Summer in the Arctic Circle

[Silver]

Summer in the Arctic Circle:
a bunch of short 'Night's


This is a collection of Vignettes, or moments out of time.

[Silver]

Back to Black
by Gorgolo Chick

(A response to a challenge to write a Wild Wild West story that goes from blackout to blackout.)

Pulling out of the blackness is gut-twisting, almost more so than the explosive pain that awakens in my head just afterwards. I feel ill and injured, dizzy before I even open my eyes. Breathing hurts, too. I’m wet, soaked through. Almost together I discover the taste of salt in my mouth and the overpowering scent of dead fish in my nostrils.

I’m cold, wet, hurt and miserable. Somewhere in what little mind I seem to have, something is telling me that I’m also in danger.

I stagger to my feet and brush the worst of the seawater out of my eyes. I spot a heavy wooden packing crate standing right beside me fast enough to lean on it instead of falling back down.

Then I figure out that the roaring in my ears isn’t all in my head. I shake my head – big mistake – and finally manage to focus on the massive brawl going on down the dock from where I just woke up.

There must be about seven or eight burly stevedore types trying to lay their hands on a man in tight blue clothes… JIM! That’s too many for even my rough-and-tumble partner to win against without a little help.

I may not be in any shape to join the fight, but I can still even the odds a bit, there. I stumble my way to a stack of crates marked ‘Engine Parts’ that are towering over the battle scene. I drag a good-sized lump of explosive out of one of my special pockets and cram it against the near edge of the bottom center crate. A piece of fuse and a match out of a waterproof pack later, and I yell “Coming down” and try to run for cover.

When it all goes ‘BOOM’ I almost pass out again, but I’m too worried about Jim to let that happen. I know he should have had no problem ducking the avalanche I just caused, with fair warning like I gave him, but still…

I drag myself along the dock until I can see that blue-clad form landing like an avalanche all his own on the last pair of his attackers. We win again. Then he looks around in my direction.

I really want to watch my partner come over to me, but he keeps wavering and spinning out of my line of vision.

“Artie!” All of the sudden he’s there, lifting me off of the cold hard dock. “Come on, Artie, hang in there, I’ll get you to a doctor.”

“Get me back to the train for some dry clothes and a warm bed and I’ll be fine.” Well, I tried to say that firmly, but it sounded pretty slurred to me. I wish he’d stop pressing so hard against my side that way. It hurts like hell when he does that.

“Don’t fight me, Artemus. I’ve got to get this bleeding stopped. Bullet went right through you, I think, but there’s no way to tell how much damage it did.”

I look down and see Jim’s hands covered in scarlet – my blood. Now I remember the bullet hitting me as I was trying to examine the strange marks on the planks right at the edge of the dock. That and the shock of the waters of San Francisco Bay closing over me.

That’s what James West and I are all about, in the end – always being there when your partner needs you.

I just hope Jim doesn’t need me for a while, because it feels like he just lost his grip on me. Anyway, I’m falling back into…

END

[Silver]

The Night the Cup Runneth Over
Gorgolo Chick

Two men stood tensely facing one another across a small table. Upon its surface rested two ornate goblets, identical in appearance and each filled with the same amount of a deep-ruby liquid. The taller of the pair reached to pick up one of the goblets, but his companion shot out a hand with remarkable speed and grabbed his wrist. The first man looked up and grimaced.

“I just want to sniff it, Jim. Maybe I can figure out which is which,” he explained in a reasonable tone.

“What good would that do us?” Jim queried, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t know, but I guess it’s just the scientist in me. I feel like the more facts we have, the better off we’ll be.”

“Okay, Artemus, but be sure sniffing is all you do.” James’ face had a pinched look about it and his jaw was set.

“You know, we’re going to have to figure something out soon. That hour is slipping away from us fast.”

Artemus grimaced at the scent of the liquid. “You’d think it would at least be a reasonably good wine,” he grumbled. “This stuff isn’t far off from becoming vinegar.”

“Well think about it, Artie.” Jim looked momentarily less grim. “You’d probably be able to tell from the smell if a good wine had been tampered with.”

“Ah, yes. And we couldn’t have that, now could we? And,” Artie was eyeing the contents of the goblet as he swirled it, “It wouldn’t do to use clear glasses, either, since there might just be some sediment or change of color.” He tilted the goblet carefully, letting the light from the nearest gas jet fall on the surface of its contents. He reached for the second one and held them side by side. “I can’t see any difference at all like this.”

He set both cups down and dipped a finger into one, watching a drop form when he lifted his hand. He held it steady as he repeated the act with the second cup. He gazed measuringly at both drops, side by side.

Jim was watching every move intently, and reacted when Artie brought one hand to his lips.

“You keep grabbing my wrists like that, Jim, you’re going to bruise them. I just want to take a tiny taste of each. I promise to spit it out, like any good wine taster.”

“You know as well as I do that there are some poisons that are so powerful that one drop is all it takes.”

“For that matter, there are some that kill through simple contact with the skin, you know,” Artemus retorted, wiggling his fingers at Jim. “It doesn’t make sense to put a poison like that in the wine, Jim. I don’t think that quick a death is what’s intended here, do you?”

“How should I know? I don’t understand why we were put in this situation in the first place. Just don’t taste them, okay?”

“Alright, Jim, I promise, no tasting.” Artemus wiped his hands on a handkerchief from his pocket. He placed the two goblets squarely in the center of the table again and stared at them with a furrowed brow.

“We’re just not going to drink, that’s all.” Jim stated flatly.

Artie met his eyes and held his gaze. “You don’t believe that threat?”

There was a long moment of silence, then Jim turned away and glided to one wall of the room. He began to examine it, pressing against the panels and rapping on them. Artemus joined him in this activity, working on the far side.

“No, the threat was serious,” Jim finally responded.

“So it’s either we each drink a cup of not only bad but possibly poisoned wine, in which case one of us dies, or we both get shot. At least with the wine we don’t both die.”

“I know that, Artie.”

“Well, then?”

“I don’t have an answer, okay? But I just can’t accept that we have to drink blindly, and then find out after which has the poison in it.”

“You mean you can’t stand the thought that I’ll get that one, and you’ll have to watch me die. Well, it’s not a nice prospect for me, either; seeing you get it would be worse. But both of us getting shot isn’t any better.”

“I’d rather opt for both of us getting out of here alive.”

“Oh, I’m all for that, James my boy. Maybe we should call our captor in here and explain our decision to him.

“I didn’t mean that, you know,” Artemus added as he watched Jim glide toward the door.

“I just want to take another look at this lock,” Jim responded.

“We’ve both examined the lock, the knob, the door, and every square inch of these walls several times,” Artie reminded him. “I think we can say with relative surety that our options remain solely drinking or shooting.” Artemus moved back to the table and stood studying the goblets once more.

Jim glared at his partner, and snapped a response. “You’ve examined that wine several times, too,” he pointed out. “I notice it doesn’t stop you trying again.”

“Touché.” Artemus had one hand on his chin, with his elbow grasped in the opposite one. He slowly circled the table. “There has to be some way to take control of the situation,” he muttered.

Jim shrugged slightly and resumed his inspection of the lock. The two of them fell into a studious silence, each focused on his own attempts to find a way out of their situation.

“If it comes to shooting, we …” Jim arose and turned just in time to see Artemus using his handkerchief to wipe his mouth in disgust as he set down a goblet.

“Artie, no!” he exclaimed, leaping to his partner’s side. A quick glance at the table showed that both goblets were empty.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you’d thought of it first.” Artemus gave a little shudder, “That stuff was ghastly.” He avoided Jim’s eyes. “At least now it’s decided.”

“I think I had a right to be in on the decision.” Jim pressed his lips tight. “I can’t believe you did that, Artie.”

“Oh, you know what a ham I am. How could I resist the ultimate noble gesture?”

“You’re not going to take this seriously now, are you?”

“As my great aunt Maude always used to say, ‘leave ‘em laughing’.” Artemus tilted his head to one side with a puzzled look.

“Funny, you’d think I be feeling some sort of ill effects,” he commented. “Do you suppose maybe it was all a hoax?”

“No,” Jim responded firmly. “He meant every word of it. There was poison in one of those glasses.” He paused a moment. “I guess I should have accepted the bargain in the first place. I have as much right to give my life for yours as you do for me.”

A small panel in the door slid aside with a grating sound. “I’m very glad to hear that, gentlemen.” Both men whirled to face the sound. A pair of gleaming eyes gazed in at them. “As I am very glad to see you take the action you did, Mr. Gordon, because now I know for sure both of you are truly honorable men, and brave.”

Jim took a step toward the door, his fists clenching in a rage for which he now saw a target.

“Don’t worry, Mr. West,” the man outside the door told him hurriedly. “Oh, just as I told you, one goblet did indeed contain poison. What I didn’t mention is that the other contained the antidote.”

“What sort of sick game are you playing here?” Jim demanded, throwing a quick relieved look over his shoulder.

“No game at all. I’m afraid I was driven to these admittedly cruel extremes by necessity. There is a desperate need for men such as you have both proven yourselves to be.” The man outside paused, but aside from Artemus moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with his partner, the prisoners didn’t react.

“I couldn’t risk believing in reputation alone.” A slight tremor had appeared in their captor’s voice. “Desperate situations require desperate solutions. I was forced to make an irrefutable test. Now I know you are the men I need.” He paused again.

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to come out and discuss the matter in a civilized manner, were I to release you?”

Artemus snorted and Jim let a slight growl escape his throat.

The man sighed. “Yes, you are not very happy with me, I understand that. But I shall release you anyway. I believe it is not in you to attack an unarmed man, nor to abandon me without hearing my plea.

The little panel ground shut; a moment later came the sound of the lock being operated.

“Come out, gentlemen. Please join me and hear my tale.”

END

[Silver]

The Night of the Ties That Bind
Gorgolo Chick

“Watch it, Jim, about another half inch to your left and that thing is going to take a couple of fingers off.” Artemus Gordon had his neck in a very uncomfortable position but held it because it allowed him to watch over his shoulder and monitor his partner’s efforts to free himself from his bonds. “You need to rotate your wrist a little further.”

“Artie, if I could rotate my wrists any further than this my hands could revolve!” James West pulled back away from the threat. The pair were each bound to a ring attached to a metal grill, separated by about half a foot, with their backs to one another. On Jim’s side, a machine was running, with a wheel and piston-rod moving at high speed just within his reach.

“Well, then, you aren’t going to be able to use that piston wheel to cut through the thongs.”

“Might be worth a finger or two, if it’s the only way to get out of here.”

“Please, Jim, do you know how much you short some fingers would upset my sense of aesthetics?” Artie rolled his head a couple of times to relieve the tension from holding that bad position for so long. “So far we’ve eliminated your toe knife because even you can’t get your foot close enough to your hands bound behind you this way, and you sure can’t reach mine. Same thing goes for the boot heels. Now we’ve eliminated all the cutting surfaces I can see in the environment. What other options can we find?”

“You’re sure you can’t wedge your hand through the grill just a little further, to get the knife in the back of my collar?”

“Looks like I’m going to have to try again, doesn’t it? It’s hot enough in here; maybe I’ve worked up enough sweat to provide that extra bit of lubrication.” Artemus rose up on his toes and twisted his arms to get one hand as high as possible before forcing it into one of the gaps in his side of the double grill.

This time it was Jim who had to crane his neck to watch his partner’s progress.

“That looks about right, Artie,” he informed the taller man. “I’m going to scrunch down as far as I can.”

“Press back against the grill, too. There! I felt cloth. Can you tell if I touched your collar?”

“I didn’t feel it if you did. I know you can get a little further; I felt you fingering my jacket last time.”

“I’m working on it. Times like this, James, make a man wish he was double-jointed.”

“Yeah, then you could reach the knife and we’d be out of here in no time.”

“Let us not give up hope yet,” Artemus suppressed a grunt of pain as he pressed harder still.

“That’s it; you’re touching my collar, Artie.”

“I just can’t… quite… get a fingertip grip on it.” Artie relaxed. “What a minute, I just thought of a different angle that might work. Can you hold that position a bit longer? I’m going to have to switch hands for this.”

Jim was silent for a moment. “We should have thought of that before,” he responded. “Your left hand may be just a little smaller than your right, most people’s are.”

“True, James, my boy, quite true.” Artie answered fervently. He got his left hand into the higher position, found the same gap again by the sweat, and possibly blood, on the metal. He worked into position and stretched, forcing his hand to compress beyond the point of pain.

“You’re not getting any further, are you?” Jim asked after a minute.

“I’m not finished.” Artie partially withdrew his hand and hooked his thumb on the edge of the gap. “Now,” he muttered half under his breath. “One really hard shove, and …”

There was a crunching sound and Artie hissed through his gritted teeth.

“That’s it, Artie,” Jim responded as Artie’s fingers pressed firmly against his collar. Now, can you get a grip on the handle?”

“I’m trying,” Artie’s voice held a strained note. “Got it… Now if I can just not drop it…” He slowly drew his hand back, gripping the small throwing knife carefully between his fingers. Equally slowly, he shifted position until his right hand could get a firm grip on the knife. “Okay,” he breathed out a sigh of relief. “That worked; just give me a minute to cut these thongs.” He shuddered as he was forced to put pressure on his left hand while accomplishing the task.

Finally the leather cut through, and Artie let the knife fall with the bits of thong, and drew his hands around in front of him. He gazed grimly at his left hand, at the way the thumb now was cocked back toward his wrist at an unlikely angle.

“There’s nothing for it but to do it,” he said to himself. “And the sooner the better,” He gripped the thumb with his right hand and yanked.

The crunching sound came again, and this time Artie didn’t manage to fully suppress his cry of pain.

“Artie?” Jim’s voice was suddenly sharp. “What’s going on back there?”

“Just a little… temporary adjustment I had to make.” Artie tucked his left hand into his vest and stooped to retrieve the knife. “I’ll be right there.”

END

[Silver]

The Night of the Grim Regret
Gorgolo Chick

A supposition of what might have been going through Jim West’s mind during his captivity in the The Night of the Murderous Spring.


I’m a murderer. Me! James West, one of the most trusted agents my government has, and I have committed cold-blooded murder. Not just any old murder, either; not for me. I shot and killed the man who might just as well have been my own brother. Never mind that the fact he was my partner also makes it murder of a federal agent.

“Why?” That was the last thing he said to me before life left him completely.

I don’t even know why, Artemus. Why did such rage fill me when you refused to get out of my way and let me do something we both knew was totally foolish? We’ve disagreed before, and even argued pretty fiercely. Why did your denial enrage me so much? Was it the slight smile as you told me ‘No’? How will I ever get out of my head the memory of the awful satisfaction I felt after I shot you, when you lifted the hand that had clutched at your chest and saw it was covered with your life’s blood? How could it have been me who callously observed the bewilderment and pain in your face as you stagger toward me, who just stared coldly as you clutched at me for support and slowly collapsed?

Whatever happens to me now will be too good. Now that I’ve seen the monster in my soul, I don’t really want to live with him. Artemus Gordon is dead by my hand, by my deliberate action.

I can’t escape that thought; I can’t escape these terrible memories. I find I don’t even really care to try to escape my current captivity. And yet there’s still that little part of my brain that keeps saying everything will be fine. Artie will come and help me escape, and we will turn Dr. Loveless’ evil schemes upside down.

But he won’t, not ever again. Because I murdered him.

Doctor Loveless is telling me all about whatever it is he’s been doing. He wants me to care, to ask question, to take an interest. He doesn’t matter, except that it was somehow because of him … but no, it wasn’t him who looked my friend and partner in the eye and, when he defied me, shot him with deadly intent. I’m the man who pulled the trigger; who sent hot, killing lead into his body, made him suffer those death agonies along with the knowledge that his trusted partner, the man he was loyal to beyond all question, had suddenly chosen to betray him.

“In the end, none of us can escape.” Truer words never crossed Dr. Loveless’ lips. He offers me sherry, and when I don’t react immediately, he assures me it’s safe. I can only hope he’s lying, and so I take the flask from him and take a large swallow. I walk away and throw myself into a chair beside the guard. I’m not really listening to him, but once in a while Loveless tries to get me to express an interest. I refuse and insult him, but my thoughts are only on what I’ve done. They’re tearing me apart, this black guilt and the grief I don’t have any right to feel.

I’ve killed before – in the war, in the line of duty. I’ve even occasionally taken a certain satisfaction in doing so, when it was necessary to protect my country and its people. But this wasn’t like that. I wasn’t forced to do it, I had plenty of choice. It wasn’t for the good of… well, it wasn’t for any form of good. I did it out of sudden and unreasoning hatred; hatred I felt where I had cause only for brotherly love, for trust and friendship.

I took a life needlessly that I have often seen offered up without hesitation to save mine. I … murdered … Artemus … Gordon.

No matter how many times I say it to myself I can’t understand how I could really have done it. But every moment in that shed has a burning brilliance in my memory. When Artie snapped at me when I came in the door and told me off for being careless in what I knew was a dangerous situation, the anger began to stir in me. Then there was the sound of my enemy laughing, laughing at me, and Artie wouldn’t let me rush to the attack. I can feel my revolver in my hand and see the surprise on Artie’s face as I turned it to point directly at him. When I ordered him to let me pass, I saw he didn’t understand what I could be thinking. He surely didn’t realize that I was almost hoping for his defiance of my threat, for a ‘reason’ to fire. I removed that you-must-be-joking expression from his face and put in its place shock and pain when my bullet slammed him against the wall. I was fully aware every second, but it was as if I only understood what I was doing, had done, and to whom, after he lay sprawled at my feet. Then I knelt beside him and lifted him, only to face that last moment of confusion and dismay in his eyes, to hear him ask me why, and to feel him go limp in death. The memory will never leave me.

I can hear someone outside, and realize Loveless and his minion are gone. Maybe they’re returning and, if he’s gloated enough, maybe now he’ll kill me. I hope so. This time I won’t try to stop him and I won’t try to escape. I’ll just accept whatever he’s bringing to me.

I didn’t expect he’d be bringing another prisoner, but a hard shove propels a man into my room. He staggers to a stop and spots me. He greets me warmly by name. He’s glad to see me.

This is an illusion. He can’t be standing there dusting himself off and giving me that grin that says ‘Well, we’re in it again, but we’ll soon get out.’ Artemus Gordon can’t be standing in front of me looking like he’s waiting for the next part of the adventure to begin. Artemus Gordon is dead. I killed him.

I leap to my feet and grab his arms in disbelief, but it is real, solid, living flesh that I feel under my hands.

“Hey, Artie, is that really you?” I ask. He jokes about it as if everything is perfectly normal.

“But I thought I shot you.” I pull his jacket open, looking for the gaping wound I put there last night.

“You’ve done a lot of things to me in your time, but you never got around to that.”

My mind begins to work again. If this is reality, then …

I can chase away the nightmare for now, with Artie working at my side. But I know it isn’t really gone. What I believed in for however long it was - just a little while? - is burned into my memory like a hot brand; like the brand of Cain.

END

[Silver]

The Night of Loyalty and Loss
by Gorgolo Chick

“Good morning, James my boy! What can I cook up for your breakfast?” Artemus Gordon greeted his bleary-eyed partner jovially.

Jim gave him a disbelieving glare. “Uh, you mind keeping your voice down? And just give me some black coffee. Lots of black coffee.”

“Oh, come on, you need more than that.” Artie stepped up to where his friend stood near the door to the corridor and gave him a grin and a whack on the back. “Why don’t I whip you up a nice omelet and some fried potatoes and a thick ham steak?”

“Why are you torturing me?” Jim put his hands to his head and stumbled to a golden plush settee. After dropping onto it, he looked up and scowled. “And why are you so cheerful, anyway, considering that you drank even more than I did last night?”

“Which question do you want answered first?” Artie smiled.

“Just the first one. I know all about your astounding capacity for liquor. But why punish me?”

“Because of what you did to me yesterday. You know, the reason I went out drinking and you came along for the ride?”

Jim’s brow wrinkled and he frowned for a moment with his lips slightly pursed.

“I thought that was because Lily Fortune refused your proposal?” he finally answered.

Artie leaned one elbow on the sideboard near the door to the forward section of the parlor car. He laced his fingers together and spoke reasonably. “And why, my hung-over friend, did the beautiful and delightful Miss Fortune say ‘no’?”

“Because she thinks our line of work is too dangerous?”

“Ah,” Artie suddenly lifted one finger and hardened his voice. “But I had the propitious moment at hand when, with a few kisses and persuasive words, I might have been able to dissuade her from that belief.” He leaned forward with a fierce frown, pointing at Jim. “At which exact moment you chose to pop the cork on that blasted champaign bottle and startle her, giving overwhelming impetus to her memories of the whole incident with Dr. Faustina and her exploding duplicates of us.”

“Oh, that.” Jim looked away.

“Yes, that. James, you did it deliberately!” Artie paused and his frown went from fierce to sad. “Why would you do such a thing to me? You knew perfectly well how I feel about Lily – you even voiced my proposal for me when I got momentarily tongue-tied.”

Jim suddenly stood up and stepped toward Artie. He put his hands on his partner’s shoulders and looked at him gravely. “You’re right, Artemus. That was very wrong and I apologize. Please forgive me?”

Artemus met his gaze and held a frown for a long moment. Then his face softened and he shook his head with a chuckle. “Of course I forgive you, Jim.” He paused again. “But on one condition.”

“Anything, Pal.” Jim smiled, squeezed Artie’s shoulder, and turned to go back to the settee. “What is the condition?” he asked as he sat down.

“Explain to me your thought processes that made you do that?”

Jim snorted and let his face take on a sheepish grin. “Honestly? I wasn’t actually thinking anything. I guess I just panicked. It suddenly occurred to me that if you were to get married, I might lose you as a partner and traveling companion.”

“Don’t be silly. Lily obviously knows I’m not ready to give this life up.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was logical. I just had this flash of never getting to work together with you again, and acted on it.”

“Like you always do when you sense an emergency.” Artie shook his head with a small laugh and leaned casually against the sideboard. “Jim, do you really think I could just give all this up in an instant? Anyway, I’m really not in a mood lately to risk you running around without me to look out for you. Hell, for a while there I thought the minute I turned my back for a little vacation you’d gone off and gotten yourself blown up.”

His gaze turned downward for a moment. Then he looked up and spoke again even more earnestly. “You have no idea how bad it hurt to think you were dead. And that the Service was willing to believe that you’d died a traitor!” A flush and a scowl had taken over Artemus’ face.

Jim spoke quietly from where he sat. “Hey, you want to know something, Artie?” he asked. “What matters is that you never believed it.”

Artie gave him a quizzical look, and then nodded his head. “Yeah, I know you’re incapable of treason. But I also know you are capable of being killed, and I did believe that part. That you were dead, I mean. I could deal with it while I was on the move, working to prove your innocence. But after Dr. Faustina and her trained gorilla locked me up in that cell… well, then all I could do was think about you being dead.”

“I understand completely how you felt. But hey, at least you had some hope that there was a mistake. You didn’t think you’d seen me die, or that you were the one who killed me.”

“Of course not, but you never…” Artie paused. “You mean when Dr. Loveless gave you that drug and you hallucinated about…”

“I believed I had deliberately killed you. At least you didn’t have guilt on top of it all.”

“A black thought indeed,” Artie agreed. “Even so, my very dear friend, I think I can sympathize more than ever with you on that incident.” Artie moved toward the door to the galley. “I’ll get you that coffee.” He stopped in the doorway.

“Jim? Can I ask you another question?” he said slowly.

“As long as you don’t make me do any more thinking.” Jim picked up a small pillow from beside him and put it behind his head with a groan. “And as long as you ask very quietly.”

Artie paused for a long moment until Jim opened one eye and looked at him. “Do you still have those nightmares you told me about?” he finally asked.

Jim closed his eyes. “Sometimes I do, Pal. Sometimes I still have them.”