Before leaving AgriPrime the convicted Juvenile Delinquents had received a few weeks basic training in Instrumentation and Monitoring to prepare them for their two main tasks: Task 1 was to press any reset buttons in case of malfunction and if that didn’t work, then operate Task 2 , namely to stop and restart said equipment. If Task 2 didn’t work, then they had to contact AgriPrime, via the non-working transmission link on the main data transmission satellite. Simples.
At the ‘start of her sentence’, as Magenta liked to think of it, she’d regularly scrutinised the screens but found the menial task excruciatingly mind-numbing. Down below them was a dead planet, long dead with residual patches of Agri vegetation. It was never explained to her why this dismal, badly-seeded planet needed monitoring and neither did she care! She switched the microphones off and screamed, “Damn the Honourable Growers’ on Agriprime! Damn them!” Then she moved into high gear. “Whatever!” she screamed in tantrum like the teenager she was, “Whatever!” reverberated from the metal bulkheads as she floated and slowly spun in the centre of the circular control room, not even glancing at the passing monitors with her eyestrip, so filled was she with the unjustness of her sentence and her life.
She drifted into a sleep period, for an infinitesimal moment worrying if she was being monitored in AgriPrime or not, then deciding, probably not! She dreamed that she was outside in space looking down at her monitoring station, the eighth in a globular lattice of two hundred and forty that covered the whole miserable alien world. Possibly about a hundred and ninety were fully functioning.
She was allowed voice contact with the other stations if she wished, but up to now she held the unwholesome mix of Agris, who like herself, had fallen from grace somehow, as not worthy. She knew her contempt would not last long because she was an unreformed gossip and had been in trouble at home because of it.
On the left of ‘Pilot Control’, a name that made her laugh with irony: there were no engines or any other means of her piloting the satellite or of travelling to another, was a large panel. Two hundred and Forty lights that represented the ‘Planetary Monitoring Network’ were supposed to shine back, but typical of the network there were lots of dead light. All she had to do was depress one of the lights to contact the occupant. In the first weeks this is what she did and after the first hundred or so she slowly gave up. Some occupants didn’t like being contacted, others were downright unhinged and she was glad there could be no physical contact with them.
She did get friendly with Bilter 231 on satellite No. 97, though. He had been derelict in his duties on a seeded world and a whole field of crops had died because in his own words, “I’m just a lazy Agri slob. Feed me!”
Magenta had laughed and they had become firm friends, calling each other at least once a day. “Don’t you worry that we are being monitored?” she asked, occasionally.
“Naw. We have been dumped here to do the work no one else cares about. We are monitoring some dead planet for no reason at all, except as punishment.”
“Is it really dead? The screens show indigenous plant life and some wild mammals.”
“Kresa 234 on 63, says there are some ruins that may have been cities, but ah don’t believe it ‘cos the atmospheric pressure is low and sentient creatures couldn’t possibly develop.”
“We are told that the Agri race is the only sentient race in the galaxy, so there can’t be any remnants of ancient cities. Kresa is wrong.”
“Magenta, my dear, you do make me laugh! You’re so naive it’s actually quite cute!”
She was lost for words and huffed and puffed until Bilter came back on, “Don’t believe everything the damned Honourable Growers tell you. After all they’re only Agri’s like you and me.”
Magenta broke contact. If AgriPrime had heard them departing from the accepted orthodoxy and spouting blasphemy, they would be executed.
Days past agonisingly slowly and turned into months of mind numbing repetition. Eat, work, eat, read, eat, exercise, eat, and sleep. And to make things worse, because she was a juvenile, her eyestrip had not matured enough for her to take in much more than light-based radiation. Magenta could feel her self-image as a desirable and young Agri with a very attractive gelatinous skin and sexy sinuous stingers slowly changing into that of a slobby, soft blob of vegetable jelly.
Until one morning.
She woke up and slowly floated from her sleeping nodule, barely conscious and over to the feeding station where she sucked the deliciously purple slurry from its nozzle. In-between her noisy slurps she could hear a faint, high-pitched ringing from somewhere. Finally her attention was drawn to the Planetary Monitoring Network panel where she was brought fully awake as she recognised the Network Alarm was sounding and noticed that a square of eight of the monitoring lights were out. These were numbers 34 to 42 that covered a small area in the northern hemisphere that was generally covered with cloud at this time of the year. But wait a minute! Satellite 38 was the main data transmission satellite!
What should I do? She thought. Surely AgriPrime will notice and send help. Urgently she pressed Bilter 231’s button and was relieved when he answered immediately, “Magenta, isn’t it exciting? Satellites 34 to 42 have disappeared!”
‘Good grief’ she thought, ‘He doesn’t understand the danger we are all in!’
But Bilter continued, oblivious, “No I don’t mean that the contact lights are out, Kresa 234 was looking just as the explosions occurred. Must be some kind of system-wide fault”
This was even worse, she thought, the remaining Monitoring Stations might not be safe and Bilter is too dumb to realise, “Does Kresa have any video?”
“Yeah, it should be with you about now. So cool!”
Magenta switched off the contact then brought up the 3D video. In front of her were stations 34 to 42 hanging over the blue planet, number 38 being much larger than the others. Suddenly they all flared into incandescence, large fragments flying in every direction with the ones heading into the atmosphere producing a multicoloured shower of light as exotic metals vaporised in intense heat. Something in her subconscious made her turn the video back to the start and she thought she sensed something not actually visible to her immature eyestrip. She could see the long wavelength, low frequency radiation of light visible to mammals and immature Agris, but no lower or higher yet. It would be many years before she matured and could see the entire electromagnetic spectrum.
Bilter’s voice came over the net, “Kresa says activate the infra red filter.
Magenta did so and reran the video.
The superheated gases of three primitive supersonic projectiles instantly became visible, their origins from somewhere down on the blue planet in the segment below stations 31 to 42.
“What does this mean, Bilter? The planet is supposed to be dead.”
Bilter replied immediately and urgently, “Just got word from Kresa, “There are several large rocket propelled vehicles leaving the surface! Rockets, how primitive is that? But who built them?”
“Never mind who built them! Who or what’s in them?”
“Kresa has patched through his video feed!”
Magenta, along with the remaining occupants of the stations, watched in amazement as the strange chemical-filled rockets disconnected from what must have been a first-stage fuel tank. They could now see that on top of the remaining tubular structure there was a winged vehicle, obviously designed for atmospheric re-entry! ‘How damned clever!’ she thought. Finally the tubular structures fell away and three alien vehicles matched orbit with the nearest Agri satellites, clumsily decelerating by actually using crude retro-rockets!
The Agris watched, enthralled as doors opened in the sides of the primitive spaceships and odd creatures with five appendages floated out tethered to cables. Two of the craft appeared to have cargo holds and long curved doors opened revealing strange alien equipment. Immediately the creatures removed this equipment and began assembling onto the back of the third craft.
“Wha
t are they doing?” asked Bilter.
“Does the shape of that structure they’re building, look familiar?”
“Naw, I scored low for spacial awareness.” Said Kresa.
Magenta shakily went on, “It’s the same shape as the entry lock on our stations.”
Magenta bounced uncomfortably against the other occupants of the shuttle as it shuddered and banged during re-entry into the blue planet’s atmosphere. Next to her was Bilter who was deathly afraid of the strange mammals who peered at them through the forward porthole, “I can barely look at them, they are so ugly! Do you think they’re gonna’ kill us?”
“No. They could have done that easier in orbit.”
“But what are they?”
“Some kind of crop Infestation, I would guess. Something our farmers couldn’t get rid of.”
“That’s probably why the Honourable Growers abandoned the planet! The Infestation must be hardy!”
“Yes the Honourables; so many lies told by so few.”
“And we are not the only sentient race in the galaxy.”
At this point one of the other Agris, a devout believer in The Maker, lost his composure and screamed at them, “Blasphemy! You damned Infidels, blasphemy!”
A stinger lashed out from somewhere in the crowded Agris and the Devout was conscious no more.
“Where is your friend Kresa?” Magenta asked.
“Something went wrong with the opening of his airlock, maybe the strange Infestations did something wrong. Anyhow I saw him on the camera and he was vaporised.”
Magenta shuddered, remembering the noised the aliens made as they connected their shuttle airlock to her station. She could have done nothing and just waited in abject fear for her fate. The airlock opened and there was a drop in cabin pressure, but not too much. Two of the creatures she had seen on the late Kresa’s video appeared holding electrostatic wands that were used to prod her into the shuttle hold. She did not resist because she saw no point, AgriPrime had abandoned them to their fate.
Soon the loud shuddering of the alien ship abated and the thin blue planet atmosphere could be heard screeching over the vessels skin nearby. Magenta nearly lost control of her senses as many near her began to wail in fear. Just as suddenly as they had started, the outside noises stopped and with it the internal crying of the Agris. There remained a sense of tremendous speed disturbed only when the strange mechanisms of the vehicles landing gear operated.
A tremendous crash reverberated through the fuselage as the shuttle landed and trundled along some kind of landing strip and this set some of the more nervous Agris to wailing again. Eventually a large side door opened to admit a fierce light from a small yellow sun. At the bottom of the off-ramp waited the ugly grub-like creatures, worse than the worst Agri’s nightmare. The creatures gestured with weapons to guide them into primitive transportations that actually ran on wheels! An athletic Agri suddenly flapped his shroud and attempted to float up and away but one of the grub-creatures calmly pointed a small device and fired a tranquilising harpoon. Slowly the miscreant was hauled back, wailing in pain and humiliation.
The line of six open-backed trucks slowly wound its way towards a large aircraft hangar and this gave the Agri prisoners a view at the strange alien world with the little fierce sun and the strange wind that seemed to blow all of the time. Magenta was shocked to realise she was enjoying the experience; the wind, the sun, no crowds of Agris thronging about her with the ever present demand for feeding! The sense of personal and open space was intoxicating, despite being crammed in the primitive vehicle with others. In the distance she first noticed the red tower and realised that the odd little sun was pouring its strange radiations upon her, enhancing her immature eyestrip receptors. The red tower was a corroded cast iron structure of unfathomable purpose and had been built by an alien race long before their cities were laid waste by some cataclysm, probably self-inflicted she assumed. Suddenly the wind changed direction and carried to her eyestrip a faint essence of the red tower, ‘Eiffel’ it whispered to her from its long gone creators, ‘Eiffel’. Just as quickly the wind veered away.
“Did you feel that?” she asked her companions.
“Feel what?” was the only lucid reply she understood.
The transports drove through the giant doors of the largest hangar and stopped. The Agris floated down to be directed to stay within a large yellow square painted on the floor. In front of the painted square was a small stage where one of the strange grubs waited. The being was truly revolting, standing upright on two of its appendages and gripping a large silver box with its two grippers. What was truly amazing was that sounds were emitted from the main orifice of its sensory appendage and a few seconds later understandable speech came from the box!
“Please settle down and be calm! You Jellies will not be harmed.”
Jellies! Magenta thought this was an obvious derogatory term for the Agri race, and from a primitive life form at that! The creature continued, “After we have debriefed you regarding the operation and functioning of your Observation Platforms, you will be free to go.”
This caused a murmur of relieved excitement amongst the assembled ‘Jellies’. From the back of the crowd Magenta heard the familiar voice of Bilter 231, “Do you mean we will be sent back to AgriPrime?”
The grub-creature actually laughed, “No. You will be sent out that door.” And he gestured to the rear hangar door. Suddenly the several Agris began to wail, “We will starve! Wild creatures will eat us!”
The grub laughed again, “When you pass through the door you will see, on the horizon, Agri vegetation that has adapted to Earth and it is plentiful, unfortunately. As to the ‘wild animals’ you Jellies can avoid the dog packs by floating away.”
The Interrogation proved little more than a mild interview, as if the ‘Earthmen’ as they called themselves ran through a list of questions such as, ‘What is your rank?’ then ‘If you are not military, then why were you in the monitoring satellite?’
Magenta was the last to be interrogated and as she answered the questions she also listened to the Earthies talking to each other. It turned out that they had assumed the satellites to be armed and under Agri military control. Some of them seemed incredulous and disappointed in turn, “Jeez! They all seem to be damned juvenile delinquents!”
“Or low level criminals!”
“The Agri high command doesn’t seem to think we’re a threat.”
“Let them hold that thought, for as long as possible.”
It was evening now and a tired voice shouted, “Right! Open the doors and let them go! We’ve got better things to do!”
The rear hangar door opened and the assembled Agris disappeared into the night, leaving Magenta alone.
She floated in the darkness, only a pale light emanating from her gelatinous body. The strange alien winds buffeted her and gently threw her back and forth. Magenta had begun her flight full of fear but eventually, when she realised she was quite safe and alone for the first time in her life, she was filled with a sense of peace and tranquillity.
Far below the rubble of the strange alien civilisation a strange voice called out to her and said, “I am Quembeen VI, once a Security Marshall in the Capital of AgriPrime 4870. Hello.”
THE PIRATES
The planet Trefalandia.
The small group of Trefas had set up their camp in one of the many deserts for the night before beginning anew the desperate search for food the following day. Not far from the tiny collection of tents one of the Trefas stood guard over a small flock of what they called sheep. The creatures sported three horns and a deep green pelt that hung down over their clawed feet but they served the same purpose as the sheep of another, vanquished race fifteen hundred light-years away.
Vill leaned upon his crook and looked up into the night sky, fascinated as always to see the metal birds yet again! The ‘birds’ were gigantic and of silver and purple and often skimmed the higher atmosphere of Trefalandia on their travels. He
often wondered about them and had begun to speculate how they looked like the dead and ancient machines the tribe occasionally came across in the deserts to the north.
Being young and not yet worn out by a lifetime of desperate searching for food, he had the mental energy to be fascinated by all the metallic constructions he encountered. Sometimes Vill would get close to one when Asher, the Tribal Elder was not looking and on close inspection it was obvious to Vill at least, that creatures something like the Trefas had once sat within the constructions. This made Vill wonder if the silver birds he now saw high above his head held beings just like the Trefas…
No one else in the tribe was in the slightest way interested. To them the phenomenon in the night sky was no different from the stars and comets that they also did not understand and anyway they had no interest in and the machines in the desert that could make you sick if you got too close.
Sector 12 Agri Empire
My name is Volka III and a long time ago I was a Lead Astrogator on a seeder ship. Our vessel was called the ‘Kinta V’ after the ancient Agri who invented space travel. I had served on her for eight long voyages as she transported planetary harvests from the agricultural planets out in the Great Darkness to one or more of the designated AgriPrime population centres. It’s odd to realise now that one can actually grow to love a ship after so long, but you do because it has become your home. As per design she was a relatively small vessel but with the oversize engines mounted above and below the hitching point where the long line of towing frames would be connected. The towing frames were either fully loaded with produce containers on a return voyage or purple seed nets on a sowing trip.
Into the Great Darkness Page 4