(New) The Dark Master "A Rocketman Story" By John Pirillo

The Dark Master

"A Rocketman Story"

By John Pirillo

Nordenbrough was a densely populated area of Germany that bordered on the Alps. Its main industry was steel, imported from the south where it was hauled in by train from the frontiers that had been conquered by the Nazi hordes. Its people were untouched by the fanaticism that ran through much of Germany at the time, protected from it in a way as an experiment by the Fuehrer, who was secretly building a base in the nearby Alps for what he was determined would be the fatal blow to the hopes of the Western Allies.

For almost ten years, even before the war took a prominent place in the news and eyes of the world, he was already secretly meeting with a man of dark persuasions. A man dedicated to the Occult. That man exuded such confidence and power that Hitler had immediately allowed himself to be taken on as a disciple of this Dark Master. Even though still in a position to become a powerful force of good for his country, his own ambitions and disappointments, were driving him further and further away from the mainstream of good people and closer and closer into the cult that the Dark Master had built.

Unknown to the world, but known to the top Allied Leaders, Britain and others were waging a secret war against the Dark Master, who was using ley lines of the planet to gather power and force and disrupt commerce and supplies across the planet. You might think this an exalted view of a simple man, for that was his outwards appearance. Small, like Hitler, soft talking and polite to a fault, but his heart was made of mud that swished and ground with hatred and anger towards life that disposed towards anything uplifting and positive. He was a devoted disciple, in his words, of the UberMasters, those beings who rode the flying discs from the central area within our planet.

Hitler, long disposed towards the Occult, was immediately enamored of this fascination and shared it devotedly with his own growing circle of disciples. So in effect, there were two Dark Masters, the one that Hitler gave silent obedience to and his own, that he harbored and nurtured. On one day when Nordenbrough was steeped in its normal routine of smelting iron and producing steel for weapons of destruction, a small parade of black cars with Nazi symbols, drove into the town. 

The Dark Master was staying in the Black Hotel, called the Swartzen Haus. Wherever he stayed it always had the numbers 666 and the color black in it somewhere. While he didn't personally believe in Satan, he did believe in the power of numbers. Had the churches realized that this man was gathering power and influence they might have had a stronger influence in the war than they had at the time, knowing that evil was brewing beneath their noses. But they didn't. And they didn't!

The Dark Master met in the conference room with his twelve Dark Disciples, an inverse of Jesus and his own disciples. They wore red Swastikas and their faces were hidden beneath red masks that resembled blindfolds. The Dark Master was the only one not wearing a mask. He stood before them. 

"Soon, we shall have a thirteenth disciple. One whose power and dominion shall help us extend our reach beyond the Germanies to the entire world."

The Dark Disciples raised black gloved hands and applauded in an eerie way, no sound emitting from their clapping. He smiled and urged them to stop. They did. The silence in the room grew. "I want you to treat him with the utmost respect, as he is at a tipping point, where he could go our way or to the way of... (with great distaste)...the other."

A low humming filled the room as the men and women of that group made a sound of deep distress that signified displeasure. He had taught them that. It was very disturbing to anyone not aware of its psychological significance.

The door to the room opened and two tall Dark Soldiers stepped inside. Hitler stepped between them, followed by two of his own soldiers, who glanced around nervously, hands on their pistols in case.

"I am here." Hitler announced. "As you requested, Master."

The Dark Master nodded, and indicated a chair to his right next to him. Hitler went to it and sat there, his Soldiers to his right and left, their eyes watching the others of the room nervously. The Dark Master sat down and laid his palms on the tabletop. The moment they touched the tabletop the highly polished surface lit up like a movie screen.

The Soldiers gaped at it in awe, but Hitler remained unphased. "An interesting toy."

The Dark Master smiled at him, his small dark eyes filled with a tender kind of menace. "But a toy that will help you win this war you plan."

"I seriously doubt that, but I'm listening." 

The Dark Master swiped his hand across the table top and a view of Nordenbrough from above showed there. Hitler leaned forward with interest when he saw something bright and metallic lancing into view from the right. "Rocketman!"

"Yes. The one block to our ambitions."

Hitler looked at the Dark Master.

"I have not yet made that determination."

Confidently. "You will."

Hitler's eyes locked with the Dark Master's a moment, then looked away. "I'm perturbed by the timing of this event."

"It is not a mistake." The Dark Master announced, his voice trembling with excitement.

"How is this not a mistake?" Hitler demanded, his voice shrill and angry. "You have led me to an encounter with the one man I cannot stop."

"Oh, but I can!"

Hitler looked at the Dark Master. "And who shall aide you, the giants from the center of our earth?"

"Precisely!"

The Dark Master made a sign above the screen and a flight of saucer shaped devices shot into view in pursuit of Rocketman.

Hitler's eyes widened. He glanced at the smiling Dark Master. "Then it's true!"

"Yes. It is."

=======================================================

Rocketman, Captain Harry or just plain Harry to his friends, navigated the cold and frigid air above Nordenbrough, his eyes on the readouts inside his helmet, as well as the view through the semi-opaque visor he had just thinned so he could see outside with his eyes as well. Tesla had called the visor a String enhanced metal that changed density depending on the energies pouring through it.

Harry didn't understand the rocket science behind it, nor his pal Jet, but they both knew it worked and worked pretty damned well. 

"Harry, you in range yet?" Jet asked from his receiver.

"Range and closing."

"It's the tallest building in the village. Not hard to miss at night, but stands out like a big bad boo boo in the light of day."

"I just love your analogies, Jet."

"Yeah. And I love being here safe on my butt, while you pretend to be Superman."

"I'm not pretending anything."

"Tell that to the girls I'm dating that want to meet you."

"You rascal."

"Middle name and don't you forget it. Word down from Allied is that the Fuehrer himself is in that hotel at this very moment."

"How would they know that?"

"Shall we say a little birdie told them?"

"Right. Proceeding with drop."

Harry flicked a switch with his tongue and the suit began a plunge towards the quite town below. On its fringes were several factories were the steel and weapons were melted and built. He was more interested in those than the hotel, but he made it a point not to disobey orders too frequently or they might take away his suit.

"Thousand feet and dropping."

"Just like a bomb."

"Hope not. They explode. I intend to come home and date one of those girls you've got compromised."

"Be still my heart."

"Shush or it might be."

"No such luck, fat boy."

"Just because I gained two pounds last week doesn't make me fat."

"Gain another and they'll have to squeeze you into that suit with a pair of giant pliers."

"Funny, ha, ha."

"At your service, through good or bad."

"Jokes that is."

"You got it."

"Two hundred. No signs of anti-aircraft weapons. How's that possible?"

"Cocky Nazis. Dumb Nazis."

"Never met one. Know a dumb ass though."

Harry brays like a donkey. "Got me!

"Preparing to drop."

Harry flicked another switch inside his helmet and his two armor piercing rockets began to open up on his right and left sides of his jet pack. As he swooped lower he noticed the air began to become cloudy, then darker, and then almost smoke like.

"Something's happening, Jet."

"Gotta go to the bathroom?"

"No, I'm serious. I'm losing visibility."

"Impossible. It's clear as a sunny day in the Bahamas right now there."

"Gotta pull out."

Harry flicked another switch and his suit broke from its dive and angled skywards again. He looked down with the help of a screen inside his helmet and the entire town of Nordenbrough was gone.

"Holy crap, Jet!"

"Harry!"

"It's all right. I'm safe, but Nordenbrough is gone!"

Harry put on speed and his Rocketman suit shot off like a rocket deep into the Alps towards his home base.

=======================================================

Hitler rose slowly from his chair, a smile on his face. He clapped his hands slowly and precisely. "I would be honored to join my forces with yours, Dark Master."

The Dark Master rose, waved his hand over the tabletop and the image of Rocketman shooting away vanished. 

"How soon before we can have this technology for ourselves?" Hitler demanded.

The Dark Master stood silent a long time. Before Hitler could speak out in anger, he waved a well manicured hand and smiled. "When the time is right."

Hitler almost exploded, but instead, he bit the bullet and remained silent. His day would come. He must learn what he could from this man, and then one day, he would be the Master.

The Dark Master rang a small bell and servers came into the room with trays of food and drink. "Now, let's eat and talk about how we shall help one another, shall we?"

Hitler nodded, and then eyed his Soldiers. They fell back against the wall behind him and remained alert, but he sat down and began helping himself to the delicious food being spread before him and the Dark Master and his 12 Dark Disciples. What he had thought was just a mission to expose another occult fake had turned into something much more exciting. He didn't understand the technology he had just witnessed, but he knew it was...technology. And anything this man could build, he would also build.

He had time. He had the patience. Soon his scientists would complete Operation Forever and he would be ready for the next step of his world conquest.

The Dark Master raised a glass of wine into the air. His Dark Disciples did as well. "To our future."

None of the Dark Disciples spoke.

Neither did Hitler.

An Interview with Sherlock Holmes, Harry Houdini and Doctor John Watson. Part Four

An Interview with Sherlock Holmes, Harry Houdini and Doctor John Watson. Part Four

When I left off on the interview yesterday, Doctor Watson was recounting with the help of his friends an incident where he was mistaken for a man with a child and lover. This was both profoundly embarrassing and touching for him, as he is now engaged to Mrs. Hudson, and is far from being a father. No wonder then that Sherlock stepped in to rescue him from the dilemma, which while not a major case for the sleuth, yet was a necessary one for the sanity of his friend.

It should be noted that as we proceed this experience predates the awareness of the trio of multiple worlds, as they are now quite steeply knowledgeable about.

The Author and Interviewer

John Pirillo

Illustration of Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes as drawn by Sydney Paget

Now to the interview:

"I can't help but wonder, Doctor, how you might have responded had Sherlock not shown up as he had." I remarked.

Doctor Watson laughed. "I would probably have waited until I met myself, shook hands, then as quickly as possible hightailed it from that place, never to return."

"So I must assume then that you never met your duplicate?"

Doctor Watson's smile vanished. "Oh, I met him alright, and that was the first time Sherlock and I had a clue as to the overlapping worlds as I demonstrated for you earlier in our interview."

"I see."

"Actually, you don't." Sherlock interrupted. "If I may be so bold as to butt in, it was our first experience of overlapping worlds, but it wasn't until our dear Conan translated into our world, thanks to your ingenuous writing, that we became clearly aware of the dimensions...pardon the pun...of what we were dealing with."

"I agree." Harry added. "Even my magic had never caught such a glimpse before."

"So you used magic then at that time?" I asked, a bit confused where this was going.

"No. Not then. I felt and Sherlock felt that it was in our best interests to remove ourselves from the vicinity until we had more facts."

"I see."

Sherlock cleared his throat. 

I hurriedly added. "That you were all three being as circumspect and kind as possible, while still following the lead to its logical conclusion."

"Precisely." Sherlock agreed.

"And when you returned to London, Doctor, did you ever tell Mrs. Hudson about the...uh...slight embarrassment?"

Watson and Sherlock exchanged glances. I knew there was more, but that would have to wait until another time.

"One thing my readers have been dying to ask you Sherlock is how you came to start wearing your traditional cap?"

He smirked. "Which one?"

"The deerstalker."

"Ah, the one that our dear friend Conan purportedly stuck upon my head." He answered with a slight grimace.

"I can answer for my friend that it was not the work of a writer, but an illustrator. Those chaps don't always know how to grab onto a person's character without toshing about with their image in some way."

"Jolly right." Harry jumped in. "The illustrations of me standing like some giant among my fellows is one I've had to live with for years now. Everyone knows I am tall, but not that tall. They also know that if I were as tall as the illustrations made me to be, I could never have performed many of my illusions."

"It was that rascal Sydney Paget who first drew the deerstalker hat, and of course, once he had done so, I was committed to wearing it...at least when any story about me was written and illustrated."

Sherlock frowned. "Later when I visited Sydney..."

"Wait!" I cried out.

He gave me a surprised look, raising his right eyebrow.

"Sydney's in your universe as well?"

"My dear Pirillo, you surely don't think that just because you included all the original authors as well as their characters that illustrators would be left out?"

Harry laughed. "You have created some aspects of our Universe, but it has certainly been embellished by a much greater hand than any of us has."

"God?"

"Call Him what you will, but something like that." Harry added, a twinkle in his eye.

I didn't like where there was going, so I steered it back to the hat once more. "So. Sherlock. When do you first remember using the hat?"

"I can answer that." Watson interrupted. "If you don't mind, Holmes?"

"Of course not, my friend. Proceed."

Watson leaned forward. "In Hertfordshire there is an Inn of noteworthy proportions that serves as a stop for the rich and the wealthy. It is called the Boscombe.  It is in between Ross and Marion Streets. Quite a lovely establishment."

"I performed some of my first card tricks there." Harry added with a nostalgic tone to his voice.

"And at that time my dear friend here was wearing a top hat, as was his wont. He has always dressed quite proper..."

"As you, Watson."

"Thank you."

"Yes." I urged him.

"And during the course of our stay there to investigate a rather bizarre murder..."

"I remember that one." Harry jumped in. "The cook was found in the back of the inn with his mustache ripped from his upper lip, all his teeth missing and his stomach cut open like a pig in a slaughter house."

Watson almost gagged at the reference, and then caught himself. 

"Something like that. But as I was saying..."

"Holmes found the criminal almost immediately." Harry interrupted again.

Watson fixed Harry with a look of utter annoyance.

"Oh, sorry, Doctor, don't mean to steal your thunder."

"Bloody hell you didn't!" Watson declared, his face turning red.

Sherlock put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Doctor, Doctor, remember we are guests in this man's home."

"Actually, I don't live here. I just rented it for the time of our interview."

"Truly?" Watson asked, his attention diverted, as it usually easily is by Sherlock and his friends.

"Yes. About three hundred dollars for the night, but it includes a free breakfast and a dinner show."

"As in dancers and dancing?" Harry asked, his eyes lit up at the possibility.

"Harry, we might not be able to spare the time." Sherlock reminded him.

"Oh right. That problem."

I plucked an envelope from my jacket and laid it on the table before Harry.

"What is that?

"Tickets for the show for all of you. They're good for a year. So if you can't make it this day, you can the next or a year later."

"Jolly good!" Harry cried out. "I could kiss you!"

I laughed. "A simple thank you would do."

They all laughed, while I considered what Harry had meant by "that problem."

The one I have yet to learn from the three esteemed gentlemen.

"Anyway, as I was describing, before rudely interrupted." Watson fixed a scowl on Harry, who ignored it and began playing cards with himself.

"Sherlock was in the midst of interviewing a gentleman for Inspector Bloodstone, when his top hat just vanished and was replaced by a deerstalker hat and his jacket by a cape. Most disturbing."

"Sydney Paget's doing?" I noted.

"Indubitably." Watson agreed. "I have since had a talk with him, but he assures me that it is now out of his hands, because there are too many illustrators and each with their own interpretation of Sherlock's looks."

Sherlock smiled. "At least they haven't made me ugly and tormented looking."

He smiled at me when he said it, but when he noticed I wasn't smiling back he asked. "They have?"

I sighed.

He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Then perhaps that man lived in another or our dimensions for I surely never have lost my own appearance."

"That would not only be rude and ungentlemanly." Watson stated. "But grounds for a duel!"

"There are still duels in your world?" I asked, a bit perturbed by the implications of such a statement.

"Not openly. But yes." Watson answered. "Holmes and I both were at the shooting end of such in one of our sleuthing adventures. If not for Harry both our lives might have ended that day."

Harry grinned. "But that's..."

I turned off my cell phone, whose light was winking rapidly, meaning I would lose everything if I didn't shut it down. "...A story for another time."

I hope to complete the next part of our interview before this day is over, but if I do not, I will surely have it on the morrow, barring circumstances beyond my control.

I hope you have enjoyed this interview as much as I have. It's amazing how strong the characters of all these men are, and yet they work like hand and glove on a daily basis, solving crimes and facing danger of the most terrible sort.

The Author and Interviewer

John Pirillo

*Toshing is a term that the Baker Universe Londoners use to describe wealthy people who play with the lives of others in not so nice ways.

*The Boscombe Inn was the inspiration for The Boscombe Valley Mystery, Sherlock's  story written in the Strand by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in 1891.

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