MILDRATAWA

by Nigel Clayton

  “I know there shall be many questions. The forces have been broken up fairly. Most of the equipment used is of earth, not all. Due to weapon counter-measures in technology, a bombardment of self-seeking missiles can’t be delivered to the cannon of Nicaragua. The Third World War of Earth, and QEM migration, saw to the depletion of most of the world’s resources. Another factor imposed upon us is that the other worlds of the Mildratawa are too young as yet to be relied upon for materials, for they themselves have more than enough of their own problems. What we are faced with gentlemen, is a universe where technology by far exceeds resource and development, to such degrees that each of our planets suffers in some small way.

  “A more detailed brief can be found in the portfolios that I have prepared for you all to read at your leisure. My quarters will be open twenty-four hours. If any of you wish to call a meeting, for us all to attend, then you may do so.

  “Finally, the mission is set to commence in five days, longer if needed, but not desired. Other planets in our galaxy also depend on our success. Think of your questions hard between now and the next meeting. That’s all I have for you gentlemen at present. Question time will be in two hours, thank you.”

  The meeting came to a close, so much had happened in so little time. The mission held so many doubts. Could they succeed? The crowd dispersed but not before General Carramar Good could pull Decara Simbati aside in order to explain to him the plans in full.

  They moved to the General’s quarters for a more secure and undisturbed brief.

  Carramar and Decara moved in silence, out from the great hall of Compos Mentis, down the spacious corridors of the building housing Mildratawa officials, and towards General Good’s personal chamber.

  They walked in step, slow and with ease, seemingly without hurry, only Carramar’s cane’s hypnotic clicking upon the tiled floor breaking the silence around the two – and Although many individuals moved along these halls, they did so by accord.

  Decara peered out to the side, a shooting glance with his purple eye, briefcase still held securely by the right hand. It was so peaceful; and those that were seen in the hallways of the United Planets’ Council for Unity only shared a brief heart-warming smile – no conversation.

  They now stood in front of a door and the turning of a brass knob revealed a dark interior, soon illuminated by a word of command from Carramar, directed towards the voice activated lighting.

  Carramar invited his friend in, giving way, allowing him to enter first. “Please; after you.” Decara obliged, pressing past the General, the beauty of his thick animal skin robe and waistband of Hallop snake shown off well by the source of the light. “Please seat yourself at the desk, on the far side of the room. I have some secret files which I think you’ll find very interesting.”

  Decara approached, placing his briefcase at the foot of the hat stand that hang humorously from a wall mount, its sculptured arms of dark pine suggesting the deliverance of evil from the Roman Empire to the people of its conquered lands.

  “Interesting ornamentation you surround yourself with, General.”

  “A gift of pursuing interest, from a young granddaughter to an aging man.”

  “I see the bond in it. You obviously had a large hand in teaching her of all things mature and historic.”

  “I try to show, and teach, my philosophical beliefs and interests in all of history; but please, take a seat.” Carramar turned his attention now to the computer screen that lay under glass to the centre of the desk. He placed his thumb on a red cube which in turn threw the computer into action. “Computer, go to tree index, subject Nicaragua. Invert view.” Carramar sat opposite the wiry face, ignoring the large shadow cast over the desk by Decara’s bulk.

  Carramar addressed Decara. “From this index you can go to any report necessary, concerning that of the incidents which have occurred over the past few days. It’s been given Mildratawa security classification. Just point to any of the indexes you wish to view and that will automatically take you through to those particular files.”

  “I dare say that there’s something here that I’m supposed to see.”

  “There is at that.” Carramar shifted slightly and laid his back deep into the cushion of his seat, finding comfort in seconds. He laid the cane gently onto the desk surface and placed his open palms onto the arms of his chair. “Please don’t be startled by anything I say, or that by which you see. Everything here has been well guarded from the eyes and ears of the public and military personnel.”

  Decara sifted his way through the throngs of reports, not quite understanding what it was he was looking for.

  Carramar sat silent for several minutes before leaning forward and then falling back again into the chair. Decara was slow and seemingly computer illiterate. Carramar could wait no longer. “I can be blunt or carefully rational; I choose to be both. The earth as we know it will be destroyed within eighteen months; that’s all of life, including that of life under the sphere of Nicaragua.”

  Decara’s eyes squint, then a frown. “But all equations led us to believe that this isn’t true.”

  “An explanation then. El Pasadora has led us to believe in these findings. He well knows himself, however, that all life will wither.”

  “I don’t understand the insanity of this.”

  “It’s quite understandable when you take into consideration that El Pasadora isn’t interested in Earth, but the entire galaxy. He wants to control all.”

  “I still don’t understand how—”

  “He wishes to take control of Basbi Triad. He wishes to force a Verton attack against other planet systems. He wants confusion to reign, for himself to hold a strong hand; to be in line for the status of Warlord and a knighthood from the Empress Sualimani Natashafuna Dimala the Fourth.”

  “How can he force such a play? The Vertons won’t sit for this.”

  “Oh, trust me, Decara; it’s all been well perpetrated and planned. He knows full well what the Verton’s will do when the Brightside look to lose the fight on Basbi Triad.”

  “But the Hansard I was handed, information from my spy.”

  “A false Hansard I’m afraid, Decara. Our intention was only to keep the— more dangerous information from falling into the wrong hands.”

  Decara stood abruptly. “Do you suggest that I have the wrong hands for such information, or simply a lax tongue which may gabble at the first hint of torture or yantus milk?”

  “Sit down, Decara; please. We are only a small minority, you and I, our planets. We have great minds and skills that others look up to and trust. How else could we be in the position we hold? Please; sit down.” Decara sat and eyeballed the screen as Carramar continued. “You need to understand all there is, Decara. Earth will be destroyed; the Vertons will take Basbi Triad, and El Pasadora will try and manipulate the position in such a way so as to place himself into a strong arsenal – for the ruling of the galaxy as we know it.” He paused now to take a breath. He leant over and lifted a couple of glasses from the cabinet at his side, along with a jug of crystal clear water.

  The glasses were poured generously, one handed over to Decara. A few mouthfuls of the cool refreshing liquid ran the length of their throats and Carramar’s vocals felt the immediate relief from its gripping dryness. “A large problem does impose a threat. Your home planet of Zirclon is the closest planet to Basbi triad, a stepping stone if you wish, and a base from which to launch a successful attack.

  “Planets Erulstina and Glaucuna wish to offer their hand in helping, but we must have your undivided assistance. You are surely aware that this can only be classified as nothing less than helpful to our cause. You see, that’s all four of the major planets of varying quadrants that thrive with life and share the Alliance, the same freelance visa of movement via QEM-gate – our alliance. The first of the planets to be colonised all of those hundreds of years ago, during the craze of that century, QEM migration, those within the alliance fighting for the same cause. It can only lead to uni
te more quadrants, in particular our neighbouring quadrants, which as you are aware, include planets Alza Ningh; a mighty planet of eight foot giants and no religious beliefs; and Mistachept, the planet represented by Doctor Alkoyster. With all of these our defence line is basically drawn. I can’t see the Vertons stopping at Basbi triad with the tribes of Zirclon so close, can you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then I suggest coexistence and cooperation. There is of course more than meets the eye, more here to be seen than simple politics.”

  “Please go on, General.”

  “The Vertons will make a move on Irshstup and Equatia very soon. It’s an unquestionable doubt that many mercenaries exists within Quadrant Three and are accessible if Equatia falls. As for Irshstup, it’s a part of Quadrant Two. I wouldn’t dream for a minute that the Vertons would leave some of their home quadrant lingering in doubt like an axe over their heads.”

  “This is a very large area you speak of, General.”

  “Indeed, and that isn’t all.” The General now looked into the eyes of Decara. “The people of Earth are still without a planet. The domed forests of the moon are hardly a problem. They can be moved to anywhere within the galaxy. But the people of Earth.”

  “But surely that’s only a small number, considering your last war?”

  “It’s very true indeed that forty percent of the earth’s inhabitable surface is destroyed and ruined by radiation, but the other sixty percent still contain a vast array and number of inhabitants. Many more than recorded. Most will have to perish where they are.”

  “You have got to be joking. There must be something that can be done. No life is expendable.”

  “A blind eye has to be turned Decara. It’s pointless to argue on the moral equity of life. We don’t have the resources, and neither do any of the other quadrants. Quarantine is also an issue.” He interlocked his fingers in thought. “Those that are left behind, their life expectancy, after evacuating a large portion of humans as soon as possible, will be longer than anticipated. Probably anything up of an entire year; possibly time enough to find a way for their safe evacuation. This is why a problem stands with Nicaragua. The transporters being used aren’t the best, but in the same token, we have plenty of them; this breaks up the assaulting troops into smaller packages. We could never afford to send in that amount of space vehicles; those we do have, have to be used for the evacuation of Earth. Hopefully it won’t be a waste and we’ll have time to save more civilian souls.”

  “Ample time to save the poor souls from destruction, hey General?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. There’s no use kidding ourselves. Most of the smaller nations find it hard enough to maintain peace anyway.”

  “It sounds to me as though you talk genocide.”

  “So let it be.”

  The conversation continued along the lines of species preservation. An outside chance did exist for life to be given; that however was limited.

  Carramar soon settled Decara down and the afternoon spread into evening as plans of a more tactical importance were waged. The fate of the entire galaxy lay resting at their fingers. How they conducted themselves and their forces of the Mildratawa over the pursuing lapses of time and space would be the direct outcome to the future of all being.

  PLANET EARTH.

  TIBET.

  Doug sat comfortably to the rear of the shuttle, the empty seats round him creaking slightly with the motion of the vessel as it approached Ulugh Muz Tagh. Only four men were present in the ship, they were seated further up front and clad in military fatigues.

  The engines ran silent as he peered out of the window, darkness of the outer region becoming much brighter as oxygen lapped up the rays of the sun’s never ending forces of energy and re-entry commenced and they broke through the outer layers of atmosphere.

  Cloud cover was not evident visually, but a blowing gale and carpet of snow and ice were. The wind raced across the surface of the earth and looked to be stopping for nothing from Doug’s present height, not even for the 400-year-old monastery which sat like the castle from the fairy tale Sleeping Beauty. The gale leapt the crest of its monstrous walls and continued onto the far reaches of the mountains about.

  The shuttle commenced to settle in the midst of downward engine thrust, forcing the snow around it to billow up like giant cotton balls and handfuls of thrown confetti, shrouding the ship from view and then clearing in the wind. The engines died away and the silky white cloud dispersed to leave just the hazy sleet of thrashing wind to pass by on its own accord.

  A large iron gate could just be made out now, through the porthole, guarded by two guards. Each stood with their true to-nature gentleness hidden by their ominous appearance – and the spear that each held tightly by his side.

  The two pilots up front in their closed off compartments were busy with the shutting down of the shuttle when the side door hinged upwards, revealing the penetrating winds which cut through the heavy clothing Doug had just placed on. Another shuttle opposite sat like a mirror image as it too opened to the prevailing winds and six men stepped out.

  The band of eleven now approached the iron gate and the two guards thrust the spears out to their sides, forming a cross in the direct path of Doug’s party.

  The wind was deafening. Doug resorted to yelling: “I’m here for an audience with the Scroll Master of Prehistory! These are my men and we come in respect to your judgements and traditions! Please inform your master that Doug McIlwraith is here on a mission of great importance; very important!”

  The guards stood motionless and the party of eleven looked around at each other in awe, their path to the monastery was still barred. Doug pulled his hood back in wonder and his hands searched for his pockets, the feverish cold already starting to claw at his flesh; but the guards were unaffected by such. He watched contentedly as the two guards stood, and he recalled a little of his past life here, and within a few more icy breaths the spears were withdrawn and the gates were opened.

  The ten men filed in behind Doug and headed towards the large doors, puzzled at the behaviour of the two guards they had just left behind. Doug then understood; he’d been taught the mental powers of the monks. And although he himself could no longer feel the presence of the Master’s thoughts and freely emitted consciousness, the Scroll Master could read his, the Master’s mind invading his very privacy. The Master had informed the guards to grant Doug and his party entry. Doug also had no doubt that the guards had been placed only moments before his arrival and would soon be withdrawn to the comfort of warmth and comradeship – the guards were simply a show of greeting, giving visitors the satisfaction that they had been openly accepted; like a handshake.

  A Brother of the Cloth opened the large doors and closed them again once all were inside, denying the prevailing wind the opportunity to steal the warmth from within the building of ancient stone. He stood in contemplation and a small smile came over him. “I’m Brother Matthew. It pleases me to meet you again.” All of a sudden Doug recognised the features of the monk and thrust a hand out to meet the slow and steady grasp of an old teacher from ten years before.

  “Brother Matthew. It’s been a long time.”

  “I see that the years have treated you kindly.”

  “Well thank you.”

  “Not at all.” Brother Matthew turned side on, and with the palm of his hand held in the small of Doug’s back, gestured that they all proceed down the hall. “I feel that you request to meet with the Master as soon as possible?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, this way.” The others followed. “The Master will undoubtedly be pleased to see you after so many years, but I think it best if I show your men to the waiting chamber. The Master grows old and weary. The excitement of so many visitors will surely be too much for him.”

  “I fully understand.”

  The walk was short but drawn out. Idle conversation was directed to all ears. The snail’s pace felt uneasy to some that followed the
monk. It was a welcome relief to three of the party in particular who sat immediately on entering the waiting chamber.

  Doug stood in front of the great oak doors alone. Brother Matthew had entered to announce the obvious visitor. Doug was finally admitted. He approached the old man, the warmth of the candles spreading comfort over his face. He kept his pace slow and remembered to look low with his fingers interlocked in front of him. Brother Matthew was no longer available for discourse and had obviously slipped out through some other door.

  Doug brought himself to a stop as the bottom most step to the throne as it came into view. The Master spoke: “Please, Brother Doug; look up and relieve yourself from the view of the worn carpet.”

  “Thank you, Master.” He looked up. ‘Don’t speak unless spoken to.’ The old monk’s weary face seemed to crack under the weight of the folding skin. He never believed anyone could look so old. His eyelids were heavy, red blemishes of suffering veins and age coloured his cheeks – the weight and ferocity of his words and responsibilities handed down over the passage of time.

  The Master’s left hand trembled slightly. “Your visit was expected but I regret to say – unwarranted. What you request I have picked up in my meditations and sessions of astral travel into the near future. It’s futile to request what you seek. Brother Anthony doesn’t yet know of your presence; he’s busy with work which even you can understand, has to be carried on.”

  The old monk breathed heavily through his nose and then out of his mouth, over and over. “He’s forbidden to leave here even in spirit and must remain for the good of all. We are now so near to the answers of our questions and yet – regrettably so far. It saddens me to believe that we have to be evacuated, that we have to leave our home to live amongst the Zudomminiums. I think that we would prefer to stay. Quadrant Eight is so far from the creature comforts of Earth, yet I understand that it must be, but not necessarily for all. The time we have remaining must be spent at work on the Scrolls.” More silence fell. “It pleases me that you have not forgotten your manners nor the way of our beliefs. You may speak now; until I indicate otherwise.”