Into the Great Darkness

by George H Y Watson

  The creature smiles again, "You started it."

  Spluttering in disbelief I am trying to restrain my temper at the creature's superciliousness and am failing badly.

  "Explain," I scream.

  "Thirty Earth years ago your Seeder ships began to arrive on station around my planet. We were so technologically primitive by your standards that no communication was even attempted by your race. You did not try to see if there was any other form of sentience on Earth.

  Your race has probably never tried that, anywhere.

  Once maximum Fleet-Seeding-Strength was attained, the sowing began. The purple pods fell and turned our atmosphere a sickly shade of purple. The only survivors were those who learnt to live amongst the vile plants. Infest them, to use your term. As the years went by we few survivors adapted to our environment and organised a new civilisation dedicated to the destruction of you and yours!"

  My patience has finally run out at hearing the utter nonsense of the creature, "Enough of this! Infestation, it is time."

  I am outraged at the haughtiness of this murderer and it is obvious that there is no reasoning with it!

  It is time to carry out the sentence.

  The Infestation;

  I stand up and straighten my tattered flight suit as best I can and turn towards the Iris because I can hear the movement of its internal mechanism.

  From the rear of the room, the Jelly asks a last question, "Before I carry out the sentence, you say you are from Attack Group Three, what became of number two?"

  Pressing the metal disc in my shoulder I smile, I am back on Cocoa Beach. Dad is kneeling beside me pointing into the sky at the mass of alien ships and saying, "It does not take much, to make us All the Condemned."

  Violently the iris throws itself open.

  The Grower;

  I send the Message of Successful Execution to the Honourable Growers but I do not feel rested. A need-for-feeding Anxiety grows within me, but it is not nutrient time.

  Entering the Palace gardens I take a deep breath of the thick purple air to calm myself.

  There is a sudden vibration from the ground and on the horizon a savage brightness cuts through the warm gloom. It looks as if the air itself is on fire! The brightness is coming nearer and the air is getting warmer!

  Attack Group Two! I must warn the Honourable Growers! I must hurry! I must...

  THE END

  THE MOON RINGS

  Year 53 of The Trill War. Tycho Brae shipyards, Luna.

  I had been out of The Service for over two years and thought I was adapting to civilian life very well, all things considered.

  Until They came back for me.

  I remember the night well. I was so happy until then.

  In shipyard number 67 I had managed to get a low level mechanical design position because I was a Vet and from the office windows my dear friends and I, better known as ‘The Metal-Mickeys’s’ would watch the frenzied construction of yet another warship in hard vacuum. But for my friends and me it was a sedate, quiet time free from the constant fear and worry that had filled our Navy lives on active service.

  Now might be a good point to enlighten some of you non-engineering types. Did you know that no two navy vessels of the same type are exactly the same? They may look identical, but because of their gigantic dimensions they are each unique and that is why the Metal-Mickeys’s are employed in large numbers on the night shifts in all of the shipyards. Each warship is covered by its own specifically designed Armoured Tiles, millions of them. The Type 45 destroyer taking shape in front of me was to have over two million and I had just completed the complex three dimensional designs for Tile No. 323 that would be located on Port Armoured Turret No. 7.

  In my dreams I envisaged working there for many years and possibly saving enough to buy my own Habitation Module. Then, maybe some Senorita who didn’t mind too much that I was a low-level ‘Metal Mickey’ might take a shine to me. I wasn’t ambitious or greedy; combat operations had changed me. After my experiences in the Navy all I wanted was a quiet, placid existence. Not too much to ask I thought and hoped. Also, this was the first time in my life that I had lots of friends who were not going to die suddenly amidst some random shipboard violence. Granted, they were all ‘Metal Mickey’s’, low to high-level as well, but we had managed some good times frequenting the bars and less salubrious establishments of Luna Freeport. And yes we could put the booze away when the mood was upon us. The regular Navy personnel had learned not to pick on us because we were ‘Mickeys’. On the rare occasion some fool objected to our presence or our physical makeup, we would prove again that flesh was no match for a light whack with a chromium appendage!

  As an unattractive alternative to my modest dreams for my future, there was the chance that the peace talks that were going on in some god forsaken part of deep space would be successful. If that happened then my pitiful hopes would be dashed as the shipyard would close immediately and we would all thrown out on our metallic backsides!

  ‘Mickeys’ wouldn’t fare well, back on Terra.

  Pressing the `submit´ key to send another successful design on its way, I stretched back in my seat and began `twirling´ my lower arms to relieve the tedium. The overhead lights reflected satisfyingly from my silver Luna-Chrome appendages and I would sometimes be fortunate enough to be able to send the reflected light to reflect in someone’s comp screen. This would in turn cause much hilarity in our little group. Yes, we had a sophisticated sense of humour and knew how to enjoy ourselves when our overseer was asleep in his office!

  I dimly remembered asking the MASH surgeon why I hadn´t been given human-like limbs instead of these octopus-like extensions that reminded me of a shower hose with metal hands. He had looked at me in horror at my ingratitude to the navy and said extremely loudly, "Soldier, don´t you know there´s a war on?"

  The office I was in was enormous. Built to hold over two thousand daytime personnel it was sparsely populated at night with just a few dozen of us ‘Mickeys’ and we were kept on the permanent nightshift to prevent any unpleasantness with those that we regarded as mere rock-huggers. It also prevented us from reminding them of the price to be paid for the war that had been going on for over fifty years.

  Near to me was good old Dekker, a high-level ‘Mickey’ who checked the designs we all sent to him. Poor soul was barely human any more, his damaged body housed in a very fetching blue exoskeleton that had two heavy lift arms and two fine ones he used for doing his job. He did have an acid wit and many ‘Mickeys’ had felt the lash of his vitriolic tongue. But this was good and served two purposes; to dispel any lingering self-pity in the recipient and to make us all laugh! It helped us to cope with being what we were; almost a race apart from the rock-huggers.

  Near to Dekker sat ‘Leapy’ the Design Clerk, another close friend of mine. He had lost his legs somewhere near Arcturus during the massive Trill ‘Black Christmas’ incursion, twenty years ago. He possessed a fondness for Looney Whiskey and when the party really got going, had been known to use his backwards articulated legs to leap up into the ceiling superstructure of whichever drinking establishment we were occupying. He would hang there with one arm whilst splashing anyone who came by with the contents of his glass. We always thought it was side-splitting, especially when some ground hugging officer would stupidly scream up into the roof and try to arrest him!

  Ah, good times with good amigos...

  My arms now were into ‘fifth gear’ and I had a good 'Twirl' going, almost like a two-engine helicopter. Probably that was why I didn´t hear the door open down the other end of the office. So engrossed in my pointless and hopefully irritating habit I didn’t notice the office slowly descend into near silence as work gradually ceased and heads turned.

  Eventually I noticed that everyone was looking in my direction and all I could hear was the stupid whizzing noise my twirling arms were making.

  “Coming in to land,” I said weakly.

  Usually that comment would provok
e much laughter and make Dekker shout, “You ain’t ever gonna’’ land Marine-boy!” Leapy would flex his legs, making a squeaking noise and call out, “Your jus’ another dumb twirlin’ Mickey!”

  But this time there were no responses, just silence. Lowering my now unmoving appendages I sensed someone behind me just before I felt a large hand clamp onto my shoulder.

  Everyone in the office now sat in silence and those at the back stood up for a better view, even old Dekker who wore an expression that looked like pity, with a big ‘P’.

  After all it wasn´t every day that a real live Gunnery Sergeant Major and his sidekick came in to frighten the bejesus out of someone!

  "Combat Engineer Captain Fletcher Grey?"

  He was a big guy. And pug-ugly as Gunnies are meant to be.

  "Not any more Gunny, I´ve been beached for over two years."

  I slowly rotated my prosthetic arms so he could get a better look, "Combat Injuries," I added hopefully, but really knowing I was wasting my breath.

  Gunny took a breath and spouted forth in a loud voice so everyone on the moon could hear, "I am empowered by the Navy Emergency Measures Act of 2203, sub clause 953, to inform you that you are hereby recalled to active duty, effective immediately."

  I opened my mouth to protest but only managed a feeble splutter. He went on, "Refusal punishable by not less than ten years hard labour in a military penitentiary, off-world."

  "Can you tell me what this is about? It must be a mistake!"

  I pathetically held my arms out again so he could see, in case he hadn´t noticed the first time!

  Gunny seemed to ponder for a moment then adopted his preferred cruel demeanour and leaned over to whisper a sweet nothing in my ear. At the same time he and his corporal gripped my arms, "Combat Zone 45 for you, Sir."

  Combat Zone 45 was close to the Sirius 4 system and somewhere out there in the Great Darkness was a pair of human arms complete with a rather fetching wristwatch of luna gold that Ma had given me on my first deployment.

  I found suddenly that the abject fear and horror I had experienced two long years ago had not disappeared. It reappeared from nowhere and convulsed my body with a pang of dread, making my legs weak and sweeping all of my modest hopes of a quiet life away. I actually tried to struggle against the Gunny and his Corporal but they didn’t even miss a beat.

  Dekker wrote to me much later and humorously remarked that I had `totally lost it´. But of course that’s not true!

  Possibly I might have begun to scream and shout and cry a little though. I don’t think I’m a coward, but I thought that I’d given more than my fair share....Then Gunny lost what little patience he had and the Corporal pressed an air-pressure hypo against my neck.

  2 Years earlier in Combat Zone 45. Sirius 4 system.

  The convoy of eight freighters was destined for the Earth’s moon and mainly carried military equipment requiring repair and personnel heading for leave or redeployment. Going on leave from thirteen months in-system combat in a Marine Frigate near Core Star 33; that was me!

  The convoy was passing within a light-year of the Sirius 4 system when the Ops crew in the lead ship received a distress call from the human colony on the inner planet ‘New Canada’. This was the point when everything went to ‘Hades in a Handcart’. The Convoy Captain wasn’t a military man but a rule-follower with a leaning towards pomposity. Consequently he immediately ordered a course change to give aid, already imagining himself on the war news, hailed as the ‘Hero of New Canada’. He didn´t tell his passengers of course, one of which was yours truly. If he had he’d have been prevented from making what was a rookie mistake. A mistake that would kill all but two of the four hundred and fifteen people in the convoy.

  As for the five thousand colonists in the Sirius 4 system, they were actually long dead by that time and just in case I didn’t mention it before, the Trills were clever.

  Before we even got close to the nearest planet, Trill Electro-Magnetic mines detonated.

  On the freighter ‘Epsilon 5’ I was stretching my legs by walking along one of the long outer fuselage corridors and swinging my arms, my actual real human arms when the overhead cables began to spark and smoke. My wristwatch also warmed a little as its internal movement melted. Some nearby electronic equipment burst into flames and the overhead lighting faded, its cables vaporised.

  Running to a nearby viewport I was shocked to see a Trill Corvette nosing ever closer in preparation for boarding.

  With no power we were a good as dead.

  The only hope of living was to get down into the cargo bay where rows of lifeboats were fixed to the external bulkhead. I quickened my paced and raced along the many steel stairways, downwards towards the hold. The crew had ran to their emergency stations and because there were few passengers onboard I didn´t see a soul until I entered the main cargo area. I collided with some old guy in the near dark of the emergency lighting and we both gripped each other, breathless.

  I was irritated with the old guy who was in my way but then I took a second look. He looked kind of familiar and I wondered if he owed me money. Suddenly it came to me and I was shocked to realise I was looking into the famous face of the almost legendary Grand Admiral Nimitz himself!

  I could barely speak due to a severe case of hero worship. I had always admired him and he was a hero of mine since I first saw him on TeeVee when I was twelve. For a moment I was a little underwhelmed because he looked taller on the television, but in real life he was fairly short and dare I say it, ordinary. But there was no time for me to stare goggle-eyed. We both heard the explosive hull breach somewhere above and our air pressure fluctuated. It would be only minutes before Trill warriors would be flooding down the gangways.

  "To the lifeboats," I gasped.

  "Just what I was thinking," the familiar face said, with that charismatic smile.

  Above we could hear the screams of our crew and the steel-tipped boots of the Trills as they came closer.

  I cranked one of the lifeboat hatches open and its life support automatically activated.

  "In there sir, quickly!"

  He didn´t argue. He also knew what would happen to him if the Trills got their hands on an Admiral, let alone the most successful one of them all!

  And I didn´t even have a chance to ask for his autograph!

  Opposite to where we had entered the hold, the bulkhead door flew open.

  Turning, I was confronted by a Trill officer, who seeing that we were unarmed, casually holstered his pistol and drew his ceremonial Kill-Blades, two swords of micro-cleaver sharpness, approximately a metre long, or if you’re old-fashioned, three feet.

  His eyes widened when he saw the Admiral´s epaulettes and unwisely he rushed forward to claim his prize! He meant to dispatch me quickly and grab the Admiral but I surprised him by leaping forward. I held him in a bear hug clamping his arms to his side to prevent the swords from being raised. His momentum carried us back towards the lifeboat hatch and I managed one backward glance to see Nimitz´s head still in the hatchway.

  With my right leg I kicked the hatch shut and felt it strike the admiral a nasty blow. I might have even heard him tumbling down the ladder into the lifeboat, but I won’t admit it! With my other leg I engaged the quick-release and the lifeboat disengaged. All the while the Trill screamed and struggled fiercely in my grip.

  Through the footplate I felt the release discharge of the small craft and hoped the escape motors would carry it in some random direction before the Trills realised who had escaped.

  I released the Trill, throwing him away from me. The blue fur covered face had turned gray with temper. By manhandling an Imperial Officer, I had made him lose face in front of his soldiers who were now crowding in behind him laughing and smiling at the prospect of a good bloodletting.

  Coming to attention, I straightened my uniform and prepared for the inevitable. I would show no fear to them, only because that was what they lived for. I was convinced that this was the end of me.<
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  Trill Troopers looked on with bloodlust in their eyes as the Officer stood in front of me rested his Kill Blades upon his shoulders in the ceremonial execution pose.

  However, the Trills are very creative and like their victims to suffer. The blades flashed down.

  All I remember after the blades swept by me was that the gravity motors chose that exact moment to fail! The Trills and I parted company and were flung from the floor in all directions. I think that was what must have prevented the Officer from finishing me off. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw my arms seemingly float away slowly pursued by floating streams of red globules.

  I had one stroke of luck, if you can call it that. There was a low-Intel Medi-Centre close by attached to the bulkhead and as the air pressure began to fall along with the temperature, I must have floated within its reach. As if preparing me for the extensive surgery that I required but would not be forthcoming, it sealed the areas of amputation, steadied my blood pressure then rolled back into its niche as if satisfied. Job done, I was then good to go!

  Members of the Eighth Battle Squadron found me floating in the sub-zero darkness three weeks later, barely alive.

  Year 53 of The Trill War. The Deep-Space Shuttle ´Bradbury´ in Combat Zone 45.

  Three weeks earlier I had groggily regained consciousness and found myself strapped into an acceleration cot in the small hold of what I dimly remembered was a high speed shuttle. Taking up much of the space around me were grey steel boxes used to transport top secret navy documents. Surmounting each one was the red brick of a phosphorous charge. Yet another pang of fear went through me because I knew if a signal from the pilots, or an errant vibration to the ship set one off then I would be galactic dust in a millisecond.

  After three weeks in the shuttle, I had gotten over my little upset with the Gunny and was resigned to my fate. It was as if my time on Luna happened in another life and I didn’t think at all about what I had hoped to achieve in that life. I knew it was dead and gone. It would never be again.