyles more and more unsustainable as the population of the world creeps irreversibly towards the eight billion mark. We continue to thirst for oil, knowing full well that our planet is hurting, and hurting badly. We are told that there are now 800 million cars guzzling fossil fuels and spewing gases into the atmosphere. There are those who deny global warming, like ostriches with their heads in the sand. Are we going to destroy the pristine polar regions as well? It seems so. We as a race are responsible for all this. It is time each one of us reflects on what it is we want for our world. We as individual bodies may not be here when things get really nasty, but our children and their children will be. Is there a light at the end of the tunnel? We have to believe so. But love, caring, sharing, tolerance and respect have to replace hatred, greed, envy and selfishness, before any improvement can be expected. We all have to be part of the solution rather than part of the problem.

Bill Steadman, the hero of our story, is an ordinary boy, subject to much the same fears and aspirations as any other boy of his age in our modern world. But he has been given a challenge. It is his destiny to head an international NGO, with the task of bringing together the youth of the world to challenge those who would risk destroying our planet for wealth and power. I believe it is their right to protest.

In The Lost World Bill and his friends find the fabled prehistoric civilisation of Atlantis. The civilisation I describe is from my own imagination, since there is no scientific evidence to give a clue about its nature, even if it did exist. Their experiences lead them to see a parallel with the situation in our own time; how scientific advancement and the worship of money and power have the combined ability to bring to an end the very civilisation they promote. The citizens of Atlantis, save for a few enlightened ones, had forgotten God. They allowed their government to pursue devilish policies and practices, as long as they were assured a comfortable existence. It is like that in our world today. We allow those who control the world, politically and financially, to adopt policies that are destroying our precious home, while many of us sit back complacently and enjoy comfortable and often extravagant lives, while many others live in poverty and misery. We expect economic growth to continue forever, but there is a limit.

In this adventure story I have introduced other topics that are becoming increasingly popular subjects for discussion and research, such as the profusion of pyramid structures scattered around the world. Were they built by the same people and what was their true purpose? And another: Will we see colonies established on Mars during this century?

To provoke thought I have touched on many issues that we take for granted, like the force of gravity and the custom of presenting maps with north at the top, And, as you might expect, different religious and spiritual beliefs crop up in conversation between normal healthy young minds. All this is intended to provoke readers into listening to and respecting the views of others. I hope that the introduction of Sathya Sai Baba, the avatar of our age, has not upset readers who are brought up with strict religious dogma. Incidentally He has predicted that our world will be peaceful within thirty years. It is difficult to believe it. He will need instruments to bring this about. And those instruments are you and I and everyone on this planet.

Chris Hawley

Lamu, October 2013

PART ONE

IN SEARCH OF A LOST CIVILISATION

CHAPTER ONE

ATLANTIS: FACT OR FANCY?

I awoke to the sound of creaking above my head and the taste of salt on my lips. I opened my eyes and, fearful of what I saw, promptly closed them again. A wave struck the front of the raft, sending a thin spray of salt water over my face. I wiped my stinging eyes with the sleeve of my shirt and, leaning on my elbow, turned my head to face Ernst, who was standing astride the tiller and grappling with a rope, with the help of Tim.

I had gone to sleep on the deck in the pink dawn light, after manning the tiller with Sonia during the hours of darkness. Now the day had put on a heavy grey overcoat, which matched the sulky grey ocean flecked with white. My eyes sought out my fiancée. She and Jennifer were sheltering from the wind by the wall of the cabin, and I gave a sigh of relief. But now the sail suddenly swung out and the raft swayed, allowing the next wave to wash over the deck. I hurriedly checked to make sure that the rope round my waist was properly anchored. Each one of us was secured this way in case we were washed overboard.

‘It’s getting rough,’ said an anxious voice beside me. It was Ben, who had been awakened too by a totally unexpected shower of salt water.

‘You’re right,’ I agreed with a grimace, and grabbed his arm. ‘Look out! Here comes another one!’ We twisted our heads just in time to avoid another face-full.

The helmsman looked up and attempted a grin. His white face contrasted with his long black hair. ‘So you two are awake now,’ he shouted.

‘Ernst, what’s happening?’ I yelled at him. ‘Where is this storm coming from?’

‘The nearer we get to the Caribbean…’ His voice was taken away by a strong gust of wind that beat the sail and caused the raft to tilt. ‘…to find storms.’

I had heard of one severe hurricane not long back; hurricane Katrina. Because of its circular shape and its warm waters, the Gulf of Mexico is prone to violent storms, which during the ‘season’ attack the southern states of USA. Katrina was the costliest and one of the most destructive hurricanes in US history. In August 2005 it devastated the coast of Louisiana, causing more than 1,800 deaths and destroying property worth billions of dollars. I cringed at the thought of our poor little raft facing such fierce storms, and wondered if natural disasters were as common 12,000 years before Christ walked the Earth, the very time in which we were riding the ocean waves.

I looked about me. The quickening wind was whipping the foamy caps from the tips of the waves and angrily hurling them aside. Visibility was no more than a few hundred metres, even though the rain was yet to come. I was alarmed at the speed with which the storm was intensifying. I wanted to plead with Ernst to make for land, but I knew that the Brazilian coast was far off to the left, or, as a true sailor would say: ‘off to port.’

‘Where are we now?’ I shouted in vain at the mop of black hair. He could not hear me: his full attention was on preventing the sail from breaking loose.

My mind flew back to the day on which we had sailed out of the Amazon River; the day on which we had last seen the distant line of trees that marked the edge of the tropical rainforest. More than a week ago, wasn’t it? Ten days, I think. Now we were facing the full wrath of the ocean.

Soon after sailing out of the estuary we had altered our course northwards. That day had marked the end of a joyous fortnight, during which time we relaxed, while the amiable waters swept us downstream. We had found plenty of time to give thanks for being together again: after weeks of battling the mosquito-infested river; after being embroiled in acrimonious squabbles that threatened to end our friendship; after being herded like animals into slavery; after losing the time bubbles that were the only lifeline to the 21st Century. There had been plenty of reasons to celebrate during those two weeks. Not only had we escaped from bondage, but our efforts, and Ernst’s courage, had set in motion a rebellion that we believed would see the slavers banished from the land of the farming community we had come to admire. Tim’s wounds at the jaws of the dreaded cayman had healed, thanks to unexpected help from the Andromedan, who had paddled across the river in a dugout in the form of an Amazonian tribesman. And just as important, the wounds to friendship that had almost doomed us all had also healed. To our surprise and delight, one of the transport bubbles that we were sure was lost had been found in a corner of Jennifer’s backpack, and from then on had been tightly secured to her body. And when we had come to accept the awful realisation that the only remaining time bubble was lost for good, it had turned up in most incredible circumstances, renewing our confidence in eventual release from our prehistoric prison.

Strange, isn’t it? We can look back at a life-threatening crisis that at the time seemed hardly bearable, and laugh about it. We can boast to others about something horrible that just happened to us, as if we had wished it to happen for the excitement of it. For sure, if we had had the choice at the time, we would have run away. It had been like that on the raft, as we drifted easily downstream. We went over the traumatic events of the past three months as if it were just an adventure story, with us as the heroes. Once we believed we were safely past, we could joke about it. And joke we did!

‘Hey! Weren’t those boat people hopping mad when they found out they’d been conned?’ Ben had said with a laugh.

Sonia slapped his back and put on a frown. ‘It’s okay for you: you weren’t on the raft with a bunch of crazy witches! I thought we were done for.’

‘Me too,’ said Ernst. ‘But a brilliant idea of mine, wasn’t it? I mean, to light the flare. You should’ve seen Madam jump into the sea: it was really comical.’

In our laughter we had forgotten the terror we had later felt when we had seen the horde of spear-wielding tribesmen galloping down the dunes into the sea, while we were frantically trying to push the raft into deep water, and struggling with the sail.

‘A pity we never got to know what they thought of the fire that was started by the lightening,’ I said. ‘They must have thought we’d asked the God of the Sea to strike their village.’

‘Or his good friend, the God of Fire,’ added Ben.

‘Yeh!’ said Tim with a grin, ‘like they thought we’d asked the Sea God to send the tsunami to wreck their boats.’

In similar vein we had reminisced about the cayman attack that had almost ended Tim’s life. We discussed in detail Ben and Tim’s decision to dash from the village temple to the forest edge in bright moonlight, to escape the raid by the slavers, a decision that had ended in Ben and Jennifer being separated from the rest of us. We others had been marched off into slavery, from which we feared never to escape. While we had been making light of Ernst’s paranoia about meeting up with his wife and son, the man himself shook his head slowly from side to side, hardly believing now that he could have stolen the only remaining time bubble and, in so doing, sentencing the rest of us to a lifetime in the 12th Millennium BC.

During that uneventful voyage downstream our thoughts and conversation had also dwelt on the important mission ahead of us. I had made it clear that I would not return home without the secrets that Zeris had entrusted us with bringing back from antiquity. Our vows of commitment to this mission had been renewed, and we had set our hearts on successfully completing the task, no matter what dangers and obstacles lay in our path.

Determined as I was to carry out the mission to its conclusion, I often thought about home during that journey to the ocean. In one daydreaming session I was talking to my mother on the mobile phone, and telling her how we had spent the past three months aboard a raft on the Atlantic Ocean and along the mighty Amazon River, 14,000 years in the past. I could hear her pleading voice: ‘Bill, be careful!’ I imagined her distraught face, lined with the worry of having a son who disappeared to God-knows-where for weeks on end. In the background I could plainly hear my father’s rough voice telling me to end the nonsense and would I get back to school at once. Is it possible I am actually living this, or is it a vivid dream, from which I will awake and find myself in bed in dear old Dover Street, with dear Mum shaking my shoulder gently and saying it is time to get up? At other times I thought of Dawn, the sweet lady who was managing the local library at the time I met Sonia, and who had married Sonia’s father, Albert Smith. I had not imagined I could have forgiven the beastly man who had splashed all over the front page of the local paper the story of my relationship with the girl from Mars. He was certainly a changed man since meeting Dawn. Of course, I was aware that all the subjects of my daydreams were safely fixed in the 21st Century AD and would not actually exist for another 14,000 years. This realisation never ceased to cause me pain.

My thoughts often travelled further and I would search the night sky for the little red spot that was the planet Mars. Not only were Zeris, Michu, her father, Priam and all my other Martian friends living 14,000 years in the future but also millions of kilometres out in space. But I was very conscious of the fact that it was the plan for us to be on the planet Earth in the year 11,995 BC, precisely the year before the ancestors of our Martian family escaped execution and went into exile in space bubbles to face an uncertain future on the bleak and lifeless Red Planet. The fact that they had survived and prospered on Mars was a miracle indeed. But if those pioneers had died out, what would have happened to me, Bill Steadman on my first epic journey to Mars in my homemade Silver Streak. Unknown to me, those Martian, whom I later came to know so well, had sent a space bubble to rescue me, just as I had begun to realise that the cold and lack of oxygen meant certain death. But I also realised something deeper: that the force that drove me to build that spaceship in the garden shed of No. 16 Dover Street and blast off into space came from the Martians themselves. All that courage and dedication on my part was engineered by them for a higher purpose. What was that purpose? As Zeris had often drummed into my head, Earth was on the brink of environmental disaster, and Bill Steadman, no less, was to play a dynamic part in saving the planet. I could see that plan unfolding slowly but surely. It gave me such a powerful sense of value, as well as a profound sense of humility.

The past ten days since leaving the Amazon estuary had not been without its periods of anguish, like the morning that began with a discussion about the ancient civilisation of Atlantis, and ended with prayers in gratitude for our survival. It happened like this. We were sitting in a circle on the deck, enjoying the early morning sunshine and the fresh breeze from starboard.

‘So where are we heading, Ernst?’ I asked the black-bearded skipper.

‘The world is our oyster,’ he replied jovially, spreading out his arms.

‘But the pearls we are looking for are only in one place,’ I reminded him.

‘The thing is: where?’ cut in Tim.

Ernst shrugged. ‘Only God knows.’

Sonia leaned forward. ‘Well, we decided to forget the other side of the Atlantic, didn’t we? That’s why we sailed west.’

‘Actually we had no choice,’ said Ernst with a smile. ‘As I told you then, at that time of the year the current sweeps down the west coast of Africa; you know, Western Sahara, Mauritania. And the northeast trade winds blow the same way. You see, it’s hard to sail the other way.’ Ernst swept back his long black hair with his hand and laughed. ‘Geography was one of my pet subjects at school.’

‘So where to then?’ I persisted.

‘Ah! We’re going to benefit from favourable ocean currents once again. We’ve picked up the strong current that sweeps along the northern coast of South America, past French Guiana, Surinam and Guyana, and then on to the Caribbean islands. Eventually it brushes the southern tip of Florida.’

‘Great!’ exclaimed Tim. ‘We can all go to Disneyworld.’

We all laughed, except Jennifer, who looked at Tim, not knowing quite whether to believe her boyfriend.

Sonia scoffed. ‘We’re in the 12th Millennium BC, if you remember, Tim.’

‘Really, Sonia!’ said Tim with sarcasm. ‘Well, maybe Fred Flintstone has made a similar thing.’

I could not help being impressed by Ernst’s wide knowledge of the oceans. But I had not been able to rid my mind of the belief that the North Atlantic Ridge was once above sea level, and that somewhere on that ridge existed, before the dawn of recorded history, a civilisation as advanced as our own, if not more advanced. But I had been surprised that we had crossed the Atlantic Ocean from Africa to South America without finding land, and that bothered me.

‘Ernst?’ The tone of my voice caused everyone to study my face. ‘Ernst, how far do you think we are from the Atlantic Ridge?’

The captain put back his head and laughed aloud. ‘There you go again!’ he cried, and shook his long black locks. ‘Haven’t you given up that crazy idea yet?’

‘No, and I won’t either,’ I countered crossly.

‘We crossed the whole Atlantic. Did we find the ridge?’ he asked with a sneer. ‘Did we? Tell me that!’

‘We could’ve sailed between two islands,’ I said. ‘Atlantis was made up of several islands, you know.’

‘Poof!’ said the son of Hermann. ‘The story of Atlantis was just a dream of Plato. It never did exist.’

‘Edgar Cayce, the Sleeping Prophet talked about Atlantis several times when he was under hypnosis,’ I argued.

Ernst laughed. ‘I don’t believe that either: he was just dreaming.’

Sonia came to my rescue. ‘I don’t think we can just dismiss it,’ she said.

‘Exactly!’ said Ben.

‘Nonsense!’ snorted the captain.

I wasn’t going to give up. ‘Ernst, you’ve not answered my question: how far are we from the Atlantic Ridge?’

Ernst studied the blue sky, as if the answer lay there. ‘It would be the North Atlantic Ridge, I think. About five hundred miles, would be my guess. But we’d see nothing, ‘cos it’s deep down under the water.’ The last phrase was uttered forcefully, as if he wanted it to be the end of the argument.

I was becoming annoyed at his stubbornness. ‘Maybe it’s not deep down under the water,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’s as Plato said. Maybe it is inhabited by advanced people. Remember the flying thing we saw when we first arrived in Africa?’

‘But that belonged to your Andromedans,’ said Ernst quickly, turning to Tim, almost as if he considered them Tim’s pet animals.

‘That’s true,’ I admitted, ‘but the Andromedans could’ve taught them how to make those flying things.’

‘Or they made them and lent them to the Andromedans,’ offered Jennifer.

Ernst huffed. ‘If Atlantic exists, I will eat my hat.’

‘What, that mouldy old straw one?’ exclaimed Tim.

We all had a good laugh, even the owner of the mouldy old straw hat.

‘If I was a betting man,’ said Ernst, ‘I’d put down ten pounds on Atlantis being a myth.’

‘Well, I am a betting man,’ I replied, ‘and I say Atlantis is a real place.’

‘Okay, you’re on,’ said Ernst and stuck out his hand. I clasped it and shook it vigorously.

Ben put his hand on top of our handshake. ‘And I’ll add another ten. I say it does exist.’

Sonia scoffed. ‘Gamblers!’ she said disdainfully.

‘No, seriously, guys,’ I said, ‘why don’t we head out into the Atlantic and look for the Ridge?’

Ernst looked sullen. It was the first time I had seen him like that since our brief experience of slavery.

‘Bill’s got a point,’ said Ben. ‘If the Ridge is only five hundred miles, it would be crazy not to give it a go. We might find Zeris’ ancestors without going any further.’

‘No!’ said Ernst emphatically. ‘No! No! No!’

Sonia, Ben and I shared glances. Nobody spoke for some time.

‘Why not?’ I asked eventually.

‘Because…’ Ernst paused.

‘Because what?’

Ernst suddenly got up and stretched. ‘Time for some rest,’ he declared, and moved off.

‘What about it, Ernst?’ I called after him.

‘Just leave it, Bill,’ he said over his shoulder, and, opening the flap, he disappeared into the cabin.

‘Typical!’ said Tim.

I sighed. ‘Later, we’ll talk about it again.’

But the question of whether we should search for Plato’s Atlantis and the Ridge was not mentioned again that day. Something else happened later in the day that put the argument out of the minds of all of us.

CHAPTER TWO

SHARK ATTACK

It happened like this. Ben was acting skipper, keeping the raft on the course that Ernst had been following since the day before. He occasionally checked his compass, adjusting the rudder when necessary. Tim and Jennifer had decided to seek the relative cool of the cabin, while the captain himself had not yet emerged.

Earlier in the day we had laid out fishing lines with brightly coloured flies and several fish had been filleted and now hung up to dry in the hot sun.

I looked behind at the wake that streamed out behind us. Something caught my eye. It was crossing from one side to the other, a dark shape, which was just visible against the white foam. It was hard to see clearly. I knew from experience that stationary objects have a habit of appearing to move, so I continued to study it without comment, not being sure that my eyes were not playing tricks. Whatever it was, it seemed to be following the raft.

Eventually I put my hand on Sonia’s arm and pointed with my finger. ‘What do you make of that, Sonia? There, behind us.’

For a few moments she stared in that direction without speaking. Then she said softly, ‘It’s a shark.’

‘You’re right,’ I said. I could now make out the triangular shape of a large fin as it came nearer. ‘And there’s another smaller one just behind it.’

Ben heard this and turned. ‘My God, a shark!’ he cried in alarm.

As he said this, the triangles came closer.

‘It’s a monster!’ I cried.

We scrambled to our feet and moved away from the edge of the raft. The shapes were now only about thirty metres away and approaching fast, weaving from one side to the other.

‘Get up on the roof!’ I yelled.

Ben was first on top, using the mast to climb up and trailing his rope behind him. I looked over my shoulder to see the first shark only ten metres away.

‘Quick, Sonia!’ I shouted. ‘Get on the roof!’

She was clutching the mast with both hands and had one foot against the corner of the cabin. I gave her a push from behind and she managed to lift herself onto the edge of the roof. She jerked on the rope that was stretched tight behind her.

‘Bill! The rope! It’s too short!’

I cursed under my breath. ‘It’s got caught on something!’

At that moment there was a heavy jolt that almost caused me to lose my balance. I clutched hold of the mast and looked up at the terrified face of Sonia just above me.

‘Oh! Bill!’

As I lifted my foot I turned and glanced over my shoulder. The nose of the shark was resting on the edge of the raft, its white eye staring at me. It was one of those moments in nightmares when, however hard you try to escape from your terrifying pursuer, your legs won’t obey the command from the brain.

‘Give me your hand, Bill!’ It was Ben’s urgent voice from the roof.

With legs like jelly I stuck out my hand. Ben grabbed it and pulled hard. Sonia had her hand underneath my other arm. Her face, contorted with fear, was watching the shark behind me. I twisted my neck again. At that moment the hideous monster opened its mouth to display a whole army of razor sharp teeth. I lost my footing in my panic to climb faster. The raft dipped sharply as the shark attempted to slither onto the deck. I almost fell backwards into the waiting jaws. But Ben had a good hold on my arm now and was pulling furiously. I felt a strong tug from behind and imagined the shark was tearing at my clothes. A quick glance behind showed me that the beast had in its mouth the rope that anchored me to the raft. One snap and the rope parted, and Ben was able to hoist me onto the roof of the cabin out of reach of the lethal row of teeth. But Sonia, unable to move to the centre of the roof because her rope had caught on something, was clinging to the edge, perilously near the open jaws of the giant fish. However hard Ben and I tried to pull her towards us, she was unable to move.

It was fortunate that Ernst came out of the cabin at that time, armed with a long pole that had been left over on completion of the raft. The deck was inclined at about twenty-five degrees but Ernst held onto the corner of the cabin. The gaping jaws were only inches from Sonia’s left leg, which had slipped over the edge of the roof and was waving about temptingly in front of the ravenous monster. Ernst brought down the pole onto the nose of the shark with as much force as he could. The surprised creature turned sideways and slipped back into the water, causing the raft to tip violently the other way, sending Ernst flying backwards into the water. If he had not been secured by his rope, he might have become a tasty meal for the shark. Ben, who was more alert than Sonia and me, leapt off the roof and began pulling on Ernst’s rope. At that moment Tim and Jennifer appeared. Tim joined his brother. Ernst was swimming frantically, lunging for the edge of the raft several times before managing to get a grip on the matting. He struggled out before the angry beast could turn its huge body sufficiently to speed to where he was. Ernst lay gasping on the deck. Sonia and I had been joined on the roof by the terrified African girl. We watched the drama below with a feeling of helplessness.

‘Ernst! No!’ yelled Ben. ‘Get up on the roof, quickly!’

Ben and Tim were dragging the sodden Ernst away from the front of the raft, while the fin came gliding towards them. Then the enormous nose lifted out of the water again. There was an angry glint in the eye that saw its prey almost within reach of its jaws. But Ernst was not to be food for the shark. He