Into the Great Darkness

by George H Y Watson

  I was surprised to be shown to the personal apartment of the Honourable Grower Adzarmer amid silence from the retainers. No one had yet told me what the problem was and when I entered I realised the gaudily decorated room was deserted.

  I called one of the servants who appeared at the entrance, reluctant to enter, “Where is The Honourable Grower?”

  The servant seemed embarrassed and ashamed as he floated over to a table and pressed some button or other and a large round door opened in the floor. The entrance to his master’s hidden perversion that he had colluded in keeping secret, no less.

  I entered a small basement room, something very uncommon on our planet unless you have something to hide, that is. Yes I am naturally suspicious, but I am Police.

  In police work, things are seldom as they first appear and as I floated down, I beheld the inert form of the Honourable Grower Adzarmer, the Blessed and until now, Eternal Governor of Sectors 40 to 47 at the outermost limits of the Empire. He was slouched in his seat facing the wall as if sleeping, but obviously very dead. His dome was translucent in death which was to be expected but what were not normal were the copious amounts of bodily fluids that had run messily from several gaping wounds in the side of his brain compartment, creating a large puddle on the decorative floor. I wondered idly if it would ever be possible to clean the valuable floor tiles of the caustic mess.

  Looking closer into the damage I detected a mass of irregular shaped entry holes just above his eye strip where metallic projectiles of some sort had entered and created traumatic damage to his brain and both nervous systems. Behind me I detected further impact damage to walls and several shards of metal lying on the floor. Some kind of spherical explosive device I mused, but what? It was beyond my experience and I was mystified.

  It’s always a shame to contemplate an Agri who has passed before his natural time! Never again would his eye-strip receive from the Never Ending Universe every type of electromagnetic radiation possible. Never again would he be able to sample the spectrum from below basic radio waves to the barely discernible radiation sectors after gamma rays.

  Glory Be to the Maker!

  I made a cursory inspection of the body then put in a call for a duty doctor from the police barracks to come and make a proper examination. While I waited I looked about and spotted a strange metal ring and pin device entangled amongst the flaccid tentacles of the late Adzarmer. As if forewarned of what was to come, I suddenly experienced a sense of foreboding. I didn’t realise that events were in motion that would gain their own momentum and sweep me away from the purple shores of AgriPrime No. 4870 forever!

  When the doctor finally arrived it was none other than my friend Gal III, a jolly good Agri, if a little absent minded. As luck would have it, he had a great interest in the electromagnetic analysis of metals, his hobby if you like! He breezed into the apartment and straight down the hole in the floor without asking the servants who still cowered near the entrance, gossiping. He was the ultimate professional; he didn’t seem at all bothered to be in the Holiest of Holies or in the presence of what I regarded as a suspicious death of an Honourable Grower.

  He flicked his tentacles to separate them and put down his equipment, “Quembeen, my friend! A pleasure as always.”

  Positioning himself over the corpse of the late Honourable Grower, he orientated his Eye-Strip at precisely ninety degrees to the axis of the body. Slowly he started to rotate, sampling the complete electromagnetic spectrum of the corpse.

  Gal III took so long that I was nearly entering a sleep period when he interrupted the transition by exclaiming, “Dear me, dear me!”

  I woke up fully, “What’s the matter?”

  “The metal, its composition is not Agri!”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gal moved until our domes were touching and no one could overhear our communication, “I have detected a faint hint of the Life Force of the creature who created the explosive device. I conclude that it was a manufactured item, created by an Infestation on its home planet.”

  “But we are told that alien artefacts don’t exist because we are the only sentient race, Glory Be to the Maker.”

  “Sometimes you can be a trifle naive, Quembeen. Has it occurred to you that possibly we aren’t being told the truth?”

  At that time the current accepted orthodoxy throughout the empire for we lesser mortals, was that only thing we needed from alien planets was the harvest of the seeds we ourselves sowed. It was a well accepted fact that there was no other intelligent life in the cosmos, except Agri!

  Gal III interrupted my thoughts, “Further analysis suggests this was an explosive device initiated by the removal of that ring and pin contrivance.”

  He moved his eye strip very close to the entry wounds and then exclaimed, “A Grenade, it is called by the aliens who constructed it!”

  “Keep your voice down! Aliens? Infestations! You’re being fanciful!”

  A few more moments of analysis and Gal III`s answer came as a surprise, “For a brief moment I sensed a blue world covered mostly with water, already Seeded, obviously a marginal agricultural planet.”

  He paused for a moment because he could see I was totally sceptical.

  “Do you know that one just like it is rumoured to exist in sector 47 and has a particularly persistent Infestation?”

  I nearly laughed out loud, but Gal was serious. I had seen the lurid periodicals that our young seemed to like; the stories were filled with tales of such laughable horror that only juveniles could appreciate them. One of the most recurrent themes concerned a blue planet, or a green planet or a yellow planet where a resilient strain of Infestation existed, creating mounting fatalities amongst our valiant and brave Agri Gardeners.

  “Gal, you can’t believe that!”

  “On your way here did you see the unusually large Seeder Fleet preparing to leave? Do you know that it’s the third attempt to seed in Sector 47?”

  That was news to me and I was surprised because one sowing of our rapacious seeds was usually more than enough for a single planet, “The third?”

  “Yes and Sector 47, the current frontier, is Adzarmer’s sector.”

  Forever the master of understatement, I muttered, “That doesn’t sound good,” while hoping that Adzarmer’s fatal ‘accident’ wasn’t connected to Sector 47.

  I thought of the grenade, an alien artefact that was not even supposed to exist and then tried to think of how it came to be in this chamber with an Honourable Grower. My thoughts were interrupted when Gall looked at the wall that the late Adzarmer now faced in death, “Oh what’s this?”

  He floated over to where a small crumpled white sheet of something was hanging by a string, possibly positioned to be viewed at ease from the deceased’s chair. Gall began to turn the item over with a tentacle when he suddenly began to screech repeatedly in shock, shrinking back as if burned, “Oh dear Maker! Let me out of here!”

  Before I could say anything he grabbed most of his equipment and flew out of the room in hysterics before I could stop him. I knew he was a sensitive soul but I’d never seen any Agri lose control in such a fashion! The last thing I heard was an indistinct mumble about his report would be on my computer in the morning.

  I again found myself alone with the deceased but now I scrutinised the object hanging on the wall in front of him. It didn’t look dangerous, some kind of processed wood derivative. I flattened it out and all I could see was a white rectangle devoid of any markings. As I touched it the imprinted racial memory of whatever had created it gave me the word ‘photograph’ and I turned it over to discover a two dimensional image on the other side. I began to experience a tingling in the tentacle that touched it. It was about then that I began again to experience apprehension, for some unknown reason suspecting that this item was something to do with Sector 47.

  I beheld what was an image of a small mammalian creature standing upon a shore of sand with a great blue sea of water behind him. Was this the ludicrous Blue
Planet? Above the creature was a blue sky denoting a thin atmosphere and a small yellow sun that must have been pouring all kinds of dangerous radiations onto the primitive life forms. I began to slowly rotate my eye-strip, feeling the spectral information swiftly and uncontrollably build up in my cortex. I couldn’t stop myself until frenziedly the accrued data burst forth, overwhelming my consciousness and taking me to the small planet that had existed years in the past...

  This is Cocoa Beach near Canaveral when I was younger...

  I run along the beach towards my parents with a seven year olds enthusiasm after dipping my feet in the cold thrashing Atlantic surf, "Cold mummy, cold!"

  "Jack Thompson! If you get me wet...." Mother laughs.

  I am oblivious to the worry on mother's face and the deep lines around Father's eyes. My parents occasionally cast furtive glances into the daytime sky that is ablaze with the floating stars of the arriving Seeders, but of course at that point they don't know exactly what is happening. Some people argue that it isn't a fleet of spaceships at all, but a natural phenomenon despite the nightly news videos that showed metallic frame-like structures with purple spheres covering their lower hulls.

  NASA has sent a quickly refurbished space-shuttle up as an emissary vessel and the video of its destruction is still shown nightly on TV.

  Soon the Seeders will release the enormous purple globes that will float leisurely down to Earth. The vile pods will explode in the upper atmosphere to release fine gaseous clouds of spores to be spread by the winds. The alien plants will then grow at an alarming rate that will overwhelm our primitive civilisation and cover the landmasses totally.

  I run along the beach again, stopping to peer into the surf and utter a disgusted squeal then run back to my parents, "Mummy, mummy, Jellyfish!"

  I recoiled at the mental image of the impossibly small Agri that lay dead in the surf and the horror was so acute that I must have fainted!

  When I regained my consciousness some hours later, I dared not look again at the photograph with its vivid and alien racial memory. Hastily I hid it in my valise as a piece of evidence to be collated later. Where did the Alien artefact really come from, what was Adzarmer doing with it?

  So many questions.

  I slowly completed my search of Adzarma’s accommodation but all I could find on his computer was that he had made several trips lately to sector 47 to observe the troublesome Infestation. This in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary as it came under the remit of his exalted position. But what wasn’t normal was that he had actually landed on the agricultural planet several times. ‘Why?’ I asked myself, ‘Would an Honourable Grower set himself down on an inconsequential planet and a supposedly dangerous one at that?’

  I couldn’t prove it then but I suspected that these visits had something to do with his death. He hadn’t had an accident with the grenade thing; he’d been silenced, but why and by whom?

  Time passed tediously as I interviewed the palace staff that had been on duty when Adzarmer died and I discovered little except that Adzarmer had been to a meeting of The Honourable Growers just before his demise. He had then entered his apartment and had not been seen for two hours until his servant arrived with his eighth meal of the day.

  I set out to interview the eleven remaining Honourable Growers one by one in their respective apartments, leaving Prime Grower Zander II to the last. He had a reputation for being a little abrasive with lesser Agris. It soon became apparent that every one of them resented my presence and effrontery for even daring to speak to them without being spoken to first. Because of their attitude not much information was forthcoming. None of them would tell me the subject of the meeting that Adzarmer had attended before his death, even when I reminded them that the death was suspicious. I also found it odd that no expression of regret or loss came from any of them for Adzarmer, almost as if they were glad he was gone.

  Finally I entered the elaborately decorated ‘Palace within a Palace’ of the Prime Grower Zander II who immediately pronounced, before I could even speak, “I order you to drop the investigation and return to your duties. The matter of Adzarmer’s accident is closed! Do you understand?”

  His stinger tentacles were positioned for attack, he was so angry and his gelatinous skin was slightly blue with increased blood flow. But I am Police and violence from individuals is never far away especially during one of the periodic feeding frenzies in the city. I restrained myself and relaxed which seemed to infuriate him more, “Dropping the investigation is not up to you, sir. Only the Grand Marshall can instruct me.”

  Zander touched his eyestrip to mine and I experienced the suppressed rage, anger and supreme arrogance of one who thought himself omnipotent and born to rule, “Do not mention anything to do with Sector 47 If you wish to continue to feed!”

  I sighed because I was used to worse threats than this and found it tiresome! Also it confirmed the connection between Adzarmer’s death and sector 47.

  The other ten Honourable Growers suddenly entered through a side door and took up positions behind Zander, their stingers waving ominously. I began to realise the threat was not an empty one. Something serious was going on.

  I was outnumbered and I had a vision of my well-stung body being inspected by a more pliable Marshall who would cover up another ‘accident’ for the Honourable Growers. I turned and quickly left them without asking for permission. After all, discretion is the better part of valour and I now knew that they were less than Honourable; one or all of them were complicit in a murder and the first thing I had to find out was the big why?

  A day later, unknown to the Honourable Growers, the Grand Marshall and especially Zander II, I quietly approached my friend Quenta II who was Principal Navigator in yet another Seeder Fleet that was headed to the same agricultural planet in Sector 47 that Adzarmer had visited. I had no problem securing the non-position as Assistant Navigator because there was an unusual shortage of available crew. I say non-position because I wouldn’t actually be navigating, not being a real Navigator. This fleet was also relatively small at ten vessels and one of the crew confided, “Small iz better when you’re headed to that damn place, shipmate!”

  I waited for engine ignition and realised that no one had mentioned anything about our destination being a Blue Planet and I did not dare ask, in fear of being ridiculed by the seasoned space farers. A throaty roar vibrated through the fuselage and we were off to the latest planet in the process of being seeded by the Agri Empire! Hail to the Honourable Growers and hurrah for continued expansion of the Empire!

  Hah!

  I kept out of the way of the many crew who bustled hither and thither to operate the seventh towing frame vessel of what was the fourth seed delivery convoy to sector 47. I tried to engage the crew in conversation when possible, but they were short handed and very busy. When they did talk they all seemed reluctant to give details of the forthcoming delivery. I became nervous; it was a simple sowing voyage, for The Makers sake! After all what could go wrong?

  Several times I found my mind wandering and thinking of the tiny Agri lying dead in the alien surf of a very strange planet so long ago.

  After several days sitting next to the Third Navigation Officer, and carrying out menial tasks under his instruction, the whole ship experienced a severe vibration from stem to stern as we prepared for ‘Dropout’. I felt a sudden pang of fear because we were in the lightspeed envelope and by the laws of physics external influence shouldn’t have been possible. I looked around in time to see several of the crew also looking at each other with that irritating ‘Here we go again’ expression.

  What was going on?

  The Third Navigator led me to the front bulkhead and pointed to the enormous forward viewing panels. We were just about to plunge into normal space and position our Seeder Frames for seed release.

  “Hang on.” He said grimly.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked, like the green spacer I was.

  ‘There’s always a damn problem here, s
hipmate!”

  I experienced a sensation similar to being dropped a short distance and then the view screens burst into life, filling the control room with brilliant blue light from the planet below.

  I was fascinated and appalled!

  The Blue Planet did indeed exist! It was a typical marginal planet for seeding because of the large area of water coverage in relation to arable area, but what engaged my attention was that three of the ships that had preceded us were burning and breaking up above the brilliant azure seas. From each doomed vessel I could see the chemical vapour trail of a crude projectile that lead back down to the planet. What I further noticed was that the landmasses that should have been bright purple with Agri crops were instead covered with large brown areas of dead vegetation! I had an immediate vision of a future within which poor little starving Agris wailed with hunger!

  At once I understood one of the reasons why the Council of Honourable Growers hadn’t wanted me to come here. The Infestation was more serious than any I had heard of before and if the Agri population found out there would be feeding-panic leading to feeding-frenzy, then possible food riots!

  I looked at the Navigator and he said shakily, “This is a bad one!”

  “Is it always like this?”

  “No, just occasional missiles or attacks on the planeside farms.”

  “What’s that?” I asked pointing to faint puffs of gaseous material around the doomed vessels.

  “Agri crewmembers vaporising in the vacuum.”

  We continued to our preset sowing orbit and it was a mighty sight as the crew released the Towing Frame locks and millions upon millions of purple seed pods drifted downwards over a large continent that had many brown areas. I watched them until they became too small to see but I knew by the next day the brown areas would be a faint purple.

  Wonderful and Blessed Be the Maker!

  The ship then seemed to lift up and I looked at the Navigator who replied, “Just released the Towing Frame, we’ll leave it in orbit while we go down to one of the Farms to disembark passengers and refuel.”