Tuesday, January 4, 2011
It's finally here!
After many a false start and detour, the day has finally arrived! "The Curse of the Golden Inca" is now in print and available for sale! I'm waiting on the deadtree version, but the Kindle version is up and available right now so click on the title and go enjoy it!
Saturday, October 23, 2010
THE GIANTS WIN!!!!!
Saturday night and the Giants just beat the Phillies!!! They're going to the World Series and they're going to beat the living crap out of the Rangers!!!!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
New short stories on scribd!
This happens every once in a while. It's like the floodgates just bust wide open and short story ideas just come and come and come. I've written two stories in the last week.
First, it was "A Good Provider". Read it here: http://www.scribd.com/doc/38654433/A-Good-Provider
It's another vampire story, with a little twist. I've got it entered into a short story contest that ends tomorrow. Keeping fingers crossed.
Second, a story called "Envy". http://www.scribd.com/doc/39213855/Envy
I think the title says it all - not for the squeamish!
First, it was "A Good Provider". Read it here: http://www.scribd.com/doc/38654433/A-Good-Provider
It's another vampire story, with a little twist. I've got it entered into a short story contest that ends tomorrow. Keeping fingers crossed.
Second, a story called "Envy". http://www.scribd.com/doc/39213855/Envy
I think the title says it all - not for the squeamish!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
As always...ONE MORE THING!
Since I can't seem to find a writer's group that fits me around here, I'm forming my own! So, if you're a writer (published or not) and you live in the SF/fantasy/horror neighborhood, drop me a line at Writer_TonyC@hotmail.com.
Join the Metaluna Society and make the world safe for great writing!
Join the Metaluna Society and make the world safe for great writing!
I'm back, baby!
I know, I know. It's been awhile since I posted anything new here. I've been busy. You know, life and other stuff. Lady Di is hard at work with her business, Young at Heart Communications. I'm still banging away at my keyboard writing stuff that nobody wants to buy.
But...as every writer knows, you must have a certain amount of both arrogance and narcissism to survive this lifestyle. I'm accumulating quite a collection of rejection slips but I'm getting better at shrugging off the disappointment and write it off to fershluginner editorial assistants with no attention span or taste. Unless, of course, you ARE an editorial assistant reading this in which case I have to commend you on your impeccable taste and have you checked out my stuff at:
http://www.scribd.com/Tony_Castro
We have a very nice young man staying as our boarder until the end of the year. His name is Maxime Paulus, from France, and he's working as an intern for a local tech company. Bright kid with a lot of ambition and brains. And well-mannered, to boot.
As for my beloved Freddy...well, he's now a special-needs pooch. Yes, the time has finally come to admit that poor Fred is now completely blind. He doesn't seem to mind, though. It's amazing how well dogs can adapt to losing a sense or a limb.
Politically, I'm still a damn liberal. I truly hope that Meg Whitman, or Queen Meg, loses and loses badly. A plutocratic hypocrite who didn't bother to register until a couple of years ago, has broken the all-time record for personal money blown in a political campaign, and knowingly employed (and allegedly abused) an illegal immigrant as housekeeper and nanny. Oh, don't forget that the reason she gave for not registering was that she was too busy raising her kids...so why the nanny? I'm glad that Gloria Allred (as annoying and hateful as she can be) has produced the evidence publicly. Jerry Brown may be a career politician but, damn it all, isn't experience what we want in a governor?
Well, enough of the ranting. Back to writing!
But...as every writer knows, you must have a certain amount of both arrogance and narcissism to survive this lifestyle. I'm accumulating quite a collection of rejection slips but I'm getting better at shrugging off the disappointment and write it off to fershluginner editorial assistants with no attention span or taste. Unless, of course, you ARE an editorial assistant reading this in which case I have to commend you on your impeccable taste and have you checked out my stuff at:
http://www.scribd.com/Tony_Castro
We have a very nice young man staying as our boarder until the end of the year. His name is Maxime Paulus, from France, and he's working as an intern for a local tech company. Bright kid with a lot of ambition and brains. And well-mannered, to boot.
As for my beloved Freddy...well, he's now a special-needs pooch. Yes, the time has finally come to admit that poor Fred is now completely blind. He doesn't seem to mind, though. It's amazing how well dogs can adapt to losing a sense or a limb.
Politically, I'm still a damn liberal. I truly hope that Meg Whitman, or Queen Meg, loses and loses badly. A plutocratic hypocrite who didn't bother to register until a couple of years ago, has broken the all-time record for personal money blown in a political campaign, and knowingly employed (and allegedly abused) an illegal immigrant as housekeeper and nanny. Oh, don't forget that the reason she gave for not registering was that she was too busy raising her kids...so why the nanny? I'm glad that Gloria Allred (as annoying and hateful as she can be) has produced the evidence publicly. Jerry Brown may be a career politician but, damn it all, isn't experience what we want in a governor?
Well, enough of the ranting. Back to writing!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Another rejection
Got another rejection notice this morning. FriedFiction rejected "The Return of Doctor Schull". Still working on monster-hunting kid vs vampire elf short story. Got the blues playing - right now, it's the great T-Bone Walker bending string on "I Hate To See You Go".
Helped the Lady Diane with a vendor problem - a familiar story: jerkoff idiots in IT (and I should know because I work in that field) that rolled an upgrade or a change to their servers without testing it. Result: client's email gets blowed up good for almost two days with no freakin' explanation, contact or even the barest attempt at giving customer support. After messing around with SMTP settings and port numbers, it's all back to normal...but this third-party joke of a company has now been fired by my lovely wife.
And now, back to writing!
Helped the Lady Diane with a vendor problem - a familiar story: jerkoff idiots in IT (and I should know because I work in that field) that rolled an upgrade or a change to their servers without testing it. Result: client's email gets blowed up good for almost two days with no freakin' explanation, contact or even the barest attempt at giving customer support. After messing around with SMTP settings and port numbers, it's all back to normal...but this third-party joke of a company has now been fired by my lovely wife.
And now, back to writing!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
The eternal waiting...
Saturday morning. Waiting, eternally it seems, to hear back from magazines, agents and publishers over the many submissions I've made over the last few weeks. I guess that's just part and parcel of the writer's life. Oh, well...I'll just keep waiting.
Taking poor Fred the Wonder Terrier to see his doggie doctor today. Poor guy, his tummy's giving him lots of problems. He's not eating much, either. Fingers crossed.
Rewriting "The Return of Doctor Schull" from top to bottom. I'm trying very diligently to follow Heinlein's Rules of Writing - especially "show, don't tell." It can be tough because it's forcing me to rewrite almost the whole thing, but the results are better than expected. More action, more atmosphere, and a lot less boring exposition. Once I'm done, it goes back out on the market...that's another of Heinlein's rules: put your writing out on the market and keep it there until it sells.
That's the writer's life for you!
Taking poor Fred the Wonder Terrier to see his doggie doctor today. Poor guy, his tummy's giving him lots of problems. He's not eating much, either. Fingers crossed.
Rewriting "The Return of Doctor Schull" from top to bottom. I'm trying very diligently to follow Heinlein's Rules of Writing - especially "show, don't tell." It can be tough because it's forcing me to rewrite almost the whole thing, but the results are better than expected. More action, more atmosphere, and a lot less boring exposition. Once I'm done, it goes back out on the market...that's another of Heinlein's rules: put your writing out on the market and keep it there until it sells.
That's the writer's life for you!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Rainy Tuesday...
Not much going on. Trying to write but no inspiration. Got a couple of ideas and concepts but no actual plot to hang on them. Monster hunting kids, vampire elves, universes in collision, game shows in heaven...but nothing is coalescing, know what I mean? Hummm, maybe I'll just go back and re-edit another story...
Monday, February 22, 2010
Stuff runnin' thru the brambles of my mind...
Well, it's Monday. Again. Small kitchen disaster on Sunday morning - dishwasher decided to puke up large quantities of warm water on our kitchen floor. Lady Di freaked out, Fred the Wonder Terrier freaked out, I freaked out...just a general freakout, man! Well, at least it's been taken care of - just some hose replacement and it's A-OK now.
On the Olympics: is anyone else as fascinated by curling as I am? I've never even seen it played before but it's mesmerizing. The t-line, up or down, the guard stone, the brooms, the zen composure of the thrower...who thought up this sport? Freakin' genius, I tell ya...
The other thing has been the SPECTACULAR spills that the women skiers were taking on the downhill. Good God, those poor skiers were tumbling down the slopes like sock puppets...and then would get up and keep going! Amazing.
Last Olympics note: after seeing the ice skating events, I now realize that "Blades of Glory" is NOT a comedy. It's a searing expose of the seamier side of ice skating told in a chilly, almost documentary-like realism. And it has Will Ferrell!
Last thing I've had on my mind. Let's get serious. I've been reading and hearing a lot about this Joe Stack person in Austin who flew his private plan into an IRS building there. The most disturbing thing has been this trend I'm seeing to somehow crown this guy as a populist hero.
WHAT A CROCK!
This guy was many things, but a hero is not one of them. His manifesto reads like a rant from the typical selfish, egocentric, immature idiot who blames all of his problems on everyone else instead of looking in the mirror. Folks, this guy CHEATED on his taxes! He even went so far as to register his home as a church in California, just to get out of paying taxes. He even owned a private plane, for chrissakes! And he had the gall to cry about the evil, evil IRS hounding him, oh, boohoohoo.
Joe Stack was a coward. Instead of being a man, facing his problems and working thru them he took the easy out. He killed himself in a very public, very spectacular manner in one last pathetic bid for attention. He had no life insurance, and no homeowner's insurance policy will pay out if you burn your own house down. His wife and his stepchildren are now truly destitute, thanks to Joe Stack. The family of Vernon Hunter, IRS employee and Vietnam veteran, will live forever with the sadness of his unprovoked, meaningless murder at the hands of Stack. But Stack? He doesn't have to deal with any of these things, does he? He took the easy, cowardly way out.
Folks, if you don't want trouble with the law all you have to do is NOT break the law! We've been audited, we've had problems with the IRS, a lot of people have...but you don't see me or anyone else flying our planes or driving our cars into IRS buildings, do you? Joe Stack, Domestic Terrorist/Tax Cheat/American Idiot...may his soul NEVER rest in peace.
On the Olympics: is anyone else as fascinated by curling as I am? I've never even seen it played before but it's mesmerizing. The t-line, up or down, the guard stone, the brooms, the zen composure of the thrower...who thought up this sport? Freakin' genius, I tell ya...
The other thing has been the SPECTACULAR spills that the women skiers were taking on the downhill. Good God, those poor skiers were tumbling down the slopes like sock puppets...and then would get up and keep going! Amazing.
Last Olympics note: after seeing the ice skating events, I now realize that "Blades of Glory" is NOT a comedy. It's a searing expose of the seamier side of ice skating told in a chilly, almost documentary-like realism. And it has Will Ferrell!
Last thing I've had on my mind. Let's get serious. I've been reading and hearing a lot about this Joe Stack person in Austin who flew his private plan into an IRS building there. The most disturbing thing has been this trend I'm seeing to somehow crown this guy as a populist hero.
WHAT A CROCK!
This guy was many things, but a hero is not one of them. His manifesto reads like a rant from the typical selfish, egocentric, immature idiot who blames all of his problems on everyone else instead of looking in the mirror. Folks, this guy CHEATED on his taxes! He even went so far as to register his home as a church in California, just to get out of paying taxes. He even owned a private plane, for chrissakes! And he had the gall to cry about the evil, evil IRS hounding him, oh, boohoohoo.
Joe Stack was a coward. Instead of being a man, facing his problems and working thru them he took the easy out. He killed himself in a very public, very spectacular manner in one last pathetic bid for attention. He had no life insurance, and no homeowner's insurance policy will pay out if you burn your own house down. His wife and his stepchildren are now truly destitute, thanks to Joe Stack. The family of Vernon Hunter, IRS employee and Vietnam veteran, will live forever with the sadness of his unprovoked, meaningless murder at the hands of Stack. But Stack? He doesn't have to deal with any of these things, does he? He took the easy, cowardly way out.
Folks, if you don't want trouble with the law all you have to do is NOT break the law! We've been audited, we've had problems with the IRS, a lot of people have...but you don't see me or anyone else flying our planes or driving our cars into IRS buildings, do you? Joe Stack, Domestic Terrorist/Tax Cheat/American Idiot...may his soul NEVER rest in peace.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Wonders of Science!
We live in amazing times. Most of the doodads and gadgets we play with today were but the fevered dreams of science fiction writers when I was in school. But we haven't achieved the biggest goal of all: cheap, non-polluting energy for the whole world. Still, there is hope. Here, check this out: http://www.ted.com/talks/bill_gates.html?awesm=on.ted.com_89Dt
It's the talk Bill Gates gave at the recent TED meeting. Can we ever, truly, get down to zero CO2 emissions? I don't know, but I'm reminded of this quote from Buckminster Fuller's "I Seem To Be A Verb":
"When there was not enough whale oil or coal oil, there were not enough lamps to go around, some said that what was needed was social engineering, to move more people to the lamplight available. What was really needed was one Edison."
Somebody out there is working right now to become that next Edison. Education was, is and shall always be the key to solving society's problems. It irks me no end when I hear things like that numbskulled state senator in Utah who wants to solve the state's budget shortfall by COMPLETELY ELIMINATING the 12th grade in all public high schools in Utah.
I read science and I'm fascinated by things scientific. But I'm not a scientist. I won't be that next Edison. How about you? Would you like to save the world? Will you?
It's the talk Bill Gates gave at the recent TED meeting. Can we ever, truly, get down to zero CO2 emissions? I don't know, but I'm reminded of this quote from Buckminster Fuller's "I Seem To Be A Verb":
"When there was not enough whale oil or coal oil, there were not enough lamps to go around, some said that what was needed was social engineering, to move more people to the lamplight available. What was really needed was one Edison."
Somebody out there is working right now to become that next Edison. Education was, is and shall always be the key to solving society's problems. It irks me no end when I hear things like that numbskulled state senator in Utah who wants to solve the state's budget shortfall by COMPLETELY ELIMINATING the 12th grade in all public high schools in Utah.
I read science and I'm fascinated by things scientific. But I'm not a scientist. I won't be that next Edison. How about you? Would you like to save the world? Will you?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Interesting week so far...
Well, it's been an interesting week so far. I'm producing short stories at a rate that is, frankly, blowing me away. Three stories done since Saturday morning! But this is also the week I found out that my cousin Olga (living in Miami) has had a stroke. A big one. She's lost use of the left side of her body and is not conscious. *sigh* Not a happy time for us. My aunt in NYC passed away on New Year's Eve, my aunt in SoCal has pancreatic cancer (and it's inoperable), and now this. If bad news really comes in threes, then I hope this is it for the year...
But there's one chunk of very good news: my sister got a job! Yay! She starts on Pres Day, can you believe that? Meanwhile, the Lady Di is about to land another placement contract and I'm still trying to get someone to buy my short stories. As for Fred the Wonder Terrier...he's sleeping right now and in the middle of a dream! Lucky pooch...
But there's one chunk of very good news: my sister got a job! Yay! She starts on Pres Day, can you believe that? Meanwhile, the Lady Di is about to land another placement contract and I'm still trying to get someone to buy my short stories. As for Fred the Wonder Terrier...he's sleeping right now and in the middle of a dream! Lucky pooch...
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The trouble with modern poetry
I'm a writer. I love writing, I love words, I love massaging them and manipulating them and creating my stories. But there's something that I have to confess: I can't stand poetry, modern poetry in particular.
Why, you ask, would a writer say that? Isn't self-expression the point of writing and isn't poetry the perfect vehicle for that self-expression? Yes to the first part, and a big 'HELL NO' to the second.
Here's the problem, as I see it. Ever since the days of Byron and Shelley, the function of poetry has changed. It is no longer used as a narrative form. There is nobody like, say Milton or Dante, who use poetry to tell a story. As good as Byron and Shelley are, they are the men who changed poetry from a narrative medium to a medium that seems entirely concerned with the emotional state of the writer. And that, frankly, is boring.
I don't want to read poetry that's just an excuse for someone to sit there and gaze at their navel. I don't want to read poetry that is only about the writer's need for love or approval or spiritual growth. I can get that stuff from reading Dear Abby. If you want to be a poet, please disavow yourself of the notion that poets MUST be the sensitive, introspective artiste type that must always wear black and stare oh so sensitively out at the waves of the ocean. There's way too damn many of those types and most of their stuff stinks.
I don't want to know about your romantic woes. Please use your imaginations and use poetry to tell a story!
Why, you ask, would a writer say that? Isn't self-expression the point of writing and isn't poetry the perfect vehicle for that self-expression? Yes to the first part, and a big 'HELL NO' to the second.
Here's the problem, as I see it. Ever since the days of Byron and Shelley, the function of poetry has changed. It is no longer used as a narrative form. There is nobody like, say Milton or Dante, who use poetry to tell a story. As good as Byron and Shelley are, they are the men who changed poetry from a narrative medium to a medium that seems entirely concerned with the emotional state of the writer. And that, frankly, is boring.
I don't want to read poetry that's just an excuse for someone to sit there and gaze at their navel. I don't want to read poetry that is only about the writer's need for love or approval or spiritual growth. I can get that stuff from reading Dear Abby. If you want to be a poet, please disavow yourself of the notion that poets MUST be the sensitive, introspective artiste type that must always wear black and stare oh so sensitively out at the waves of the ocean. There's way too damn many of those types and most of their stuff stinks.
I don't want to know about your romantic woes. Please use your imaginations and use poetry to tell a story!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Movie of the Day: The Brotherhood of the Wolf
2001, Director: Christophe Gans, Starring: Samuel Le Bihan, Running Time: 144 minutes, Country of Origin: France
With enough plot for five American movies, this is a French mélange of slasher film, Hammer horror, political intrigue, romance, martial arts, and historical melodrama. Quite a mixture, and it’s to director Gans credit that he manages to pull it off quite well. Samuel Le Bihan is the Royal Taxidermist, sent by the King to investigate a series of killings in the province of Gevaudan and why nobody seems capable of catching the beast responsible. Le Bihan’s rationalistic scientific hero is contrasted by his Iroquois companion, played by American actor Mark Dacascos. It’s visually a very sumptuous film, with beautiful set design, costumes and rich period detail. It’s also got some pretty hair-raising sequences as our two heroes hunt down a seemingly supernatural Beast that is ravaging the countryside with impunity. It can be challenging, especially for us who have been raised watching movies that are so much slimmer in their plotting, but it’s ultimately a satisfying ride.
Rating: a solid 4 stars. Find it and rent it.
With enough plot for five American movies, this is a French mélange of slasher film, Hammer horror, political intrigue, romance, martial arts, and historical melodrama. Quite a mixture, and it’s to director Gans credit that he manages to pull it off quite well. Samuel Le Bihan is the Royal Taxidermist, sent by the King to investigate a series of killings in the province of Gevaudan and why nobody seems capable of catching the beast responsible. Le Bihan’s rationalistic scientific hero is contrasted by his Iroquois companion, played by American actor Mark Dacascos. It’s visually a very sumptuous film, with beautiful set design, costumes and rich period detail. It’s also got some pretty hair-raising sequences as our two heroes hunt down a seemingly supernatural Beast that is ravaging the countryside with impunity. It can be challenging, especially for us who have been raised watching movies that are so much slimmer in their plotting, but it’s ultimately a satisfying ride.
Rating: a solid 4 stars. Find it and rent it.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Super Bowl is now over...and all we got were a bunch of LOUSY commercials!
The game was great, even if I was expecting a higher score. Saints played out of their minds in the second half. But the big disappointment...the lousy commercials. Doritos and Denny's had some good stuff and the Bud commercials were cute...but the Go Daddy stuff, the car commercials, the e-trade babies (blech! is everyone as sick of those little fetuses as I am?), let's face it. They SUCKED. As for the big deal Tebow RTL ad...did CBS even air it? When? Seems like much ado about a whole load of nothing to me. Oh well, all I can say at this point is...
GO NINERS!!!KICKIN' ASS IN 2010!!!!SB XLV ALL THE WAY!!!
GO NINERS!!!KICKIN' ASS IN 2010!!!!SB XLV ALL THE WAY!!!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Saturday Night with a Newcastle....ahhh!
Sittin' and drinkin', just typin' away. Oh, I found a great site to post my writings! Go, click on the title, follow the link! It'll take you to http://www.scribd.com/ and I've got the FULL text of "The Curse of the Golden Inca" up there, revised/edited and kickin' ass, just waitin' for you to go and read it! I've also got "The Return of Doctor Schull" there, also! Two kick-ass adventures from MY pulp adventure hero waitin' for you, and they're FREE! Just do a search for "Tony_Castro" and you'll see 'em all!
See what one beer does to me?
See what one beer does to me?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Rainy Tuesday...
It's raining pretty hard in Novato. Nobody wants to go outside but at least the telephone lines ain't down. What am I working on now: well, I got my first query package out last week! It went to the Ethan Ellenberg Literary Agency in NYC - from what I've seen, he seems to have a fondness for romance/SF/suspense books that could ideally generate a franchise. I think the good doctor fits that criteria to a T, n'est ce pas?
I'm also working on a new short story about an extremely ill-fated expedition looking for a lost city. Violent, sexy, bloody...I'm aiming for something that's got a 'film-noir' taste to it in terms of dialogue and character. Temporary title is "The Stone Guardians", my goal is to finish it this week and post it on fanstory.com for comments and criticism.
The Lady Diane is hard at work with her company, SOS4Seniors, and the Senior Lifestyle Exchange group. It's all about helping seniors figure out the complicated morass that is deciding whether to stay in their homes or move to a retirement community. Believe me, it ain't a simple or easy one! You can check it all out here: www.sos4seniors.com.
As for Fred The Wonder Terrier...he's just being a big lazybones, sacked out on one of his many beds! I guess he figures his job around here is mainly inspirational so he doesn't have to do more than just be around. And you know what? He's right!
I'm also working on a new short story about an extremely ill-fated expedition looking for a lost city. Violent, sexy, bloody...I'm aiming for something that's got a 'film-noir' taste to it in terms of dialogue and character. Temporary title is "The Stone Guardians", my goal is to finish it this week and post it on fanstory.com for comments and criticism.
The Lady Diane is hard at work with her company, SOS4Seniors, and the Senior Lifestyle Exchange group. It's all about helping seniors figure out the complicated morass that is deciding whether to stay in their homes or move to a retirement community. Believe me, it ain't a simple or easy one! You can check it all out here: www.sos4seniors.com.
As for Fred The Wonder Terrier...he's just being a big lazybones, sacked out on one of his many beds! I guess he figures his job around here is mainly inspirational so he doesn't have to do more than just be around. And you know what? He's right!
Monday, January 11, 2010
It's been a busy time!
Well, I sure am glad the holidays are over. Not that it wasn't fun, but it sure was busy! But, I reached a major milestone - I finished my first novel! The name is "The Curse of the Golden Inca", starring Doctor Schull! I've entered chapter 1 in the San Francisco Writers Conference contest for writers (keepin' my fingers crossed!) and working on my proposal to literary agents...I want this thing published and I'm not quitting until it happens!
Friday, December 4, 2009
Been gone for a while...
Well, I've been a busy boy...I just got published! Go, check it out...and post some feedback, PLEEZE! Here 'tis...http://www.snmhorrormag.com/snmdecemberissue1.htm
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Return of Dr. Schull, Part II
Well, here it is, part two! Enjoy!
******************************************************************
2004.
It took Schuyler Engineering about six months before they found it. Overnight, it was transported by special air freight charter to the CEO’s private compound in Lake Tahoe. Once it arrived, a special team that Angelina Schuyler had hand-picked began the work of deciphering just what it was they’d found at the bottom of the East River.
At the end of the first week, Angelina Schuyler fired her entire team with the exception of Professor Anton Zhukov. They all grumbled and complained, but she kept them satisfied with a generous bonus package and transportation to any place in the world they wanted. She didn’t need them anymore, anyway.
It was Zhukov who first came to her after the second night of work. He’d figured it out, but he just couldn’t believe it. What the engineering teams had found was a suspended-animation chamber with an engraving on the side indicating that it had been built in 1873. It was the work of a genius, still ahead of it’s time…and it was occupied.
“Ms. Schuyler, you don’t seem very surprised by what I’ve just told you,” said Zhukov. The old Russian had a strong conviction that she knew exactly what the device had been all along, and who was in it. The situation he was in was odd, to say the least, but he was willing to go along if only for the sake of his own insatiable curiosity.
It was late in the evening, and Angelina was sitting and sipping a glass of chardonnay in her back deck. She looked up at Zhukov and studied him intently for a few seconds. He was old, tall, and thin with a full head of snow-white hair and a nasty set of scars on his arms. She knew that he’d defected from the old Soviet Union in the late 1970’s and had worked for the CIA and the Department of Defense for a number of years before she was able to lure him out of retirement with the promise of virtually unlimited resources for whatever scientific project at Schuyler Enterprises he wanted to tackle. He agreed immediately and for the last five years had been conducting genetic and cryogenic experiments that, while not technically illegal, would be deemed unethical by most people.
Putting her glass down, Angelina silently stood up and walked inside. She went straight to her private desk and, with her back to Zhukov, opened a hidden drawer and pulled out Dr. Schull’s journal. She opened it to the pages containing the schematic drawings of the container, turned to Zhukov and said “You’re right…I’m not surprised. Here is what that container is.” She held out the journal to him, open to the drawings. Zhukov took the book and looked with growing fascination at the schematics there. “Ms Schuyler, this is amazing” he said after a few minutes, “whoever did this was a genius, a true visionary. Where did you find this book? Who built this thing? I must know!”
Angelina knew that she had to be very careful with her information. She looked at Zhukov with a half-smile and said “I can tell you where I found it, Professor, but I’m afraid that I can’t tell you who built it, at least not yet. First, I need you to decipher how to work the locking mechanism of the lid and open the container. If I’m correct, if I find what I’m expecting, I’ll explain it all to you then. Whatever we find, I insist on strict secrecy regarding this entire matter. That’s why I’m dismissing the rest of the team – you and I can complete the work together, alone, in my private lab. Nobody must know what we’re working on until it’s ready to be shown to the world. Those are my conditions, Professor. Accept them and stay, reject them and I’ll send you back home with a very large bonus – but if you break your word, Professor, you will find that the world is suddenly a very hostile and small place with nowhere to hide. I’ll need your decision now, please.”
Zhukov removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Ms. Schuyler, I do not like threats. In science, they are of no value or use. Keep your secrets if you must; I am only interested in the work.”
“Professor,” said Angelina, “excuse me for being so blunt. My intention was not to threaten but only to clearly state the security issues regarding this project.” She leaned forward and said “Frankly, I need you, Professor…I need help that only Anton Zhukov can give.”
The old Russian found her personal plea touching and more than flattering to his ego. He agreed to her conditions, and the work began. For three weeks, they struggled to decipher the code the original builder used in his equations – whoever he was, thought Zhukov, he must have been an exceedingly paranoid person. Finally, the day came when they cracked it and were able to make sense at last of that part of the journal.
Angelina and Anton attached the heavy electrical cables to the electrode points at the top and bottom of the container. The lock consisted of about a dozen interlocking cylinders held fast by some kind of magnetic field. By applying an incrementally modulated electrical current, the magnetic field holding each of the cylinders would be released, and they would have access to a keypad where they would punch the final code that they’d deciphered from the journal. That was the theory. The reality was that neither Angelina nor Anton knew if this would actually work.
With the cables attached, they both moved to their respective control panels. On the count of three, they both hit their master switches. A hum started to fill the room as the electrical current coursed thru the container, causing it to shimmer and glow, almost as if it were something like liquid mercury. Angelina said “Electrical contact established, increasing current by one point.”
“Check. Electrical contact established, increasing current by one point.”
“Magnetic field strength for cylinder one decreasing, down to 60%. Increasing current by one point.”
“Check. Magnetic field decreasing, increasing current by one point.”
“Magnetic field strength for cylinder one continuing to decrease…40%...15%...2%...magnetic field for cylinder one disengaged!”
It was an astounding sight. Cylinder one had actually detached itself and seemed to be floating in the blue-white aura that was forming around the container. The mercurial glow of the container was now pulsing and steadily growing stronger, bathing both scientists in an eerie silvery light that made them look like materializing spirits.
The electrical hum was getting louder and Angelina had to raise her voice to be heard. “Modulate electrical current by one order of magnitude and hold it steady at five points!”
“Check! Modulating current by one order of magnitude and holding steady at five points!”
“Magnetic field strength for cylinder two decreasing, down to 85%...it’s working, Anton! Increase current by two points!"
“Check! Field strength for cylinder two decreasing, increasing current by two points…yes, isn’t it magnificent?”
Cylinder two’s field was disengaged, with the container now glowing with a strong and steady silver light that turned Angelina’s laboratory into a black-and-white setting. Once cylinder three was disengaged, they had to don their protective rubberized suits. The hum was now so loud that they could only communicate thru their radio helmets, but they continued thru the night.
Most of the night was gone by the time they hit the tenth cylinder. Angelina’s protective suit made her sweat and itch, her lips were dry and they were both using the protective visors in their radio helmets to shield their eyes from the light that glowed like the heart of a star from the container. She could hear Anton’s labored breathing thru her helmet and wondered how the old man was doing. The glow was so intense that she couldn’t see his face anymore, he was just a silver phantom that she could barely glimpse as he adjusted dials and switches on his control panel.
The tenth cylinder’s field disengaged, adding one more to the row of strangely floating cylinders that now seemed to be slowly moving in a circular pattern…almost as if they were starting to orbit the container.
She could see the old man’s movements getting slower. “Anton, are you all right? Repeat, are you all right? Anton, answer me!”
“I..am..all right,” the old Russian answered, “let us finish this, Angelina!”
“Very well, modulate current by one order of magnitude and hold it steady at 25 points!”
“Check…modulate current by…one order of magnitude…hold steady…25 points.”
When the field for the eleventh cylinder disengaged, it joined the rest of them in their strange dancing orbit around the container, but now they all started to pick up speed, going faster and faster until the cylinders became just a band of golden light that hummed and crackled around the container.
“Last cylinder, Anton! Modulate current by one order of magnitude and hold it steady at 50 points!”
“No, Angelina! The circuits cannot hold at that strength! The explosion will destroy everything!”
“They’ll hold! Do as I say!”
“Check…modulating current by one order of magnitude, holding steady at 50 poi..aaahhh!”
Angelina turned her head just in time to see a bolt of silver light surge from the container and strike the Russian scientist square in the chest. The old man stood for a second and then collapsed, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. She bolted to his side as she screamed his name, dodging a second bolt of silver light that struck the bank of equipment behind her and made it explode in a welter of flame and electrical sparks.
She kneeled by him, lifting his head as more and more bolts shot from the cylinder and began to reduce her laboratory to a smoking ruin. “Anton, speak to me,” she said, surprised at the tears that came to her eyes. “Anton, please speak to me!” she repeated over and over.
Suddenly, she could hear him take a weak, ragged breath thru her radio helmet. His voice rasped dryly “Angelina…no tears…only the work matters, your triumph…look…look…” His body suddenly relaxed and sagged into her arms.
Then, the twelfth cylinder disengaged and joined the other eleven in orbit around the container. Without dropping speed, all twelve cylinders suddenly shot up into the air, striking the ceiling and causing a shower of acoustic panels, metal, plaster and other debris to fall around them. The primary generator had burned itself out, leaving her in darkness until the emergency lights kicked in.
When they did after a few seconds, she found herself in a room that looked more like a battlefield bathed in a blood-red light than a laboratory. Some sparks still shot out from isolated corners and the lab was filling with an acrid smoke that stung her lungs. Coughing, she stumbled to the venting control panel and turned on the fans that quickly sucked out the smoke and sent it floating thru the Tahoe night.
She couldn’t believe it. She had failed and Anton Zhukov was dead. All that work, all that effort, her top scientist a corpse at her feet, her laboratory effectively totaled and what had she to show for it? She started to think Nothing, when she realized that there was a keypad that had appeared on the side of the container…she hadn’t failed!
Slowly, she stood up and walked to the container. Licking her lips, she began to punch the 128-character secret code from the journal. When she finished, there was a short electronic chirp from the keypad as it lifted up and split into two parts, revealing a golden latch in the form of the letters ZS.
What are you doing, she thought, what are you doing? Hadn’t she destroyed enough in one night, was one life lost not enough? But if she didn’t turn the latch and open the container, then her work and Anton’s death were both for nothing…she saw a hand grab the ‘Z’ and the other grab the ‘S’ and she thought how strange my hands look in this light as she pulled the letters apart.
There was a loud whooshing sound as the lid detached itself, with small wisps of smoke curling up from inside the container. Trembling, Angelina grabbed the lid and lifted it, just in time to see a pair of almost glowing green eyes drifting up towards her from the container and feel cold fingers wrapping around her wrist…
2004.
Headline from the Sacramento Bee, dated August 7th, 2004.
NOBEL PRIZE WINNER MISSING
Professor Anton Zhukov, winner of the Nobel Prize for Physics and for Medicine, was reported missing today when his personal airplane failed to arrive yesterday in Sacramento and could not be contacted by radio. Dr. Angelina Schuyler, CEO of Schuyler Enterprises and the person who is credited with convincing Professor Zhukov to defect from the Soviet Union, issued a statement saying that her thoughts and prayers are with Professor Zhukov’s family and reiterating her hopes that the aging scientist will be found alive…
******************************************************************
Next, in Part III of "The Return of Dr. Schull"...He Lives Again!
******************************************************************
2004.
It took Schuyler Engineering about six months before they found it. Overnight, it was transported by special air freight charter to the CEO’s private compound in Lake Tahoe. Once it arrived, a special team that Angelina Schuyler had hand-picked began the work of deciphering just what it was they’d found at the bottom of the East River.
At the end of the first week, Angelina Schuyler fired her entire team with the exception of Professor Anton Zhukov. They all grumbled and complained, but she kept them satisfied with a generous bonus package and transportation to any place in the world they wanted. She didn’t need them anymore, anyway.
It was Zhukov who first came to her after the second night of work. He’d figured it out, but he just couldn’t believe it. What the engineering teams had found was a suspended-animation chamber with an engraving on the side indicating that it had been built in 1873. It was the work of a genius, still ahead of it’s time…and it was occupied.
“Ms. Schuyler, you don’t seem very surprised by what I’ve just told you,” said Zhukov. The old Russian had a strong conviction that she knew exactly what the device had been all along, and who was in it. The situation he was in was odd, to say the least, but he was willing to go along if only for the sake of his own insatiable curiosity.
It was late in the evening, and Angelina was sitting and sipping a glass of chardonnay in her back deck. She looked up at Zhukov and studied him intently for a few seconds. He was old, tall, and thin with a full head of snow-white hair and a nasty set of scars on his arms. She knew that he’d defected from the old Soviet Union in the late 1970’s and had worked for the CIA and the Department of Defense for a number of years before she was able to lure him out of retirement with the promise of virtually unlimited resources for whatever scientific project at Schuyler Enterprises he wanted to tackle. He agreed immediately and for the last five years had been conducting genetic and cryogenic experiments that, while not technically illegal, would be deemed unethical by most people.
Putting her glass down, Angelina silently stood up and walked inside. She went straight to her private desk and, with her back to Zhukov, opened a hidden drawer and pulled out Dr. Schull’s journal. She opened it to the pages containing the schematic drawings of the container, turned to Zhukov and said “You’re right…I’m not surprised. Here is what that container is.” She held out the journal to him, open to the drawings. Zhukov took the book and looked with growing fascination at the schematics there. “Ms Schuyler, this is amazing” he said after a few minutes, “whoever did this was a genius, a true visionary. Where did you find this book? Who built this thing? I must know!”
Angelina knew that she had to be very careful with her information. She looked at Zhukov with a half-smile and said “I can tell you where I found it, Professor, but I’m afraid that I can’t tell you who built it, at least not yet. First, I need you to decipher how to work the locking mechanism of the lid and open the container. If I’m correct, if I find what I’m expecting, I’ll explain it all to you then. Whatever we find, I insist on strict secrecy regarding this entire matter. That’s why I’m dismissing the rest of the team – you and I can complete the work together, alone, in my private lab. Nobody must know what we’re working on until it’s ready to be shown to the world. Those are my conditions, Professor. Accept them and stay, reject them and I’ll send you back home with a very large bonus – but if you break your word, Professor, you will find that the world is suddenly a very hostile and small place with nowhere to hide. I’ll need your decision now, please.”
Zhukov removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Ms. Schuyler, I do not like threats. In science, they are of no value or use. Keep your secrets if you must; I am only interested in the work.”
“Professor,” said Angelina, “excuse me for being so blunt. My intention was not to threaten but only to clearly state the security issues regarding this project.” She leaned forward and said “Frankly, I need you, Professor…I need help that only Anton Zhukov can give.”
The old Russian found her personal plea touching and more than flattering to his ego. He agreed to her conditions, and the work began. For three weeks, they struggled to decipher the code the original builder used in his equations – whoever he was, thought Zhukov, he must have been an exceedingly paranoid person. Finally, the day came when they cracked it and were able to make sense at last of that part of the journal.
Angelina and Anton attached the heavy electrical cables to the electrode points at the top and bottom of the container. The lock consisted of about a dozen interlocking cylinders held fast by some kind of magnetic field. By applying an incrementally modulated electrical current, the magnetic field holding each of the cylinders would be released, and they would have access to a keypad where they would punch the final code that they’d deciphered from the journal. That was the theory. The reality was that neither Angelina nor Anton knew if this would actually work.
With the cables attached, they both moved to their respective control panels. On the count of three, they both hit their master switches. A hum started to fill the room as the electrical current coursed thru the container, causing it to shimmer and glow, almost as if it were something like liquid mercury. Angelina said “Electrical contact established, increasing current by one point.”
“Check. Electrical contact established, increasing current by one point.”
“Magnetic field strength for cylinder one decreasing, down to 60%. Increasing current by one point.”
“Check. Magnetic field decreasing, increasing current by one point.”
“Magnetic field strength for cylinder one continuing to decrease…40%...15%...2%...magnetic field for cylinder one disengaged!”
It was an astounding sight. Cylinder one had actually detached itself and seemed to be floating in the blue-white aura that was forming around the container. The mercurial glow of the container was now pulsing and steadily growing stronger, bathing both scientists in an eerie silvery light that made them look like materializing spirits.
The electrical hum was getting louder and Angelina had to raise her voice to be heard. “Modulate electrical current by one order of magnitude and hold it steady at five points!”
“Check! Modulating current by one order of magnitude and holding steady at five points!”
“Magnetic field strength for cylinder two decreasing, down to 85%...it’s working, Anton! Increase current by two points!"
“Check! Field strength for cylinder two decreasing, increasing current by two points…yes, isn’t it magnificent?”
Cylinder two’s field was disengaged, with the container now glowing with a strong and steady silver light that turned Angelina’s laboratory into a black-and-white setting. Once cylinder three was disengaged, they had to don their protective rubberized suits. The hum was now so loud that they could only communicate thru their radio helmets, but they continued thru the night.
Most of the night was gone by the time they hit the tenth cylinder. Angelina’s protective suit made her sweat and itch, her lips were dry and they were both using the protective visors in their radio helmets to shield their eyes from the light that glowed like the heart of a star from the container. She could hear Anton’s labored breathing thru her helmet and wondered how the old man was doing. The glow was so intense that she couldn’t see his face anymore, he was just a silver phantom that she could barely glimpse as he adjusted dials and switches on his control panel.
The tenth cylinder’s field disengaged, adding one more to the row of strangely floating cylinders that now seemed to be slowly moving in a circular pattern…almost as if they were starting to orbit the container.
She could see the old man’s movements getting slower. “Anton, are you all right? Repeat, are you all right? Anton, answer me!”
“I..am..all right,” the old Russian answered, “let us finish this, Angelina!”
“Very well, modulate current by one order of magnitude and hold it steady at 25 points!”
“Check…modulate current by…one order of magnitude…hold steady…25 points.”
When the field for the eleventh cylinder disengaged, it joined the rest of them in their strange dancing orbit around the container, but now they all started to pick up speed, going faster and faster until the cylinders became just a band of golden light that hummed and crackled around the container.
“Last cylinder, Anton! Modulate current by one order of magnitude and hold it steady at 50 points!”
“No, Angelina! The circuits cannot hold at that strength! The explosion will destroy everything!”
“They’ll hold! Do as I say!”
“Check…modulating current by one order of magnitude, holding steady at 50 poi..aaahhh!”
Angelina turned her head just in time to see a bolt of silver light surge from the container and strike the Russian scientist square in the chest. The old man stood for a second and then collapsed, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. She bolted to his side as she screamed his name, dodging a second bolt of silver light that struck the bank of equipment behind her and made it explode in a welter of flame and electrical sparks.
She kneeled by him, lifting his head as more and more bolts shot from the cylinder and began to reduce her laboratory to a smoking ruin. “Anton, speak to me,” she said, surprised at the tears that came to her eyes. “Anton, please speak to me!” she repeated over and over.
Suddenly, she could hear him take a weak, ragged breath thru her radio helmet. His voice rasped dryly “Angelina…no tears…only the work matters, your triumph…look…look…” His body suddenly relaxed and sagged into her arms.
Then, the twelfth cylinder disengaged and joined the other eleven in orbit around the container. Without dropping speed, all twelve cylinders suddenly shot up into the air, striking the ceiling and causing a shower of acoustic panels, metal, plaster and other debris to fall around them. The primary generator had burned itself out, leaving her in darkness until the emergency lights kicked in.
When they did after a few seconds, she found herself in a room that looked more like a battlefield bathed in a blood-red light than a laboratory. Some sparks still shot out from isolated corners and the lab was filling with an acrid smoke that stung her lungs. Coughing, she stumbled to the venting control panel and turned on the fans that quickly sucked out the smoke and sent it floating thru the Tahoe night.
She couldn’t believe it. She had failed and Anton Zhukov was dead. All that work, all that effort, her top scientist a corpse at her feet, her laboratory effectively totaled and what had she to show for it? She started to think Nothing, when she realized that there was a keypad that had appeared on the side of the container…she hadn’t failed!
Slowly, she stood up and walked to the container. Licking her lips, she began to punch the 128-character secret code from the journal. When she finished, there was a short electronic chirp from the keypad as it lifted up and split into two parts, revealing a golden latch in the form of the letters ZS.
What are you doing, she thought, what are you doing? Hadn’t she destroyed enough in one night, was one life lost not enough? But if she didn’t turn the latch and open the container, then her work and Anton’s death were both for nothing…she saw a hand grab the ‘Z’ and the other grab the ‘S’ and she thought how strange my hands look in this light as she pulled the letters apart.
There was a loud whooshing sound as the lid detached itself, with small wisps of smoke curling up from inside the container. Trembling, Angelina grabbed the lid and lifted it, just in time to see a pair of almost glowing green eyes drifting up towards her from the container and feel cold fingers wrapping around her wrist…
2004.
Headline from the Sacramento Bee, dated August 7th, 2004.
NOBEL PRIZE WINNER MISSING
Professor Anton Zhukov, winner of the Nobel Prize for Physics and for Medicine, was reported missing today when his personal airplane failed to arrive yesterday in Sacramento and could not be contacted by radio. Dr. Angelina Schuyler, CEO of Schuyler Enterprises and the person who is credited with convincing Professor Zhukov to defect from the Soviet Union, issued a statement saying that her thoughts and prayers are with Professor Zhukov’s family and reiterating her hopes that the aging scientist will be found alive…
******************************************************************
Next, in Part III of "The Return of Dr. Schull"...He Lives Again!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Here's what I promised...
I promised the return of a villain from yesteryear, reborn as an avenger of Justice...and now I shall deliver!
A little background: the main character, Dr. Zachariah Schull (pronounced 'skull'), has been adapted from a minor villain in the old "Wild Wild West" TV show. I found him such an interesting character that I told the Lady Di, right then and there, that I had to find a way to bring him back.
So here it is, part one of "The Return of Dr. Schull". Enjoy!
*****************************************************
The Return of Dr. Schull
By A. A. Castro
1874.
“So we play out the final scene here. You don’t believe you can arrest me, do you? Yes, I have lost…but you’ve lost too! I can still bring death to all of us here!”
The two United States Marshalls stood at the railing, staring down at the twisted and bloated wreck of a man who’d just snarled those words at them. Dr. Zachariah Schull, scientist, inventor, sculptor, engineer, ventriloquist, puppeteer and murderer was the quarry that they had both been chasing for the better part of two years, a chase that had led them from the waterfronts of San Francisco to the plains of Texas to an underground maze under New Orleans and finally to Dr. Schull’s underwater lair in New York’s East River.
The slightly older one said “If what he says is true, those boilers…when the water hits them…”
“Exactly!” cried the doctor, “It will be a marvelous explosion…my own personal Armageddon, gentlemen, but you’re invited…”
“NOW!” cried the younger Marshall, as he threw a small black device at Dr. Schull. The two lawmen threw themselves to the floor as the device exploded, shredding the steam pipes and wrenching an agonized scream of pain, anger and frustration from their quarry.
Both men ran down the stairs, trying to reach the door to the hidden elevator before the lair collapsed and the river reclaimed its’ own. Stumbling thru the darkness and wreckage, coughing and almost retching from the smoke and debris falling around them, they found and activated it. They made it to the surface and ran out of the abandoned old warehouse building just as it collapsed into the river. Suddenly, the water shot up in a mighty tower and the ground shook with multiple explosions as the few people around on a Sunday morning in that neighborhood screamed and fled in panic!
After a few minutes, the two lawmen looked at each other. The older one said “I think we can stamp ‘closed’ on Dr. Schull’s file, finally.” The younger lawman looked thoughtfully at the river for a few seconds and replied “Yes…I suppose you’re right, Artie. No man could have survived that.”
2004.
She was the President and CEO of Schuyler Enterprises, founded as a small-arms manufacturer in the 1890’s and now grown to a multi-billion-dollar multinational corporation that was involved in everything from genetic engineering and alternative power research to developing sophisticated satellite laser-guidance systems. She was tall, handsome and athletic with blonde hair and piercing green eyes that ran in the Schuyler family. She was incalculably wealthy, her advice and counsel was sought by companies and governments alike, she was on the cover of magazines ranging from Time to Le Monde to Caretas. But Angelina Schuyler was not a happy woman.
For all the success that she’d achieved, her fiercest desire was still unmet. She knew that “Schuyler” was not her family name. It was changed in 1875 from “Schull”, to try and wash away the shame brought upon it by one man, her great-great-grandfather. Zachariah Schull had been a genius, a mathematical and engineering prodigy who was also a talented sculptor and who even dabbled in puppeteering! He disappeared in 1874 when his laboratory under New York’s East River was destroyed after a pitched battle with two U.S. Marshalls who had pursued him and thwarted his plans for over two years.
Dr. Schull had been accused and convicted of a murder he didn’t commit. With the evidence that would have set him free destroyed and a rapidly approaching appointment with the hangman, he had escaped from prison in San Francisco and embarked on a plan for revenge against a Supreme Court that had denied him justice.
He came close to succeeding, killing two Supreme Court Justices while using a children’s puppet show as his cover. President Ulysses Grant himself ordered his top two United States Marshalls to track down and bring Schull to justice. It was a manhunt that was avidly reported by newspapers to millions of anxious readers around the world.
Angelina Schuyler knew the truth, however. Her great-great-grandfather was a genius who had been betrayed by his own government, his name falsely accused and his scientific achievements stolen or ignored. But it was a truth she couldn’t prove and would probably never be able to, even with his journal, a book that had been delivered to her the day before by an investigator she had hired.
The journal also included something else: a detailed plan of his East River lab, complete with schematic diagrams for a suspended-animation hyperbaric container that he intended to use as a last-resort escape device. It was revolutionary, still years ahead of anything modern medicine had produced, a treasure trove of patents that could open new areas of medical research. The land had passed from the Schull family to the Schuyler family and from there to the corporation, untouched and undeveloped since the initial desultory efforts to find Dr. Schull’s remains. If he’d actually built it and if it had survived, she could mount a search operation and cover it up as a minor riverside development project for a property that had lain fallow for many years. Angelina might not be able to clear her great-great-grandfather’s name, but perhaps she could discover something that would overshadow his false guilt…
1874.
The explosion had ripped apart the steam pipes that he used to animate and control his puppets. The steam had scalded his hands and face, but he was still able to activate the elevator platform. It quickly lowered him, hidden from view thru the central column, down to his last resort even as the river’s water rushed into his laboratory and destroyed his life’s work.
Why had God denied him his Justice? Yes, he was a murderer but what of it? Hadn’t he been murdered once already by a corrupt government and faithless friends? How much longer would he have to struggle and fight before his name would finally be cleared?
He could hear the two government agents as they ran down the stairs. They thought he was dead…good, let them continue thinking that. The smoke and flames had conspired with the escaping steam to hide him from their eyes. Once he entered his special chamber, his last resort, he would be safe from the collapsing structure around him and would sleep undisturbed by the world until a better tomorrow finally arrived.
Suddenly, he felt and heard the lift cables snap above him! With a sickening lurch, the platform dropped precipitously as Schull screamed “No, not like this! Not like this!” Unexpectedly, the platform hit the bottom – the cable had broken less than ten feet from the bottom of the shaft! Laughing, crying, coughing from the smoke, Schull dragged himself from the platform, unlocked the large metal door in front of him and entered his special chamber.
Quickly, he closed the door. He checked the levels of various gases and liquids that fed by rubber tubes into an opaque, sarcophagus-shaped container in the middle of the room. With a satisfied smile, he lifted the lid and climbed into the container. He lay down, pressed a sequence of buttons by his left hand, and sighed in contentment as the lid automatically closed. He
breathed deeply of the gases filling the container and slept…
*****************************************************
Coming soon in Part Two of "The Return of Dr. Schull"...a rescue, a revival, and a purpose discovered!
A little background: the main character, Dr. Zachariah Schull (pronounced 'skull'), has been adapted from a minor villain in the old "Wild Wild West" TV show. I found him such an interesting character that I told the Lady Di, right then and there, that I had to find a way to bring him back.
So here it is, part one of "The Return of Dr. Schull". Enjoy!
*****************************************************
The Return of Dr. Schull
By A. A. Castro
1874.
“So we play out the final scene here. You don’t believe you can arrest me, do you? Yes, I have lost…but you’ve lost too! I can still bring death to all of us here!”
The two United States Marshalls stood at the railing, staring down at the twisted and bloated wreck of a man who’d just snarled those words at them. Dr. Zachariah Schull, scientist, inventor, sculptor, engineer, ventriloquist, puppeteer and murderer was the quarry that they had both been chasing for the better part of two years, a chase that had led them from the waterfronts of San Francisco to the plains of Texas to an underground maze under New Orleans and finally to Dr. Schull’s underwater lair in New York’s East River.
The slightly older one said “If what he says is true, those boilers…when the water hits them…”
“Exactly!” cried the doctor, “It will be a marvelous explosion…my own personal Armageddon, gentlemen, but you’re invited…”
“NOW!” cried the younger Marshall, as he threw a small black device at Dr. Schull. The two lawmen threw themselves to the floor as the device exploded, shredding the steam pipes and wrenching an agonized scream of pain, anger and frustration from their quarry.
Both men ran down the stairs, trying to reach the door to the hidden elevator before the lair collapsed and the river reclaimed its’ own. Stumbling thru the darkness and wreckage, coughing and almost retching from the smoke and debris falling around them, they found and activated it. They made it to the surface and ran out of the abandoned old warehouse building just as it collapsed into the river. Suddenly, the water shot up in a mighty tower and the ground shook with multiple explosions as the few people around on a Sunday morning in that neighborhood screamed and fled in panic!
After a few minutes, the two lawmen looked at each other. The older one said “I think we can stamp ‘closed’ on Dr. Schull’s file, finally.” The younger lawman looked thoughtfully at the river for a few seconds and replied “Yes…I suppose you’re right, Artie. No man could have survived that.”
2004.
She was the President and CEO of Schuyler Enterprises, founded as a small-arms manufacturer in the 1890’s and now grown to a multi-billion-dollar multinational corporation that was involved in everything from genetic engineering and alternative power research to developing sophisticated satellite laser-guidance systems. She was tall, handsome and athletic with blonde hair and piercing green eyes that ran in the Schuyler family. She was incalculably wealthy, her advice and counsel was sought by companies and governments alike, she was on the cover of magazines ranging from Time to Le Monde to Caretas. But Angelina Schuyler was not a happy woman.
For all the success that she’d achieved, her fiercest desire was still unmet. She knew that “Schuyler” was not her family name. It was changed in 1875 from “Schull”, to try and wash away the shame brought upon it by one man, her great-great-grandfather. Zachariah Schull had been a genius, a mathematical and engineering prodigy who was also a talented sculptor and who even dabbled in puppeteering! He disappeared in 1874 when his laboratory under New York’s East River was destroyed after a pitched battle with two U.S. Marshalls who had pursued him and thwarted his plans for over two years.
Dr. Schull had been accused and convicted of a murder he didn’t commit. With the evidence that would have set him free destroyed and a rapidly approaching appointment with the hangman, he had escaped from prison in San Francisco and embarked on a plan for revenge against a Supreme Court that had denied him justice.
He came close to succeeding, killing two Supreme Court Justices while using a children’s puppet show as his cover. President Ulysses Grant himself ordered his top two United States Marshalls to track down and bring Schull to justice. It was a manhunt that was avidly reported by newspapers to millions of anxious readers around the world.
Angelina Schuyler knew the truth, however. Her great-great-grandfather was a genius who had been betrayed by his own government, his name falsely accused and his scientific achievements stolen or ignored. But it was a truth she couldn’t prove and would probably never be able to, even with his journal, a book that had been delivered to her the day before by an investigator she had hired.
The journal also included something else: a detailed plan of his East River lab, complete with schematic diagrams for a suspended-animation hyperbaric container that he intended to use as a last-resort escape device. It was revolutionary, still years ahead of anything modern medicine had produced, a treasure trove of patents that could open new areas of medical research. The land had passed from the Schull family to the Schuyler family and from there to the corporation, untouched and undeveloped since the initial desultory efforts to find Dr. Schull’s remains. If he’d actually built it and if it had survived, she could mount a search operation and cover it up as a minor riverside development project for a property that had lain fallow for many years. Angelina might not be able to clear her great-great-grandfather’s name, but perhaps she could discover something that would overshadow his false guilt…
1874.
The explosion had ripped apart the steam pipes that he used to animate and control his puppets. The steam had scalded his hands and face, but he was still able to activate the elevator platform. It quickly lowered him, hidden from view thru the central column, down to his last resort even as the river’s water rushed into his laboratory and destroyed his life’s work.
Why had God denied him his Justice? Yes, he was a murderer but what of it? Hadn’t he been murdered once already by a corrupt government and faithless friends? How much longer would he have to struggle and fight before his name would finally be cleared?
He could hear the two government agents as they ran down the stairs. They thought he was dead…good, let them continue thinking that. The smoke and flames had conspired with the escaping steam to hide him from their eyes. Once he entered his special chamber, his last resort, he would be safe from the collapsing structure around him and would sleep undisturbed by the world until a better tomorrow finally arrived.
Suddenly, he felt and heard the lift cables snap above him! With a sickening lurch, the platform dropped precipitously as Schull screamed “No, not like this! Not like this!” Unexpectedly, the platform hit the bottom – the cable had broken less than ten feet from the bottom of the shaft! Laughing, crying, coughing from the smoke, Schull dragged himself from the platform, unlocked the large metal door in front of him and entered his special chamber.
Quickly, he closed the door. He checked the levels of various gases and liquids that fed by rubber tubes into an opaque, sarcophagus-shaped container in the middle of the room. With a satisfied smile, he lifted the lid and climbed into the container. He lay down, pressed a sequence of buttons by his left hand, and sighed in contentment as the lid automatically closed. He
breathed deeply of the gases filling the container and slept…
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Coming soon in Part Two of "The Return of Dr. Schull"...a rescue, a revival, and a purpose discovered!
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