Episode 45
The Polyhedron in the Dark
... from the Files of Hydrogen Guy
My name is Adrian Room, of apartment number 6, 11343-225th Street, Maple Ridge, British Columbia, Canada. As I write these words at 9:00 PM on the 27th of April, 2001, I am conscious that this may be my final night on this Earth. Events and processes have been set into motion - by my own hand, I am ashamed, but not afraid, to admit - which will culminate in this evening's lunar eclipse. The forces I unleash will in all likelihood consume me utterly. I only hope that I am able to restrain them before these unutterable terrors escape into the world at large. If not, I hope this record might prove useful to those attempting to accomplish what I failed to do.
Whatever, no skin off my nose, I'll be dead, won't I?
I hope, too, that these posthumous recollections - if that's the phrase I want - I mean, they weren't written posthumously, obviously - but I mean, these recollections that will be read posthumously, that's the usual interpretation of the phrase - damn, I've lost my train of thought.
Right. I hope, too, that these posthumous recollections might discourage any who would follow the path that I have pursued, into realms of knowledge beyond sanity and credulity. Stick to botany. No, seriously, if I had to do it all again, I would have gone into botany. Not much risk of losing your marbles classifying fern fronds, or unleashing unutterable horrors on the world by studying the oaks of Western Ontario. I might have even had a new species of moss named after me. That's rewarding.
No, avoid my mistakes - studying incomprehensible tomes in darkened rooms, squandering my fortune on strange instruments, hours practicing strange incantations - shattering my mundane comprehension of the world - worlds - we inhabit, and irrevocably cracking my sanity into the bargain. At first I had little conception of my ultimate purpose, but now on the eve when that handiwork will break free into the world, I realize that I was wrong, wrong, that I should never have started down this dark path.
I realize I'm making it sound like I'm a programmer for Microsoft, but trust me, it's worse than that. A lot worse.
Let me start trying to make sense. In University I studied English Literature. In my honours dissertation, I wrote a rather convincing thesis demonstrating that the works of Shakespeare were actually written by Lady Jane Grey, who had escaped her execution with the help of Francis Bacon and lived for fifty years in a Rosicrucian monastery in Dorset. I didn't believe of word of it, of course, but it went over like gangbusters with the department. I imagine it's still being discussed in obscure journals somewhere.
The strength of this work established my reputation as an expert in rare and questionable manuscripts. Not that there's any money in that, but there it was. Eventually, after a sequence of dismal academic posts I was hired on as a junior editor for the small publishing house Cobham & Sons, in their Obscure Books division.
For five years I toiled in their musty offices, making a steady wage with work just interesting enough to keep me from chewing off my own hand. Cobham & Sons did not have a large catalogue, and most of what they had fell under the categories of either "earnest first novels and short story collections by Serious Canadian Authors" or "Obscure Books". The Obscure Books included things like translations of 17th century Basque song cycles, or classic works on Icelandic agriculture. I didn't get to see anything half so mundane.
The manuscripts that crossed my desk were generally those that, despite the fact that no one could possibly be expected to take them seriously, were quite genuine. These included an edition of the Cornaix Book, M. Crowley's seminal Faerie Fancier's Guide to Extra-Galactic Gamma Ray Sources, the script for Petrewski's musical Fuselage! based on Tongan cargo cult myths, and numerous other less familiar titles. As I worked over these volumes, it was hard to entirely avoid certain eccentric threads catching in my mind - particularly those that seemed to occur unexpectedly in seeming unrelated places. As years went by, it seemed to me that many of these strange works shared a common world-view - an undercurrent that seemed to suggest that the world we knew was not the only possible one, and that other worlds may not be as stringently bound by what we call "logic" as ours. Many books contained hints - circuitous, vague suggestions, often buried within footnotes - that these worlds and their peculiar denizens were closer than we imagined.
These musings of mine remained musings for five years, as I worked my way from junior to associate editor. One day, the senior editor handed me a thick folder of yellowed pages - they weren't that old, it just seemed a dog had piddled on them sometime in the past - and told me with great excitement that it was a complete edition of the Baubalieux Florilegium - one of the rarest and most questionable theosophical texts rumoured to exist. When I questioned him as to how he obtained it, all he would say is that he had purchased it from a "reputable source" on eBay. The task of preparing the mess of pages into a publishable form was now mine.
I was skeptical. The Florilegium had been alluded to in some of the post-war books I had worked on previously, and I knew enough about it to know that if this was, in fact, the genuine text, it would be a significant coup for Cobham & Sons to publish it. The Baubalieux Florilegium was allegedly the work of a French farmer, Walter Baubalieux, who had either died or disappeared mysteriously in 1942. It had first appeared in the 1978 with a man claiming to be Sergeant Wolfgang Jürgen Gauss, who seemed to be unaware that any time had passed since 1942. Since the manuscript first appeared, a handful of private copies had been made, but never had it been published or made available to the academic community that clamored to see it. Depending on who one asked, the Florilegium either did not exist, existed but was a colossal hoax, or was the most important theosophical manuscript of the past century. It seemed I had an opportunity to settle the debate.
As I delved into the brittle and mephitic pages, my skepticism dropped away like scales from my eyes. I became convinced that not only was this noisome sheaf the genuine article, but the original document that Gauss had left behind when vanished back into whatever mists had spawned him. What convinced me was, in short, everything. The tone of the text, the secrets it revealed, the bizarre premises upon which the author based his arguments - I instantly realized that the subtle undercurrent I had detected in so many strange books in the past few years was in this book a raging torrent of ideas, fully developed and laid bare to the reader adventurous enough to penetrate it.
Here was a history of the fall of the Ancient Republic which once ruled our Galaxy, the origins and ultimate fates of the Mages who embodied its power, catalogues of a legion of strange beasts and personalities who had shaped our world, our Galaxy, our entire Universe over the millennia. I was horrified to find many of the outlandish conclusions of my own honours thesis were here reproduced and embellished towards further absurdity, ultimately making sense within the seamless tapestry of insanity that the book presented.
Here were maps of the eldritch dream lands which surrounded the Earth and extended into planes of reality not accessible to our senses. Here was a detailed travelogue of cities of legend like Camelod, Beaujolais and Peradinium which neither exist nor have ceased to exist. It's useful to know where to eat in places like that.
And the text did not stop there. More world shattering information was contained therein, and even more horrifying were the possibilities it only hinted at. I fell completely under the book's spell, becoming obsessed with it. As weeks went by, I became more erratic in my daily habits, some days skipping work entirely and closing myself off in my rooms. The senior editor of Obscure Books began to question my lack of apparent progress towards readying the thing for publication. This state of affairs worsened until one day I was threatened with dismissal if the complete manuscript was not presented to him by the end of the week. I did the only rational thing I felt I could - I took the manuscript and a suitcase of random personal effects, got on a plane and legged it for Canada.
Arriving in Maple Ridge, I somehow managed to obtain an apartment downtown and there I devoted myself completely to studying the Florilegium. What funds I had remaining went predominantly to obtaining supplementary texts and materials which were recommended for the experiments detailed in the book's practical annex. For two years I led a truly miserable existence, but so far gone was I that I failed to notice. I only took time out from my researches to eat, sleep a handful of hours each night, and watch "The Simpsons" on Sundays. Even the latter I curtailed in the last months of my obsession.
Gradually my goal became clear to me - I wanted to travel between realities as described in the book. Once I became assured that I had the proper knowledge and skills necessary to begin the project, my first obstacle was to find a reality sufficiently close to penetrate. This problem, which might have taken years of further work, was solved for me by a fortuitous news article.
The story was on a bloody confrontation that had taken place atop Simon Fraser University's water tower. Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy had apparently confronted two criminal agents of ICBC and an unknown third entity. The body of one criminal, and portions of the other, were found, along with the blood of a third individual, and a fluid of unknown composition. There were no further traces of either the Diatomic Duo or the unknown entity. I followed the story with mild curiosity over then next several days, and gradually hints as to the true nature of the entity began to emerge. It was the same creature responsible for the disappearance of three RAF parachutists on leave in Ottawa, and it was known as the "Vector of Doom".
At once I recognized its description as belonging to a mathematical entity inhabiting one of the alien realities described in the Florilegium. For the Vector of Doom to be called into our world, I knew its reality had to be close enough to our own - close enough for me to make it the target of my own dark experiments.
Now that I had a target, I was able to begin the long, laborious process of open a portal. This required certain strange rites be performed at astronomically opportune times of the year - certain full moons in the sidereal cycle, eclipses, occultations, solstices and the like. These I performed fastidiously, and each time I was rewarded by a brief glimpse into the platonic realm that was my destination. Finally, at the vernal equinox of this past year, I performed the penultimate rite.
The boundary between our two realities was perilously thin. The next lunar eclipse, I would be able to open a portal, and I could step through into a new reality.
And any horror such as the Vector of Doom could come through into ours.
The knowledge that my goal was at hand sobered me. I began to examine the consequences of my actions for the first time since my days at Cobham & Sons. The implications of what I am planning hit me like a cyclopean monolith dropped from the apex of the Great Pyramid.
Was I out of my flippin' mind?
Apparently I was. Am. Yes, I am. I'm a freaking lunatic, is what I am. How many bad fantasy and horror movies does a person have to see to realize diddling around with this kind of stuff is a BAD IDEA? A few more than I have, apparently.
Time is short. The eclipse will occur very soon, I must prepare for the rite. Yes, I'm still going through with it. Why, you ask, if I now realize what a BAD IDEA this is, am I still going through with it?
As I said before - the boundary between the two realities is perilously thin. Thin enough that, even without the final rite, Things may have been able to slip through as the eclipse draws nearer. Only by performing the last rite, opening the portal, and then CLOSING it, once and for all, can disaster be averted. The fact that the weakened boundary has probably already attracted attention in the platonic realm, and there are probably some unutterable horrors loitering around waiting for me, is too bad for me, but hopefully I can seal it up quickly enough before they take me.
12:30 AM - we are within the hour. I have to go. Tell Candy at the Haney Hotel I won't make the Wednesday Night Wingstravaganza this time. I beg of you, pray for my immortal soul.
It is a dark and rainy evening in Port Coquitlam, the community just across the Pitt River from Pitt Meadows and the city of Maple Ridge. The Tritium Truck arrives at the Shaughnessy West Coast Express station. Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy disembark and make a dash for the platform.
The West Coast Express is the Lower Mainland's primary east-west commuter rail line, running from Maple Ridge's eastern suburbs to the heart of downtown Vancouver. Usually the platform would be crowded with travelers this time of day; instead, unusual events have it closed and crowded with police.
Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy meet up with Special Agent Parker of the SHVD.
Parker
Hydrogen Guy. Deuterium Boy. Glad you could
make it.
Hydrogen Guy
Great Scott, Parker, your men are swarming
over this place.
Parker
We've had some strange reports, Hydrogen
Guy.
Hydrogen Guy
Oh?
Parker
Let me introduce you to our witness. This is
Nate, the custodian.
Nate
Howdy.
Parker
Nate, why don't you tell the Diatomic Duo what
you saw this afternoon.
Nate
A whole mess a' triangles.
Deuterium Boy
Triangles?
Nate
Yessir. A great big ol' flock a' flyin' triangles.
Things were quiet as can be, then suddenly there was all these little triangles,
flyin' around, dive bombin' folks, spillin' their coffee, gettin' in their
coats, stealin' gum from the concession stand...
Hydrogen Guy
What did these triangles look
like?
Nate
Well, they had three sides, y'know?
Hydrogen Guy
Yes. Perhaps you could focus on some of
their less triangular qualities.
Nate
Well, they was about two inches long, and they
kept changin' colours, from red to orange to purple and all over the rainbow,
and the weirdest thing was, when they turned around so's you saw 'em edge on,
they'd disappear!
Hydrogen Guy
Disappear...
Deuterium Boy
Sounds like they were perfectly
two-dimensional.
Hydrogen Guy
How long did they stay?
Nate
Just a few minutes. Then, whoosh, they just up and
disappeared again. Fast as they come.
Deuterium Boy
Hmm, very interesting.
Parker
Thanks, Nate.
Nate
Yep.
Parker
That's not all of it. About an hour ago, a giant
polyhedron of some kind appeared blocking the tracks just moments before the
4:15 arrived. Just when the engineers thought they would collide with it, it
vanished.
Hydrogen Guy
Very singular.
Deuterium Boy
What kind of polyhedron?
Parker
Witnesses describe it as a kind of trigonal
antiprism. It appeared --
Nate
HA!
Hydrogen Guy
I think Nate has a comment.
Nate
'Tweren't nothin' of the sort! It was a
rhombahedral bipyramid, or I'm Kate Moss.
Parker
All reports I had were of a trigonal
antiprism.
Nate
Horseshit. Listen here - a trigonal antiprism's
got a C3 axis, don't it? That damn thing didn't have anything near a
C3 axis. 'Nother thing is, a trigonal prism's got all apices
equidistant from it's centre. That critter had two elongated apices in
trans positions, a C4 axis through the elongated axis, and two
mutually perpendicular C2 axes normal to the C4. Put all
that together, and you get a rhombahedral bipyramid, sure as I'm standin'
here.
Parker
Be that as it may, can we at least agree that it
was a distorted octahedron?
Nate
Shore 'nuff. Trigonal antiprism my
ass...
Parker motions for Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy to follow him, and they leave Nate sweeping and muttering.
Parker
As I was saying... polyhedron was about ten feet
across and appeared to be a pale green. Though I'm sure Nate would argue it was
khaki. This ringing any bells for you two?
Hydrogen Guy
Abstract geometric entities. Maybe they're
connected to the "Vector of Doom"?
Deuterium Boy
Have your people taken any
readings?
Parker
No elevated radiation readings were found.
I'm inclined to believe we're dealing with some kind of mass hysteria or
music video-related phenomena. Excuse me, gentlemen, I have to check in with the
margarine team.
He nods and leaves to talk with a group of uniformed SHVD specialists.
Hydrogen Guy
Any ideas, DB?
Deuterium Boy
Actually, I can think of fourteen
plausible theories to explain these events...
Hydrogen Guy
... that don't involve alien
abductions or the NDP...
Deuterium Boy
In that case, only one. It sounds like
the Vector of Doom's dimensional plane has been intersecting with ours
again.
Hydrogen Guy
That's what I thought, too.
Let's check that theory out...
They pull their ever-handy Scan-O-Matics from their Useful Things belts, deploy the antennae, and scan away.
Deuterium Boy
I'm getting elevated body odour
readings...
Hydrogen Guy
That would be Nate, I think. Hmm... tune
your Scan-O-Matic to channel 451, low end.
Deuterium Boy prods several buttons on his device.
Deuterium Boy
Elevated levels of glueballs and
supersymmetric boson residues. Parker's equipment couldn't detect
that.
Hydrogen Guy
That indicates recent turmoil in the
quintessence, indicative of a recent interdimensional incursion.
Deuterium Boy
Dimensional planes don't meet by
accident. You don't think this means... ?
Hydrogen Guy
Yes, Deuterium Boy. An Attack From Another
Dimension!
DRAMATIC MUSIC!
Deuterium Boy
Great Agni the Brahmin Fire
God!
Hydrogen Guy
You said it, DB...
Hydrogen Guy twiddles several knobs on the Scan-O-Matic.
Hydrogen Guy
From the Scan-O-Matic's interpolation, the
next suitable approach of our plane with their will be late tonight... that
coincides with the lunar eclipse at 1:32 AM.
He shuts off the Scan-O-Matic and folds away the antenna.
Hydrogen Guy
I suggest we post a stake-out here
tonight.
Deuterium Boy
I'll bring my jammies.
Hydrogen Guy
Fully dressed, please. In the meantime,
let's head back to the Hydrogen Cave and see if we can't persuade the computer
to give us some useful information...
Later... much later. At precisely 1:30 AM, as a matter of fact. The rain persists - there will be no viewing the lunar eclipse tonight for amateur astronomers. For others, however, the eclipse does not need to be seen to be utilized...
The platform of the Shaughnessy station is deserted, except for Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy. Deuterium Boy paces up and down, while Hydrogen Guy slumps on a nearby bench, fast asleep.
Deuterium Boy stops and prods him with his foot.
Hydrogen Guy
*snnrk*
Deuterium Boy
Hey, wake up!
Hydrogen Guy
Hnh? What? Is the other dimension here
yet?
Deuterium Boy
Not yet. You forgot to put marshmallows
in the hot chocolate.
Hydrogen Guy
Oh for...
Deuterium Boy holds up a thermos.
Deuterium Boy
I even put them right there on the
counter beside the thermos, and STILL you don't put them in the
cocoa...
Hydrogen Guy
Will you let it go with the marshmallows?
I ...
A small popping noise draws their attention. A soft glow appears at the other end of the platform, which gradually grows into a vortex of energy. Hydrogen Guy stands, all hint of sleep vanished, and draws the Ruler of Elendil. Cautiously, they edge towards the disturbance.
The vortex begins to distort, and something begins to emerge from it. One corner at first, then slowly, it slides through the portal and into our Universe. A tetrahedron - a four-sided dice, if you will, without the numbers. The tetrahedron glows with an unnatural light that suffuses through everything around it. The shape itself gradually changes colour, from red to orange and back again. It floats silently in space, spinning gradually on one axis, the another, as if having a look around.
Hydrogen Guy
Great Feynman's Ghost...
Deuterium Boy
What is it?
Hydrogen Guy
A tetrahedron. A four-sided dice, if you
will --
Deuterium Boy
I know that! I mean what is
it?
Hydrogen Guy
Why don't we ask it?
He clears his throat politely. The tetrahedron seems to take no notice of him.
Hydrogen Guy
Hello! Uh... welcome!
No response.
Hydrogen Guy
We are Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy,
Elemental Guardians of Earth and the Universe, defenders of truth, champions of
justice, and protectors of good!
Still no response.
Hydrogen Guy
Who are you?
Tetrahedron
TETRAHEDRON.
The voice explodes from the shape in a sonic blast, literally. Sparks of energy erupt from its four corners. Hydrogen Guy is knocked off his feet by the shockwave.
Deuterium Boy
HG! Are you all right?
Hydrogen Guy
Yeah. Did it just attack me?
Tetrahedron
Tetrahedron. TETRAHEDRON.
A second sonic shock rocks the platform. Deuterium Boy tumbles over and lands next to Hydrogen Guy.
Deuterium Boy
What is this thing, some kind of
geometric Pokémon?
Tetrahedron
TETRAHEDRON.
Hydrogen Guy clutches his hat and grimaces.
Hydrogen Guy
Will you CUT THAT OUT?
The polyhedron spins and comes to a halt. It appears to be looking at them with one of its faces.
Tetrahedron
Tetrahedron. I AM TETRAHEDRON. Your world I
claim under ULTIMATE SYMMETRY. Tetrahedron.
The Covalent Crusaders get to their feet.
Hydrogen Guy
I don't think so, pointy.
Tetrahedron
Tetrahedron. Resist you cannot. TETRAHEDRON
SYMMETRY FIRE SPHERES.
Balls of fire appear at each corner of the tetrahedron, fly off and head for the Diatomic Duo. Deuterium Boy leaps in front and conjures a shield of metallic deuterium - just nanoseconds before the fireballs hit. The shield instantly oxygenates in a tremendous explosion.
Deuterium Boy
AAUGHH!
Hydrogen Guy
Stop, drop and roll, DB!
Deuterium Boy
Dammit!
Hydrogen Guy
That trick obviously needs work. You all
right?
Deuterium Boy
I'm heavily singed...
Hydrogen Guy
I think it singed our friend,
too...
The tetrahedron was rotating one blackened vertex away from the superheroes.
Tetrahedron
TETRAHEDRON. TETRAHEDRON.
This time they duck against the sonic blast, and manage to stay on their feet.
Deuterium Boy
Time to try the Ruler!
Hydrogen Guy
Right.
Standing straight, he holds out the Ruler of Elendil. A bright hydrogen flare appears on the tip.
Hydrogen Guy
Like fireball attacks, eh? Try this one!
HYDROGEN ANIME BAKA BANZAI!
He twirls around and serves the hydrogen flare racquetball-style at the tetrahedron. It hits it square in the middle of the face and explodes. The tetrahedron momentarily flares green; when the fire clears, it has a large scorch mark on its face. It rotates the face away from them, presenting a clean one.
Tetrahedron
DIFFICULT. Tetrahedron. TETRAHEDRON
SYMMETRY LIGHTNING BOLTS.
A bolt of electricity erupts from the centre of the face and strikes Hydrogen Guy. The Ruler takes the brunt of the blast, but Hydrogen Guy is surrounded by a nimbus of electricity and he spasms painfully. After nearly a second of this, a second bolt from the Ruler of Elendil lashes out at the Tetrahedron. Its own energy, reflected back towards it, knocks it tumbling towards the portal. Hydrogen Guy collapses on the ground.
Deuterium Boy
Hydrogen Guy!
The tetrahedron now hovers just before the portal's entrance.
Tetrahedron
Tetrahedron. SYMMETRY VOID. Away.
TETRAHEDRON.
With these cryptic pronouncements, it limps back into the portal. Just as its last corner disappears, the energy vortex begins to collapse. It winks out, leaving Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy alone once again.
Deuterium Boy
Hydrogen Guy! Are you
conscious?
Hydrogen Guy
Barely...
He slowly gets to his feet. His costumed is blacked and smoking places, and his hair is standing on end. He looks at the heavily singed Deuterium Boy.
Hydrogen Guy
Well... that thing wasn't so tough, was
it?
Deuterium Boy
Most unutterable horrors are big babies,
once you get below the surface.
Hydrogen Guy
Precisely.
He glances around the platform.
Hydrogen Guy
Well... I think that's enough for tonight,
don't you?
Deuterium Boy
Will it be back?
The rain has stopped. They look up at the sky and catch a glimpse of the unshadowed waning moon.
Hydrogen Guy
Eclipse is over. Not enough psychic
potential for another incursion for a while, I think. No, it won't be back.
Let's go.
They head towards the Tritium Truck.
Deuterium Boy
There's marshmallows waiting for
us.
Dammit! The damned rite didn't work!
I sat there, stark raving naked in my runic circle, chanting my lungs out for what must have been a solid hour, and absolutely nothing. Not a spark, not a glimmer, nothing. Fizzled like a wet firecracker.
I don't know what went wrong. Did I draw one of the runes incorrectly? Sacrificed the wrong kind of pig? Who knows. Dammit.
It's possible that the portal might have opened somewhere else. I suppose I'll find out in the morning if the news reports a rampaging rhombahedral bipyramid in Tokyo or something.
This sets my schedule back by about a year and half. Dammit. It seems like my final night on this Earth will have to wait.
Still not too late to take up botany... Naw. Wait'll next time. I think Simpsons is on in a few minutes.
Mad Adrian Room, signing off.
[fade to black, roll credits]