Cathedral of the Ancients

When Alvis was finished he consumed his packed meal of two rather insipid sandwiches spread with meat paste and drank a glass of goats milk. Finally he said goodbye to his fellow workers at the Processing Plant and headed for the roughly cut stairs which would take him up to the Plain of Flem. The plant was far from the town and it would have taken him an hour to get home. But this was not his main concern. After a 13 hour shift he just wanted to indulge in his one abiding passion.

Alvis was a screener at the plant. He controlled the output of the volcanic sources deep under the crust of Kazoo, using a series of valves to combine heat and water to produce the steam power which was channeled into the town of New Partick, where it was used to run all their industries. These were few and far between, for besides the colonies of Minishant - which was as small as the name suggested - and Grand Fenwick which as not grand at all, Kazoo had no other human inhabitants.

Unless you counted the Brotherhood.

Alvis counted the Brotherhood very much. They were, he felt rightly or wrongly, the reason why Kazoo as so technically moribund. After all had they not closed down the New Partick rocket club of which he, Alvis as the founder? Along with other young men he had gone to the Plain to set off their nascent craft until forbidden to do so by the Council of the Brotherhood. What they were doing, it was implied, was verging on blasphemy.

Committing blasphemy was not a good idea since the details of punishment concerned such minor details as garroting the transgressor. Funnily enough, not many people broke this particular law.

"Jings," Alvis drew in a deep breath. The Great Stairway had over a thousand steps cut out of solid rock. Luckily Alvis was one of those bony types who has a suprising amount of reserve energy. His mother was always complaining he wasn't fat enough and tried to put some meat on his bones with her delicious stews and pastries but nothing succeeded and he still looked like a prisoner who has been fasting for two months while doing his daily stint of aerobics.

The Plain was exactly that - Plain. It lay before and to either side like a big, featureless blanket, the monotony only broken by a hint of green here and there - and the Cathedral itself. Faintly, in the distance could be seen the nodding crowns of the Cram forest trees, which were used for building purposes and harvested for the incredibly sweet goobadoola juice.

Alvis drew in a deep breath. It was worth coming here just to see this. No matter how many times he made the climb the same sense of awe and respect always filled him as those worshippers who came here on Kirkday to pray between those hallowed metallic walls.

The Cathedral was huge. No, it was HUGE. Bigger than anything except the planet itself. It seemed to be almost entirely made of metal, but this was difficult to see because of the dark red colour of the hull. From here the Cathedral looked like a gigantic red rectangle, but Alvis knew that on the other side were the open, flared boosters which had made him decide long ago that he knew the true origins of the Cathedral.

It was a spaceship.

"Evengreet," said a quiet voice. One of the brothers met Alvis as he approached the awesome landmark. The brother wore an all-encompassing brown robe with a hood hanging down at the back. The robe looked as rough as sackcloth which was hardly surprising since that was exactly what it was.

"Even, Brother Gologally," said Alvis.

"Whit is thy desire, coming to the Cathedral of our Lord outside worship time?"

"Ye know me, I'm always here."

"His holiness has asked me to question those who visit. We live in strange, ungodly times." He gazed with disapproval at Alvis whom he no doubt regarded as a symptom of this decadent age in which they lived. The order was over one thousand years old, with traditions which went back even further. Consequently anyone under sixty was regarded by the order as a young upstart and likely to suggest changes which would undermine the religious elite.

"I loved your speech about the language of the ancients," said Alvis, watching the stern features of Brother Gologally soften a little. Alvis knew the power of flattery. "So, can I speak to the Abbot?"

"I will see."

Brother Gologally led Alvis to one of the entrances to the structure. It was not an artificial doorway, but rather a rent or tear in the fabric of the gigantic building. Closer to the material of the walls was much rougher than it seemed from a distance and the edges of the doorway were ragged.

"The Abbot will grant you an audience," announced Golagally, returning after some ten minutes.

"Thank you."

"You are not permitted to stay long. He is an old man and he is tired."

"I understand."

They crossed over the threshold and into the interior of what Alvis privately called a spaceship. It was a series of sections divided by walls made of clay and straw brought into the craft from the outside. They climbed a narrow gantry, past where monks laboured long and hard at processing food and beer, their staple diet. Then higher still to where the Brothers created their illuminated manuscripts. These were all based on the legends of Skyfall, and despite his quest Alvis found himself lingering there to peer at some of the arcane phrases being illuminated in gold, silver, and blue.

Some he could recognise, such as 'Oan yerself son.' which was an expression of approbation meaning 'Well done Sir.'

But others were completely unintelligible such as. 'Ye cannae fling a jeely piece frae a twenty story flat.'

What, he wondered, as they hurried on, was a 'jeely piece?' And why should anybody be flinging it from anywhere, particularly from a 'flat'. He did not know what a flat was, perhaps some kind of warship, with the jeely piece being a reference to a

lethal weapon used by the ancients. It was clearly a battle cry of some kind, for he knew that 'fling' meant throw.

He was mulling this over when he arrived at the room which housed the Abbot, his holiness Ronald McDonald. He had the reputation of having a mild manner, but he could make mincemeat of his enemies.

"What is it you wish my son?" asked the Abbot when they were alone. He was a small, deceptively frail man, over seventy. It was rumoured that he had fought for the leadership of the brotherhood of Alba with one Saunders and had ended the strife by banishing him for good.

"I won't try to deceive you." said Alvis quietly. "I wish to explore the Cathedral of the Ancients."

"Why?"

"Because I have so much to learn about the Cathedral, how it came to be here and why."

"Do you want anything else my son?"

"Yes. I want to read the legends of Skyfall in their original form, not the nursery tales we were taught at school, or the bowdlerized copies available to the general public."

The Abbot sat wearily on a throne made of glazed clay. His robe was made of blue-green silk. Every so often his buttocks slipped and he had to readjust himself. He looked wearily at the thin young man in front of him.

"Alvis, what age are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two. And you have a theory you want to pursue." The last was a flat statement.

"Yes."

"Which is, my son?"

Alvis hesitated, then decided that fortune did indeed favour the brave.

"Skyfall is not a legend."

"Go on."

Alvis found that his mouth was dry. He did not trust this withered old man with his gentle ways and probing questions. He could literally be digging his own grave, and he wanted to see the other side of thirty or even seventy if the fates could be so arranged.

"Skyfall is the legend of The Fall. Man lived in the heavens and he was good. Then he was bad and displeased the great God Einstein."

"For which he was punished."

"Yes. By being exiled to Kazoo for the rest of Eternity."

"I see you have studied your scriptures well."

Alvis did not point that all of the Albans on Kazoo had to study the scriptures or they would be soundly punished. With ten strokes of a bullwhip in the market place at noon.

It didn't seem like the time.

"I think the legend of Skyfall is the truth."

"My son, I have spent the whole of my life promulgating that truth."

"Yes your holiness. That is not in any doubt whatsoever. But truth is relative. Why the great Lord Einstein himself -"

"Do not quote Time at me young man. I have forgotten more about quantuum physics and relativity than you will ever know."

"Then you must understand that the legend is based on scientific truth."

"As it may be."

"Our sciences are moribund, your holiness. We remain at a primitive level. It needs one working artefact from the days of the ancients - just one - to change the world picture for good."

The Abbot slipped easily from his seat and stood there in his thonged sandals looking rather like a peevish old turtle.

"Your audience is at an end. I tire of this vain talk."

"Then I have your agreement. I can explore?"

"No."

"But you don't understand."

"I understand only too well." the Abbot lifted a languid hand and gestured. "You just want to sweep away a thousand years of history on your own."

"I want to help our people."

"Your people, not mine," said the Abbot. "We of the Alba order are as above this society as the White Skerek is above the land when it flies North in the winter."

Subdued, Alvis turned to leave.

"Young man?"

"Mention this to no-one. If you spread these heresies to any more individuals you will have no more worries."

"That's good. How will that be?"

"I will have you garrotted."

* * * * Later Alvis was at home relaxing by hanging from a wooden beam, upside down with his head in a bucket of cold water, when Babs Mullen came in. Alvis lived in a house with a framework made from the wood of the black Jubjub tree and walls made of gray slate, but the front door was always open. Crime was practically unknown in the small community of New Partick.

Babs playfully slapped his derrierre' and he emerged from his dip with beaming features.

"Babs," he gushed, just the lady I want to see."

She was taken ababck by this enthusiastic welcome. Babs was seventeen, a tall girl of delicate appearance. She worked as junior housekeeper to the local medical practitioner, Doctor Findlay.

She was attracted to Alvis, who as a screener seemed rather exotic to a young, impressionable woman. It says much for the attractions of New Partick that his job appeared glamourous even though it consisted of plumbing the bowels of the earth for sources of power.

Alvis thought her attraction to him unfortunate because he was a high-minded young man imbued with the puritan ethics of his ancestors, and being glad to see Babs was the equivelent of a sparrow welcoming a cat with open wings.

At first Babs was too startled to speak, an unusual occurance on her part.

"How are you?" he asked.

Babs was just about to suggest a visit to Doctor Findlay when the reason became clear for this apparent concern.

"Are you going to the Kirkday service?" he enquired hopefully.

"Aye,as usual, I'm no' like the wild one's."

The wild ones were people who did such unholy things as lie in bed until eight and hang out their washing on Kirkday. They did not, of course drink whisky on that day or they would have been punished in the customery manner, but if they had been able to break that taboo they would have done so.

"That's good. Could you do something for me?"

Barbara gave him a look which showed she was thrilled beyond belief. At last Alvis wanted her for something. Her bosom, such as it was, was clearly palpitating, and it was plain she would have flung herself off the Cape of Sighs if he had asked her.

"Just ask."

"Could you faint?"

"Faint?" she was more than a little bewildered.

"Yes, at the Kirkday Service."

This put a different aspect to the matter. Like most girls of her age, Babs was concious of the censure of her peers. In the tightly controlled society of New Partick fainting was seen as not very respectable, probably indicating a lack of control, a certain waning of moral fibre.

"I - I don't know."

"Please. I wouldn't ask you, only I need a distraction. You see I have a theory that the Cathedral has a few secrets and I need to distract attention so I can hide."

This was a different matter entirely. Babs was being offered the chance to become part of a PLAN. Being part of a scheme was something she valued above all else. It gave her the chance of being able to imagine herself as a true, valiant heroine, like those glamorous women in the pulp magazines who braved all the dangers in the world for their men. Although how she imagined throwing onself about histrionically in an old building was heroic is probably one of the stranger quirks of human nature.

"I"ll do it," she intoned breathlessly.

"Good," said Alvis distractedly. He had dried off his hair and was already making inroads into his plans for the 'Taurus 3' his prototype rocket. He had not really expected her to refuse.

* * * *

The huge Cathedral had never seemed larger as they filed into the nave of the building. The entire population of one town and two villages could be seen here, dressed in all the finery they could muster, but what with this being a subsistence economy and them being miserable peasants who had to scratch their living from the dirt, wasn't much.

Although the service lasted for two hours, with much laudatory rising and sitting, the benches made from black Jubjub wood were unremittingly uncomfortable. Woe betide he who suffered from piles and dared seat his posterior on these.

Alvis filed in with the rest, looking with concentration at the walls of the building. These were made of black, fired clay, and were decorated with interesting figures and motifs. Most fascinating of all was the 'Tranmogrification of Black Jock,' which was a series of panels depicting how a sinner had become so purified by the light he had renounced all his previous wrongdoings to become a leading member of the church.

Behind this semi-brick could be found the original walls of metal, fortified by steel buttresses. It was in one of these areas which Alvis wanted to hide until the service was over. However he had been aware, when he made his plans, of The Watcher. This was a brother given the task of keeping not an eye, but two on the behaviour of the congregation. This was for a couple of reasons: It was traditional, and the monks went a bundle on tradition, and it detected transgressions which could then be punished with due solemnity and hidden glee.

The Watcher today was Brother Gologally. A fact with which Alvis was pleased. Some of the Watchers such as Brothers Dixon and Fleming were ultra-observant and it would take more than a simple faint to distract their attention from an elusive rocket scientist.

Abbot McDonald appeared above the smooth surface of the Altar of the Ancients. It was early morning and a shaft of sunlight slanted through a convenient hole in the roof and lit up the aged preacher, who with his enveloping robe and withered neck looked like an old, faintly indignant turtle attempting to burst out of a sack.

The Altar was made of metal and kept scrupulously clean. The top was made of a glasslike material receding into a metal base, the whole thing was about four feet wide and ten feet long. On the glass reposed the holy objects viz:

A plastic effigy of a human female with 'Tiny Tears' engraved on the neck. This was assumed to be a reference to how small the tears of human beings were in comparison to the mighty tragedy of Skyfall. Beside this was a mumified Haggis, the Original and Great on which every haggis produced in New Partick was based. Beside this was a Sporran, which Alvis and most of the Albans believed to be the prserved remains of a wild animal with several tails and a leathery interior. These and other artefacts like The Chanter O' The Gods had lain on the altar for hundreds of years.

"Children," began the Abbot, " welcome to the service for almighty God and his saints Rutherford and Feynman. We take our text for today from the third book of Skyfall, chapter two, paragraph six. 'And there was an almighty wailing as the Captain pointed out that two of the boosters were failing...' "

The service droned on, interspersed with many risings and fallings and waves of genuflecting, and even a prayer or two in the Old language.

"I belang tae Glesga, dear auld Glesga toon..."

Near the end, just after the departure of Ronald McDonald, Babs murmured something about needing a glass of water, managed to make it to the aisle, then with a spectacular moan and a histrionic dive, swooned to the ground.

As Alvis had predicted this rare event sparked off a general hubbub among the peasants, who having been bored to death for the last one hundred and twenty minutes were determined to get in on something good. Brother Golagally, from the other side of the Cathedral, noticed the general fuss and decided that he would have to see what was going on. He ran across to to the crowd. Babs lay there, an aneamic seventeen-year-old, looking as close to death as she possibly could, her eyelids fluttering faintly. She was, Alvis guessed, thoroughly enjoying the attention given to her by her friends and family.

He found it almost disappointingly easy to hide after that. No-one noticed a skinny youth slipping out of his pew to find his way between the clay walls and into a reasonably spacious gap where brick ended and steel began.

He waited for what seemed like ages. Babs was borne out of the Cathedral amid much bustling from the crowd which would have scared a genuine patient to death. The noise died away and he was left in solitude to contemplate his course of action.

It seemed to him that he could do no worse than start with the Altar. This was an area of the Spaceship (as he unequivocally called the Cathedral) which was normally forbidden to the general populace. After that he would explore the nooks and crannies of the store, an area behind the altar which was reputed to contain many religous artefacts, including sacred writings which only the Brotherhood were allowed to see. There he would find proof.

He slipped out to find the nave of the Cathedral completely empty. This was hardly surprising, since after the service all members of the Brotherhood retreated to their individual cells (All mod cons. including Ewar of tepid water, basin, towel made of sackcloth, bed of straw and of course Starburst symbol on the wall representing the Death of Space travel in 1BK) where they merrily flagellated themselves for a bit of light releif. No wonder they wore robes instead of other garments, thought Alvis, the laundry bill for cleaning shirts would have been huge.

Quickly, for he knew time was not on his side, he went up to the altar, which he had only ever seen from afar. As he examined the semi-transparent glass (sweeping aside the relics to do so) a thrill crept through his spare frame like lighting coursing through a steel rod. He had discovered gold at the first attempt.

Below him lay a flying machine. From this angle he could see the low seat, concealed before by the opaque base, the head set and the steering column and instrument panel. This was as far ahead of his primitive propulsive experiments as, say, his rockets were of haycarts and canoes.

The thought had hardly left his mind when he heard a shout. Brother Gologally had evidently decided to check in the Cathedral before going to his prayers. He had appeared at the furthest entrance. Alvis cursed the man for being so conscientious.

Gologally gave a mighty shout of wrath and horror and ran forward. Other members of The Brotherhood appeared. They too began to crowd down the aisles.

Alvis knew it would be the full works for him. They would sacrifice him in front of the populace against a wooden starburst, but not before he had been nailed up through various parts of his body.

The thought glavanised him into action. He scrabbled at the plexiglass cover, but it refused to move. Brother Gologally was upon him before he saw a catch at the side marked out in black.

"Come here - oof - ," said Brother Gologally in reference to the fact that Alvis had elbowed him sharply in the midriff. This kind of thing, as the crestfallen Brother explained later to Abbot McDonald tended to knock the stuffing out of a man.

Then Alvis was inside the ship. It was evidently a reconaissance craft, He closed the lid, thanking saints Schrodinger and Bohr that his other pursuers had tripped over Gologally as they made their way up to the platform.

He flung on the helmet then gazed at the controls.

Instinct had saved him, for the craft was empowered by the presence of a human being. The instrument panel lit up and the ship hummed into life. Alvis gripped either side of the steering column. A visor dropped down in front of his eyes displaying all sorts of of co-ordinates but these hardly mattered, for now he saw that the machine was guided by pure thought - even as he gave the command inside his head the ship gave a smooth roar and shot towards the 'Roof' of the Cathedral.

"Level", he screamed just in time, and the craft hovered just below the metallic ceiling. He looked down. The Brothers were now prostrate on the ground in various attitudes of primitive obesience. Alvis gave a contemptuous sniff and steered Babs 1, the name he automatically thought of for the craft, through the hole in the ceiling, which was wider than three or four doors placed side by side.

Up he went, up into the sky. He thought fondly of Babs, and his mother, and even of Brother MacDonald. He had been vindicated. When the people heard of the technology which had been denied to them for so long they would protect him from The Brotherhood. Using the craft - and other artefacts which still had to be discovered - Kazoo would come out of the dark ages.

But those thoughts were transitory. For now he wanted to enjoy himself, to skim across the sky to be - as the ancient rhyme played by a group named after insects said - truly free.

Free as a bird.