The Prime: The Novella Range

by Ian Shimwell

  THE NOVELLA RANGE

  www.thearmchairdetective.moonfruit.com

  The

  Prime

  Ian Shimwell

  The Prime Copyright Ian Shimwell © 2012, 2014.

  ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE NOVELLA RANGE:

  Legacy of the Musketeers

  Fuhrerbunker

  Murder By Suspects

  The Novella Range Collection

  The Gift of Christmas

  AND AVAILABLE IN NOVELLA AUDIOBOOKS:

  Legacy of the Musketeers

  The Prime

  The Gift of Christmas

  CONTENTS

  ONE: The Crash

  TWO: The People

  THREE: The Rebel

  FOUR: The Prime

  ONE

  The Crash

  It was a strange place. It had almost an eerie atmosphere – a kind of slight misty quality that did nothing to dispel the feeling of doom. The interior architecture was decidedly odd. There was no walls. The roof just met the floor, creating an upside-down cone effect. At the apex of the roof was an opening, around the size of a small chimney, which revealed a view of pure blue sky. There though was the most unusual feature of this building – a circular metal pole, like a pipe which began its journey in a coil-like fashion until it eventually joined the all-embracing circular metallic floor. Yes, it was very a very strange place – but then again, it was the House of Execution.

  Just outside the door, a young woman and an older man were in conversation.

  The man placed his hand underneath the woman’s chin. He lifted her face up gently so that their eyes could meet. “You are so beautiful, my dearest daughter.” His hands ran through her golden blonde hair. “Just like your mother was.”

  “And is,” she reminded him.

  “Of course,” he conceded, “but this is as I will always remember you.” His eyes glistened. The faintest of tears began to form, but soon evaporated with bemused embarrassment.

  “I’ll miss you father, but the Prime has decreed that it is now time for your execution,” she said in an almost matter-of-fact manner.

  He walked the door, but then turned around. “Why am I to die now? Another baby is not due for at least three months.”

  She held her father’s hand and said slowly, as though making sure it sinks in: “The Prime has stated that very soon we shall have a visitor – that is why.”

  With a final kiss to his daughter’s cheek, he entered the House of Execution. The door closed with a terminal certainty.

  The woman’s eyes glazed over the door. The bolt wasn’t even drawn. There would be no thoughts of escape or rescue though. The Prime had decided it was time – and that is all there is to it.

  Her father stood in the centre of the circular floor and was seemingly resigned to his fate. He looked upwards to see the blue sky through the hole at the top of the roof.

  Quite suddenly the sky darkened, black clouds rolled by and ominous thunder roared a voice of death. A somehow cruel, jagged streak of fork lightning hit the roof, embracing the winding metallic pole. The blinding light travelled downwards at lightning speed, spiralling down, round and round like an express super turbo-charged train set. Then it hit the floor and the metal was ablaze with pure whiteness.

  In a flash it was all gone, leaving the charred, blackened remains of a once proud father. Faint traces of smoke emerged from the corpse, joined by the misty doom-laden atmosphere of the House of Execution.

  In the black nothingness of space a white beacon stood out, proudly. The intricate and complex Space Station nevertheless had the basic shape of a gigantic spinning top. It almost groaned as it continued its protective orbit around Planet 49 remorselessly.

  It was the eve before the dawn of the new millennium and Space Pilot Harrys was looking forward to the celebrations soon to be enjoyed. Soon he would be off-duty and free. Through the Space Station window he could see the green tinge of Earth Colony 49. The planet he was sworn to protect – even from itself.

  The door to his office opened and a dark-haired woman walked in.

  “Sarnia, what are you doing here?” You know I’m still on duty. This is strictly against the rules, you know,” Harrys huffed.

  She slipped towards his desk and neutralised his protestations by kissing him momentarily on the lips. “Since when have you worried about rules?” Looking at her watch she continued, "You’ve only ten minutes left, then we can rush to 49 and celebrate the year 3,000 at the hottest party this millennium."

  Harrys sighed with expectancy and delight. “I know and I can hardly wait, and according to the celebratory plans, it looks like the festivities will be even more spectacular than the last millennium.”

  “You remember that then?”

  “Behave girl,” Harrys' eyebrows arched. “You know very well I was referring to the historical programmes on the Holovid.

  Sarnia suppressed a giggle but then put her mind to slightly more serious matters. “And after the inevitable hang-overs, perhaps then we can start planning our life together. Perhaps we can even become one-bonded.”

  Harrys groaned. “I know, I know – and you know that’s all fine by me, apart from the one-bonded bit. I hate that term. It’s as though we’ll become one being and lose our individuality.”

  Striding around the room, Sarnia was forcing herself not to be furious. She even slowed her pace down so as not to give Harrys the impression of bad-tempered body language. Becoming one-bonded was the one aspect of their relationship that they completely disagreed upon. He had an unreasoning paranoia about losing himself. While she had always wished to be one-bonded with her man – even though she knew it was hopelessly old fashioned.

  “You know it doesn’t mean that, literally,” she finally said. Now sitting opposite him, Sarnia decided to shift the subject slightly. “Harrys, you really are a keen individualist, so much so that I think you secretly admire and sympathise with the ‘Fighters for Independence’ force.”

  Harrys looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s true I’m against the ever-increasing conformist doctrine that comes from Mother Earth. Why do they want us to be all the same? Yes I do admire the freedom fighter – at least they show more personality and originality. Their quest for independence for Planet 49 makes sound common-sense – but I deplore their methods. Killing innocent civilians, destroying spacecraft and even one of my fellow pilots means I am sworn to…”

  Sarnia stood up. “All right, all right. I didn’t mean to open that particular can of worms. Come on, your duty-shift has just about ended – let’s go and catch that shuttle to 49 and see in the marvellous new millennium.”

  Smiling gladly as he got up from his desk, Harrys said, “Old Gunner will be taking over any moment, so now is party time!” He held Sarnia’s hand and began to lead her out of the room. Just then, a red warning light began to flash on the console by the side of his desk.

  “I don’t believe it,” cried Sarnia.

  “Neither do I,” agreed Harrys. “I can’t ignore it, Gunner hasn’t technically taken over yet – and he is a stickler for regulations.”

  “Don’t go Harrys – you won’t make the celebrations.”

  Harrys’ puppy dog eyes came to the fore. “It’s probably only a false alarm. I should be back in half-a-segment and then we will take that shuttle to 49.”

  “Promise?” pleaded Sarnia.

  “I promise – but now I have to go.” They smiled at each other one more time before Harrys left via his own special pilot’s door.

  “Don’t think you’ll get away from me that easily – I’ll speak to you from Command Centre,” Sarnia shouted after him.

  “Thanks a lot,” was the only muffled reply she received.
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  With a blast of power, Harrys’ space-ship: ‘The Defender’, propelled itself away from the Space Station. Now fully kitted out in his usual silver spacesuit and strapped in, Harrys surveyed the landscape of stars. He could see no Independence Fighter’s ships and his instruments told him the same story. So it was a false alarm. But just to be sure, Harrys decided to take a look at the dark side of Planet 49. The Defender lurched sideways as he imputed the new destination data.

  Free to think for a few seconds, Harrys reflected on the sameness of space – the oneness. He sighed, a slight ironic grin penetrated upon his face. Inter-planetary space-travel from Mother Earth was only possible after the discovery of One=Space, a shadowy dimension where almost instantaneous space-travel was possible over vast distances. Mother Earth’s peoples inevitably colonised many planets, alleviating overcrowding on Earth. The great hope or fear was to encounter alien life but, rather disappointingly, none was ever found. It was an established scientific fact that Humans – one race – were the only intelligent life in the known galaxies.

  A cackle of static from his headset brought Harrys back to reality.

  “Harrys it’s me Sarnia, speaking from Command Centre – am I contacting?”

  “Contact made,” Harrys responded. He had arrived at his temporal destination and surveyed the dark side of 49. “It all seems clear Sarnia, there doesn’t appear to be anything to worry about. You will be stuck with me this side of the millennium after all.”

  “And the next side,” Sarnia smiled dryly.

  “Wait a minute,” said Harrys with puzzlement. He looked out of his view-window at the stars – one of which was rippling unnaturally. “Check radar block.”

  “Checking now. Oh no. Radar block neutralised. There’s an Independence Fighter ship directly facing you.” A note of horror struck Sarnia’s voice. “I fear it could be…”

  “A Black Scorpion,” Harrys suddenly realised as the sleek, powerful black shape emerged from the star-scape. “The most-feared war-craft in the galaxy. How the hell have the Fighters got their hands on one?”

  “Never mind that now – move!” urged Sarnia.

  Harrys thrust the steering column sideways, The Defender responded and the laser missile narrowly missed. Harrys immediately returned fire and was more than pleased to strike a direct hit. The pleasure turned sour as he saw that the Black Scorpion was completely unharmed.

  The enemy ship seemed annoyed and fired every laser cannon at once towards The Defender.

  Shock struck Sarnia could only cry: “Harrys!”

  Harrys attempted evasive action but he knew he could not escape the fire. It really was true what they say – that the Black Scorpions have a real sting in their tails. The laser missiles were almost upon him. The Defender could never withstand such punishment. He and his ship would be obliterated – unless he took one last desperate gamble. It was almost suicidal but even that was preferential to certain death. He wasn’t anywhere near the required speed, but Harrys pressed the One=Space button just as the first laser missile hit.

  Opening his eyes, Harrys found himself in a kind of swirling tunnel. An explosion from somewhere behind him shook the ship violently. “This isn’t One=Space,” he realised, “it’s a portal.” He struggled to remember the professor’s words from the holovid: “If they exist at all, the chances of passing through a portal are a billion to one.”

  The Defender burst through the end of the tunnel and was suddenly descending rather rapidly through a blue sky.

  “I’ve reached a planet,” Harrys said as he checked his navigation instruments. “But this world and galaxy shouldn’t exist – it’s beyond the edge of the known frontiers.”

  The luscious forest rushed into view. Another explosion destroyed his control column. He could not slow descent. The Defender hit the top of the trees, cushioning the crash and slowing the craft down. Eventually it dropped to the ground.

  Harrys pressed a button. A side of the ship lifted and he was more than surprised to see a remarkably beautiful woman staring at him with impossibly fair hair.

  “Where, where am I?” Harrys stammered.

  The young woman stroked his cheek with a sensual tenderness. “Welcome, my sweet. Welcome to the Prime.”

  TWO

  The People

  The flashing of a red warning light diverted Harrys’ attention. He looked at it with mounting concern. Desperately he tried to reach the release button on his safety strap, but the crash had twisted his seat and the elusive button was just, frustratingly out of reach.

  Pointing he said: “The reactor has gone critical; this ship will blow up any second. You must press that button to release me.”

  “Of course, my love,” the woman said sweetly. With an unreal calmness, she slowly pressed where indicated.

  The strap released, Harrys jumped up; grabbed hold of the woman’s hand and rushed out of the ship into the forest. There they stayed catching their breaths.

  Unbelievably Harrys suddenly said, “I must go back.”

  Still in that unnervingly calm voice, the female replied, “You indicated that an explosion was about to occur.”

  “I know, but you stay here – better still lay flat on the floor.” She seemed puzzled and hesitated so Harrys simply shouted: “Do it!” As she lay on the ground, Harrys ran back to the craft.

  Jumping back inside, he rummaged in the storage space behind his seat. The red light had given away to an ominous sounding beat – its pitch becoming increasingly higher. She was about to blow!

  “Come on, come on – I must be crazy.” Furiously searching, Harrys’ actions became even more frantic. At last his hands reached the red metal box that he sought. Grabbing it, he rapidly left the ship.

  Running through the forest, Harrys heard and felt the colossal explosion of The Defender not far behind him. The sheer out-rush of air knocked him to the ground which probably saved his life. But the metal box he was carrying was sent flying – disappearing into the air. A few moments later, Harrys picked himself up and walked to his beautiful young saviour.

  “I knew you would make it, but why did you go back?” she asked earnestly.

  “I needed something – or thought I might need it, but the explosion must have destroyed it,” Harrys sighed disappointingly. Suddenly his own, weary eyes were attracted to her bright blue ones. “I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”

  Knowingly she smiled, “I am Dayla.”

  Blue eyes; blonde hair; elegant bone structure; a figure of dreams – she really was too much. He looked away. Thick black smoke was billowing from the tree tops.

  “I hope you don’t mind visitors – because I think you’re stuck with me. Unless you know anyone who can rustle up me a quick spaceship capable of interstellar travel.” Harrys looked at her simple, yet revealing white robes. Somehow he didn’t think so. “My name’s Harrys, by the way.”

  Dayla took hold of his obliging hand and led him away from the forest. “Harrys, you are our first visitor in our history. The Prime is now your home.”

  “’The Prime’,” Harrys quoted, “what is that?” Is that this place? Who are you, your people?” The barrage of questions sprouted from his mouth as they crunched onwards through the edge of the forest.

  “Yes,” Dayla said as if that answered everything, “I will show you.”

  Beyond the forest was fields. Light brown fields as far as the eye could see. Harrys lifted his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. His curiosity penetrated the horizon. There was literally hundreds of fields – all with men, busily harvesting: digging, ploughing, preparing, gathering and transporting. There was no machinery. This incredibly labour-intensive operation was all done by hand. Harrys studied the man who was working in the field nearest to him. He was very tall and looked remarkably strong – Herculean in fact. Short cropped hair complemented his athleticism. His square-jawed face – and his skin was like the field – light olive brown, as opposed to Dayla’s complexion of pure whiteness. The wor
ker was joined by another man who looked extremely similar. Probably his brother, Harrys thought.

  Serenely acknowledging Harrys’ intense gaze, Dayla began: “Yes they do look alike. They all look alike. They are the PrimeMovers. Their sole task in life is to harvest RaPrime – a high-energy food source for the Prime. They work sixteen hours a day every day. While they toil in the fields, their wives and children prepare fruit and meat to strengthen their desire to collect more RaPrime. The Prime Movers – including their families number 700 in total. They serve the Prime. They are happy.

  Exasperated, Harrys took a deep breath. “Sounds awfully boring to me. Who is this Prime?”

  Dayla turned round and stared right into Harrys – looking into him and beyond. “The Prime is the Prime.”

  For the first time, Harrys let go of her hand. “Oh, very helpful. He must have his good points though – why else would they devote their lives and serve whatever-it-is like slaves?”

  Moving her head slightly to one side, Dayla smiled knowingly at Harrys’ troubled expression. “We all serve the Prime – the 700 Prime Movers and we – the People of the Prime. Don’t try too hard to understand.”

  “Is the Prime some kind of God?”

  “The Prime is the Prime.” She regained his hand and led him away. “Now you will see the village. The People of the Prime will greet you.”

  Holding Dayla’s hand, Harrys walked into the village square. Quite simply it was the strangest place he had ever seen in his life. The buildings were seemingly made from every material imaginable. Touching the house closest to him, Harrys studied it. Brick, wood, concrete, hay, canvass and a mud-like substance had all combined in a mix-match of styles that gave the patchwork quilt like architecture a chaotic, hiddleldy-piddleldy look. There was even one structure that looked like an upside-down cone.