The Walgate Hall Project

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

A sunny Friday afternoon, all but Magda and I had decamped to the usual pub for the monthly party.

Alex's friend, the science-teacher and part-time soldier, had shown up at the start of the week, been duly astonished. He said he had friends who could help, they'd be in touch.

Movement on our CCTV caught my eye. The small, Day-Glo orange SUV stopped opposite the parking bays, carefully reversed into the end one to face the exit. Its occupant, a slim young man with remarkably ginger hair walked directly to our 'Admin' unit's entrance, rang the bell.

Magda answered the door. Their discussion was brief. She showed him into the 'coffee corner'. I looked up from the report I was checking as she put her head around my office's open door. She nervously whispered, "Boss, he says he knows what we do. He wants to help."

I secured my desk, stepped out. My unexpected visitor was casually dressed in a grey T-shirt, fleece gilet and jog-pants. He looked late-twenties, had a near-feline poise. He extended his strong, right hand and, in a gentle Scottish burr, said, "Hi. I'm John MacPherson. We have mutual friends in Hereford. They said you need some help."

I didn't meet his hand. Instead, I frowned, said, "We're a private research facility, currently engaged on transect sample analysis--"

"Your Walgate Wyrm came through a tesseract portal during the Carrington Event."

Though that was surely true, I shook my head, gave him my best, 'You're Not Even Wrong' look, said, "I'm sorry--"

"Have you read the 'Solutrean Cycle' ?"

"Huh ?"

"Have you read the 'Solutrean Cycle' ?"

"Well, yes--"

"What do you think of those books ?"

"Wonderful-- Such detail, so self-consistent, not a loose thread in the pack..." I stopped. This guy was the name-sake and decade older look-alike of Joanne Lavender's ingenious, hyper-lethal Apprentice from Book#4 and its complementary 'Young Adult' Book#5. Coincidence ? I blinked, said, "Now, just a minute-- That tentacled mega-slug in the 'Solutrean Fables' is a standard trope--"

"I'm a Scientist of sorts, degrees in Astronomy and Geology, but I've had to accept all those crazy Cosmologists' missing 'Dark Matter' is right next door..." He held up his left hand, strong as a freckled axe-head, stated, "Item one: Solutrea is real. Really, really real. Been there, done that, went ninja on Pappandrelle's four 'Dragons', picked the locks and looted her treasure chest."

"Huh ?" He was claiming a Fantasy Epic as reportage.

"Item two: My super-canny Aunt Vee 'munged' the 'World Gate' details for security. No glowing pendant. Just visualise the complex tesseract key and the 'Third Law' portal opens."

"Uh..." It would explain how 'Team Lavender' crafted the Cycle's flawless, flawless 'photos'. "But--"

"Item three: I read widely. The remarkable coincidence of the 'Walgate Wyrm', the 'Ritual Activity' floor and the 'Carrington Event' made me wonder. Happens Clan MacPherson sheltered Lochaber's 'Wise Women' when King James' cruel WitchFinders came hunting. That legacy endures; I'm the Clan's 'Foul Bane', with a 'Sworn Silver Sgian Dubh' to gut 'Dark Siders'. My 'Research Assistant', a very good friend, is an honest-to-goodness fey Seer and our Valley's 'Harbour Light'." He took a careful breath. "I'm very, very good at problem solving. I trawled our Clan's 'Black Museum', researched the arcana, did some lateral thinking. I'm also an electronics hobbyist. I did a lot of stuff for 'Dance Props' and our 'Fourth Expedition'. Took some tinkering, but I built my own tesseract gate. Lost several web-cams before I figured the day lengths differed..."

I shivered. I'd dreaded independent discovery, but this...

"Well, it wasn't Solutrea," he allowed. "At least those foetid coastal swamps would suit Wyrms. I reckon they're ambush predators, 'Saltie' niche."

"They live in rivers, too," I admitted.

"Ach," he grumbled. "Solutrea's piranha-analogue, the 'psycho-perch', are boney, but good eating. I used a spoon lure on a wire trace, had a strike on almost every cast. The locals were seriously impressed..."

"Did-- Did you take samples ?"

"As best we could." He nodded to my grudging acceptance of his tale. "There's a bunch of new antibiotics coming through from my aunt's earlier soil samples. 'John Innes' loved her wild-strain fruit, grain and greens. A lot of stuff was reported under NDA. This time, we had to 'lighten ship' to piccies, books and loot."

"Understood..."

"Item four: Given the Solutrean portal's key was a higher order tesseract, a polychoron, I tried them. Again, it took some tinkering, but I struck gold. Depending on the 'differs', I can access Solutrea and three others, all synchronized. Sea level and topographic variations are a problem, but I took sneak-peeks with a kite-cam, did some mapping from the top of buildings, found key-holes.

"After my aunt and I made our escape, the Imperials sent in a Legion and fortified the 'Cycle' portal. It's now a killing field, like an inside-out castle. Those canny Imperials even stretched a guard-rope down the portal axis. Two seconds after a portal forms, cutting the rope, there's a shower of cross-bow quarrels, followed by hefty Ballista bolts and other nasties. Even our mutual friends in Hereford had to back off. At least my portable portals let them keep an eye on things. They warn the whole region's a 'Military District', unsafe for overt 'World Walkers'. Don't go there...

"Second world's Europe is a volcanic wasteland. Resembles Iceland's Barrens, with gritty, grey ash and a few hardy weeds. It's a dozen degrees down, dim at noon, has weird sky colours at dawn and, sometimes, dusk. Easterly winds carry vog. Stratification and mineralogy from my limited sampling suggest their Eifel hot-spot blew during our High Bronze Age and is still seriously active. Think Katmai. There are old, old traces of a Cyclopean, Minoan-plus civilisation." He shrugged. "If some 'Atlanteans' fled through their Alt-Tech 'World Gates', Hancock may be half-right about his 'Clever Ancients'..."

I gulped, but managed to say, "Scant evidence--"

"Agreed. My super-canny aunt did some MAD and Y2K 'prepping', cached tons of neat stuff. I've built on it. Yet, even with that trove, it would be very, very hard to re-boot civilisation, to bridge a 'Dark Age', to claw back to 'SteamPunk' or better. There's just so many failure modes. And, without a hefty boot-strap kernel plus a robust development program, any refugees' portable Alt-Tech is fated to become legend like 'Greek Fire' and the 'Philosopher's Stone'. Back home, many isolated communities must have hung on as best they could, losing tech and diversity with each benighted generation, with every fraught ash-fall...

"Desperately in-bred, poisoned and mutated by volcanic toxins, perhaps psychotically degenerate, they'd easily pass as 'HellSpawn' or 'UnSeelie'." He shivered, added, "Along the 'Western Fringe', warmed by the Gulf Stream, washed by Atlantic gales, I suspect some shards of civilisation lingered into historical times. Perhaps the Arthurian 'Avalon' was truly 'Out West' ? Celtic and Gaelic legends tell of the wondrous Fae, with their 'Under-Hill' doorways to Tír na nÓg, of their 'Trooping' and 'Solitary' Sidhe. Even the Solutrean Fables carry dire warnings to let such empowered travellers pass unhindered."

I blinked, said, "Your extrapolation is impressive. Some evidence would be nice."

"Agreed." He shrugged. "So, my fey friend and I will trawl folk-lore for possible portal locations. Given coastal erosion and other topographic variations, I'm building a sneak-peek suitcase-cam she can take on ferries."

"The third world ?"

"Big Mars-- Cold, dry and bleak, one-thirty millibars CO2, dozen nitrogen, no oxygen. It sucked--" He must have read my face. "You've reached it widdershins ?"

"Unless there's two the same," I allowed. "But just a glimpse..."

"Fascinating..." He shook his head slowly. "But how did it get like that ? My guess, the 'Late Heavy Bombardment' baked out too much water and Cyano bacteria never got a foot-hold. Like Mars, plate tectonics stalled and the planet died."

"You-- You said it was synchronized ?"

"Oh, yes !" He grinned. "Which is so very, very weird ! Just needs an air-lock on the portal ! Our mutual friends in Hereford borrowed the makings from the Open University, put a team through. They collected samples, set up a weather station, planted flags, took lots of piccies."

I just looked at him.

"Officially, they're training for a 'Mars Mission' simulation in the Canadian High Arctic," he said. "But I've saved the best until last..."

"Aliens ?"

"Better." He grinned wider. "Ever wondered how small dinosaurs would have fared if they survived Chicxulub and the Deccan Traps ?"

"Of course..."

"World Four. Sociable, partly feathered, omnivorous bipeds. 'Wing' claws, so resemble neotenous Hoatzin. Simple stone tools. Fire. 'Homo Habilis' stage, I'd say. They'll peer at a trail-cam's lens glint, so I got lovely, lovely piccies." He pulled a fat thumb-drive from his fleece gilet's inside pocket. "Everything you need. Annotated diagrams and schematics. Lots and lots of images and data. Encryption key is 'Tesseract 1986', leading Capital-T, one space. Enjoy."

"I--" I caught my breath, asked, "Why ?"

"I've had a lot of fun, but this is much too big for a hobbyist. Time to 'pass the baton'." He dug in another pocket, opened its Moleskine note-book, unfolded a cashier's cheque, placed it in my trembling hand atop the thumb-drive. "Help for your cash-flow."

"Uh..." It had a one then lots of zeroes. It would solve so many problems. "Why ?"

"I've domestic responsibilities. Family, business, pro-bono stuff. I've the 'Solutrean Cycle' to tend, the 'First Carennac' franchise to build, a dozen books to translate, study and publish in facsimile. Happily, my 'Dance Props' book is a money-tree." He shrugged. "That hundred k makes me a 'Corporate Sponsor'. There's a cast-iron, reciprocal NDA on the thumb-drive as a PDF. Get your lawyers to look over the details, send mine a signed copy. Play nice."

"I--" I got my wits into gear. "What about awards and such ?"

"Not interested." He shook his head. "Besides, you cracked the portal problem. If asked about polychoron stuff, stand on your NDA."

"I-- I understand. I think..." I shivered, admitted, "No, I don't..."

"I do not want publicity. I certainly do not want people joining the dots to Solutrea. What's not in our books is a bunch of elite Hill Rangers followed us back. Lieutenant, Sargeant and five Eighths. We hid them in plain sight as re-enactors. Good people, they've married into our community." He turned that strong left hand about. A slim, silvery band glinted on his ring finger. "I'm Jacey's 'Sworn Man'. We've four wonderful children, a fifth on the way."

"Ah..."

"Solutrea's reality is an unofficial secret." John MacPherson winked. "We'd like to keep it that way. Go careful."

Then, with a smart dojo bow, he stepped back into Legend...

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

First time around, some-one spotted that Archibald Salter could not have met Aleister Crowley, who was subsequently inspired by the writings of Salter's friend, Edward Bulwer-Lytton.

I updated the text, but lost the attribution.
If any-one can remember who flagged this, please say, for credit where due.

==
'Walgate Hall' sorta died with #19, as I lost most of my research material, a bunch of draft chapters, a zoo of expedition logistics planning, vehicle load-outs etc etc to a dire multi-drive crash that even took down my back-ups' back-ups...

But, too good a notion to lie fallow for long, 'Walgate Hall' later inspired WIRS...

[Belushi TD]

I was going to ask if the WIRS universe was the same as Walgate Hall. Or maybe the proper term should be "multiverse".

Its truely a sad thing that Walgate went away. I was really involved in this.

Thanks
Belushi TD

[kdahm]

Will you be uploading the rest of WIRS that was on the old board?

Thanks for providing all of this content.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

I've uploaded WIRS # 1~~8.
# 9 is stuck like 'Gorilla Glue': I've re-worked a crucial scene 'till I'm sick of it, but just won't come right.
# 10 references # 9, but is a quicky.

I thought I'd posted near-stand-alone #_11, 'The Mariposa-4'' but must have been on previous site.

#12 is plotted, planned, half-written, but I cannot find the right words for an early, but crucial scene where Tim convinces 'friend of friend' to lend car...

Added: Okay, #_11, 'The Mariposa-4'' now re-posted...