A Tiny Problem

Summary: Challenger's latest invention doesn't quite function as expected, exacerbating tensions between Veronica and Marguerite.

Disclaimer: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World is the intellectual property of New Line Television/Coote-Hayes/The Over the Hill Gang. No claim to ownership, copyright or trademark is made or implied by the use of associated concepts and characters in this work. This story constitutes a personal comment on the aforementioned properties in accordance with accepted standards of fair use. This work is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.

Rating: T for occasional coarse language, non-graphic violence, and somewhat suggestive adult themes.

Spoilers: This story is set after the events of HOTS. It contains both major and minor spoilers for a wide range of episodes from seasons one through three.

Notes: Although this story occurs after HOTS, it deliberately plays down the 'protector of the plateau' plotline, which was left largely unresolved in the season three cliffhanger. It also diverges from the season four outline developed by the show's creative team. This particular story was originally written with the intention of laying the groundwork for a larger narrative arc. As a result, it is rather heavy on exposition. This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, and I have yet to decide whether to continue with any further installments. However, I think this tale functions reasonably well as a stand-alone story.

Acknowledgements: This story is dedicated to the many other writers of Lost World fanfiction who have posted their work here and in other fora over the years. Your creativity has inspired me to share this. In so doing, I hope to repay some of the many hours of entertainment that your wonderful stories have provided. Thank you.


Chapter 1: Test Flight No.2, June 24th, 1923

The steam rising from the jungle canopy scattered the early morning light. Gliding above the rainforest, the balloon and its passengers drifted gently on a cool southeasterly breeze. Below, the growl of a howler monkey pierced the cacophonous din of insects and frogs that reverberated through the jungle. In the distance, the roar of a triceratops echoed, seemingly in reply. In the basket of the balloon, however, the passengers were silent, each preoccupied with their own thoughts.

This was the second of three planned test flights, meant to assess the durability of the new rubberized material. True, Veronica's improvised repairs had, miraculously, allowed her to return after she was carried away following their ill-fated visit to the Hollow Earth. However, a complete redesign of the newly reinforced basket and a modified reaction chamber had been required to retrofit the balloon in preparation for their next attempt to face the perilous air currents that imprisoned them on the plateau for most of the year.

The repairs had initially been undertaken some months prior, in anticipation of their annual attempt to navigate past the dangerous updrafts. However, the explorers had missed their most recent window of opportunity to take advantage of the seasonal shifts in the prevailing winds, having instead been caught in a strange storm of shimmering portals that distorted time and space. Then, the start of the rainy season had kept them grounded for months. Now, with the torrential downpours having finally subsided, flying conditions were once again ideal, and George Challenger was determined not to let his efforts to go to waste. Besides, if any further modifications were required before the next change in the weather, he would prefer to get underway sooner rather than later.

This time, Challenger intended to leave as little to chance as possible. I brought them here, he thought to himself. They followed me to this lost world, and they are counting on me to bring them home. In fact, there had been five explorers on the expedition that bore his name, but Arthur Summerlee had long since been lost and Ned Malone remained missing by choice. There had been no word from him in months. Although Challenger regretted the absence of his friends, he accepted that there was little he could do to change their fates. My responsibility now is to them, he thought, sparing a glance at the remaining members of his original party, Lord John Roxton and Marguerite Krux. Neither returned his gaze. And to her. He turned to Finn, the girl he had rescued from the future. In a way, he also felt responsible for stranding her here. Not that she has any desire to return to the dystopian hellscape whence she came, he thought to himself, recalling the abject horrors of a future so bleak he would scarcely have believed it if he had not seen it with his own eyes. Still, it was his teletransportation device that brought her here, and, now that it had vanished seemingly of its own accord, he could not send her back even if she wished it. She had no choice but to share their fate.

Of the passengers in the balloon, only Veronica Layton had been born and raised here, and only she had any strong desire to remain. She had often told them that the plateau was her home. Her deep connection to the place was obvious to all of them. Nevertheless, in many ways, Challenger had gradually come to regard her as the daughter he never had. In fact, his time spent living with this unlikely household had, rather unexpectedly, brought out some deeply buried paternal emotion that he had long denied he was capable of feeling. If she wants to journey with us to London, he thought, I will welcome her into my world, much as she welcomed us into hers. He was sure his wife, Jessie, would feel quite the same. She always wanted a child of her own. He sighed.

Suddenly, however, he felt a pang of doubt. It really is high time that we returned, he declared to himself for perhaps the tenth time that morning. He hoped that his longsuffering wife did not believe herself to be a widow. He was a better man now than he had been when he left London nearly four years ago, and he longed for the chance to prove that he could be a better husband, as well.

He adjusted his grip on the controls. This time, everything will be ready. I will not fail them again. As it happened, none of the others felt as though Challenger had failed them. The forces that kept them trapped on the plateau were larger than any one man. In truth, his companions credited his many inventions with making life in the lost world far safer and more comfortable than it had been when they first arrived, the occasional mishap notwithstanding. Even so, in that particular moment the professor found it difficult to look any of them in the eye. Instead, he directed his gaze upward into the rigging, inspecting the gas bag. No leaks. No cracks. No tears. The patches appear to be holding.

Veronica, steadying herself with a hand on the rigging, leaned over the side and watched as the trees raced by beneath them. Her blonde hair danced around her face like a starburst. A flock of small, green parrots burst out of the canopy and took flight. Beautiful, she marveled to herself. How can they possibly want to leave all this behind? She simply could not fathom it, and at the reminder that she may soon find herself alone once again she grew melancholy. The unexpected arrival of this incongruous group of adventurers had changed her life forever. And now they're planning to leave. It was breaking her heart.

They had, of course, been planning to leave all along, but after so many failed attempts she had begun to hope that they might finally accept the futility of their efforts and realize that they could enjoy a truly remarkable life on the plateau if only they would embrace its mysteries as she did. She could not understand why they were so determined to return to the confining predictability of their previous lives. Yes, the plateau is dangerous, but it is also rife with the sort of incredible opportunities that a place like London could never afford—opportunities for scientific discovery, for adventure, for friendship, for family … even for love. She stopped herself before her thoughts could wander too far in the latter direction. Lately, she was sure there nothing for her there but heartache. She could not help but recall her doomed romance with the ghost of a murderous composer and felt a sudden lump in her throat.

Her quest to find her parents had failed. Her father was dead. She knew that much for certain. Her mother might be dead, as well. Despite more than a decade of searching, Veronica had found no trace of her beyond a locket, a pendant, and a few pages torn from a journal. Yet, in these last few years she had found something else to give her hope: an improbable surrogate family that she had truly grown to care for. She was sure they cared for her in return, enough to risk their lives to help me find my family, but not enough to stay, she thought. If they succeed this time, will they ever come back? Will I ever see them again? And would they really leave without … She recognized that this trail of thought was leading in a dangerous direction, but she was powerless to stop it. Ned. Is he alive? If he is, where is he now? Why does he stay away?

She had returned from her unexpected voyage to find him gone. Although the others had assured her that it was not the case, deep down she feared that she had pushed him away. She was hurt and angry. His disappearance had denied her the opportunity to tell him that she had been wrong. She had returned certain that she wanted more than friendship between them, but the longer he stayed away the more she began to question her resolve. Now, she was sure that the man she had grown to love would not abandon her like this. Perhaps he has changed, she considered, sadly. I don't understand how he could leave us, how he could leave me. Then again, they're all planning to leave me. She blinked back a traitorous tear that threatened to fall.

Watching as her friend closed her eyes and leaned back into the basket, Finn smiled with misjudged empathy. The view of the jungle from above was magnificent, but the movement of the balloon unsettled her stomach. She tried to focus on the horizon, as Challenger had suggested earlier, but it made little difference. Poor Vee, she commiserated silently, she's too proud to admit that flying makes her queasy, too. Finn closed her eyes and swallowed hard as the pitch of the balloon rolled gently.

Challenger adjusted the controls, which made a faint hissing sound as the balloon ascended and came level. The motion pulled Marguerite out of an uncharacteristic moment of self-doubt. What if we finally succeed this time? What sort of dreadful mess will be waiting for me on our return? She had gambled everything on this expedition and was still not entirely sure whether the incredible risks she had taken had been worth the sacrifice of her fortune and her security. When she returned—if she ever returned—she knew that her time away would not erase the many scores she would have to settle. Will I need to spend every waking moment looking over my shoulder? She hoped not. Will Xan still be furious, even though he got what he wanted? She was certain her birth certificate had long since been destroyed, and, with it, any hope of ever finding her real name or her family. Damn him!

Then she recalled her encounter with the German pilot during their first year on the plateau. Even here, cut off from the outside world in a land seemingly lost in time, her past had somehow found a way of catching up with her. Even if he's still out for blood, Xan might well be the least of my problems. He can be reasoned with. She hoped it was true. She considered the assassin she had outmaneuvered only moments before she strode confidently into Challenger's lecture before the skeptical members of the London Zoological Society. The Great War may be over, but my business with the field marshal is not. How am I ever going to explain that one to ...? She stopped herself abruptly. Although her slender figure remained still, leaning casually against the side of the basket, her grey eyes darted swiftly between the faces of her companions as if to gauge whether any of them might have somehow sensed what she was thinking. They had not; each was far too distracted to pay her any heed, and even if they had her inscrutable expression never faltered for an instant. Stop this nonsense, Marguerite, she chided herself. One problem at a time.

Gripping the edge of the basket, Roxton stared unfocused into the distance. It's almost possible to forget how dangerous this place can be when it looks so tranquil from above. Unbidden, a memory surfaced of their first attempt to leave the plateau in the balloon. Summerlee. He still felt the loss keenly. Another death on my conscience.The botanist deserved credit for his time on the plateau. He had overcome his pride and cowardice, and had helped smooth the interpersonal frictions between them in those early days, especially where a certain prickly heiress was concerned, Roxton thought. He had never understood their relationship. I never heard her speak a word against him. Never even raised her voice.

The sexagenarian professor had been challenged by the plateau in ways the others had not. He felt the heat and the humidity more intensely. He was slower, he tired more easily, and his arthritis bothered him constantly. Compared with the others, he had been poorly suited to life in this perilous place. It was, perhaps, not so surprising that he was the first of their group to succumb to the dangers of the lost world. Roxton, who had initially wondered why the senior scholar had accompanied them in the first place, now found he missed the man dearly.

The disappearance of Summerlee underscored the very real and ever-present dangers they faced. Yet, even so, to Lord John Roxton the plateau had, inexplicably, begun to feel like home. He peered at Marguerite out of the corner of his eye. The wind pulled a dark tendril from her loose braid and she effortlessly brushed it from her face. Perhaps it was not so inexplicable after all.

In some ways, he felt as though the plateau had brought out the best in him—in all of them. What was it that Marguerite said the night she contacted Malone in the spirit world? "Sometimes, when I think of everything life has given me here and now, I wonder what more I could possibly ask for." He remembered that conversation often. In England, he had lived a life of wealth and privilege, it was true, but he thought about the wreck that he had been after his brother's death. Arrogant, aggressive, impatient. Reckless, empty, insatiable. He had flirted with danger and death at every opportunity—it was exactly what had brought him to the lost world in the first place. But the years on the plateau had changed him. He still hadn't forgiven himself exactly, but he no longer sought to punish himself, either. Life in this strange land was perilous, but everything he did here had purpose. His title and fortune mattered not a whit. Here, he was the hunter. Their protector. And now he was her lover. The very thought thrilled him. He felt more like himself than he had in years.

For a time, he had begun to wonder why they kept searching for a way home. But that was before. Before their most recent attempt to leave the plateau in the balloon. Only we never even made it into the balloon, he thought ruefully. Those infernal shifting planes of reality still unnerved him in a way that few other perils of the plateau had managed. Raptors, apemen, and cannibals he understood. But those shimmering portals were a force so strange and alien to him that he had been powerless to protect his friends. Tightening his grip until his knuckles gleamed white under the rough skin of his hands, he recalled the terrifying instant in which Marguerite had vanished from his side, transported to a time and place where he could not reach her. Silently, he repeated the vow he had made to himself the moment they were finally reunited. Never again. I will not be parted from her again.

A slight cracking sound brought Roxton back to his senses, and he looked down rather guiltily to discover that his clenched hands had snapped the wooden trim on the edge of the basket. Mercifully, none of the others appeared to have noticed.

It was in precisely that moment that a pinkish twinkle in the distance caught his eye. Turning to Challenger, Roxton pointed in the direction of the glittering light.

"Challenger, what do you make of that?"

The professor raised the binoculars that hung around his neck and scanned the horizon in the direction Roxton indicated.

"It appears to be some sort of mineral deposit. Fascinating! I've never seen anything quite like it."

The phrase 'mineral deposit' pushed all other thoughts from Marguerite's cluttered mind as she focused on the sparkling lights that seemed to radiate from a dark, rocky slope due south of their position. Before she could open her mouth to suggest that they attempt to land and investigate, she could already feel the balloon changing altitude.

"I think we ought to take a closer look," Challenger stated, busying himself with the necessary adjustments to begin their descent.

"I quite agree," added Marguerite, who made no attempt to conceal the voracious grin that was spreading across her face as she espied the formation looming in the distance. She was practically salivating.

"Of course, you do," Veronica muttered with significantly more bitterness than she had intended.

Her mood had been unusually dark of late, and she had little patience for the schemes of the mercurial heiress. How like Marguerite to want to exploit Challenger's scientific curiosity to gather another handful of shiny stones. Doesn't she have enough treasure already? How does she expect to carry it all with her when they leave? She'd better not expect to leave any of it behind. I'm certainly not going to guard it for her!

Inwardly, Marguerite bristled at the comment, but outwardly she fixed her gaze on Veronica and smiled triumphantly. The jostling of the balloon as it descended made it abundantly clear that the argument had been won before it ever began. Roxton, who could think of no objection to setting down for an examination of the unusual geological formation, simply nodded in agreement, while Finn tried to steady herself for the landing. I could certainly use a break, she thought to herself, and I wouldn't mind a chance to stretch my legs on solid ground.

To be continued ...