by S.B. Davies
Dave was sealed inside a bubble with smooth walls.. There was no light apart from the strange green and purple blobs his brain created to fill the utter darkness. No sensations apart from the rustling of his Harris Tweed that smelled like a lavatory attendant's mop.
Dave fell over as the bubble lurched and suddenly it was no longer dark. A thousand fairy lights, strung in long plait lit up. The lights moved as one, swept past, and turned in a wide circle. Perspective returned and Dave realised that the lights covered the size of a tall block of flats. They slowed and Dave finally made out a dark grey shape amongst the blackness. It moved closer and one immense eye watched Dave in his bubble.
For one moment Dave thought he too was a sacrifice, then he realised who he was seeing; he bowed.
‘I demand that you remove the invaders from the surface of our planet. It is your machine that brought them here without our permission. In fact your entire machine is here without our permission.’
The eye flickered.
‘You prevent us filtering out unwanted entities. You must therefore take responsibility for those that take advantage of your decision.’
The lights on the huge body changed colour and started to chase up and down in complex patterns.
‘I ask you; please take responsibility for your actions.’
The vast squid-like body of Engineer threw Dave's bubble aside as it swam off into the darkness.
Dave sat in the bubble in complete darkness and regretted his arrogance. If the mice in his kitchen demanded the removal of all cats, their squeaky little voices would appear no more ridiculous than Dave demanding action from the ancient and powerful Engineer.
‘Live? Die? Not kissing him. Volunteers?’
Fergus could hear the words, but they didn’t mean anything. He couldn’t move and grass was poking his face.
‘Snapshot? Yar nice.’
Something sharp stabbed Fergus in the bum and energy flowed into this limbs. He got to his knees and retched; a lot of water came up. He was grabbed by the ankles and hoisted into the air. Someone pummelled his back, it hurt, and even more water came from nowhere and dribbled out of his nose and mouth. Fergus felt wretched. It didn’t help when he was dropped; he only just managed to break his fall.
Fergus clambered to his feet in the centre of a circle of amused Palaver.
‘You survived little girl. Now let’s go.’
‘Sorry what?’
‘Eight hours, then…’ Enoch slapped one hand down flat on to the other. ‘Out.’
‘I don’t understand?’
Enoch sighed.
‘You drowned. Snapshot worked. I lost bet. Eight hours, body runs out, little girl goes sleepy-byes.’
Fergus sat down. He waved his hands at Enoch.
‘Fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I’m going to sit here and enjoy the sunshine, you bunch of jackasses can laugh all you want. I’ve walked forever, been chased by a maniac, fallen miles without a parachute, attacked by giant dogs, sacrificed to an arcane god, fallen without a parachute – again, drowned, shot up with alien drugs and dropped on my head. Through all this nobody has once said ‘well done’ or ‘thanks’ or even ‘are you alright’’.
‘Well done, thanks, are you alright?’ said Enoch and grinned.
Fergus offered a finger. He didn’t see Enoch move, but he was on his feet and his finger was halfway up his back along with his arm. It hurt.
Enoch whispered in his ear, ‘You warrior? This not way. Cowboy up.’ then pushed Fergus away.
‘Look me in eye, little girl. Are you warrior?’
Something clicked in Fergus’s head. He threw a short, quick punch at Enoch. It caught the huge Palaver just under the rib cage. Enoch gave a sharp ‘oof’ and bent slightly. Enoch’s reply knocked Fergus clean off his feet.
He staggered upright, the Palaver were roaring with laughter and chanting ‘little girl, little girl’. Someone was patting him on the back. Fergus expected a beating, but Enoch was laughing more than anyone.
‘Enough!’ roared Enoch, then more quietly ‘Adjudication?’
‘Qualifies,’ said one Palaver.
‘In,’ said another.
‘Unconventional, but undeniable’
‘Yar.’
So it went on around the troop. Fergus was confused, but the Palaver seemed happy. Enoch held up his hand and the Palaver became quiet.
‘Little girl no longer. Now Rugby Boy, thirteenth of troop and warrior.’ Enoch leant backward and yelled ‘Arooooogaaaah’.
Once more the Palaver patted him on the back and chanted, but this time it was ‘Rugby Boy, Rugby Boy.’
Enoch threw a huge arm around Fergus, guiding him back towards the allotments.
‘Giant dogs?’ asked Enoch
‘Oh yes. Huge, armoured too. Did you know you could ride them?’ said Fergus.
‘Legends exist…’ Enoch stopped. Over the allotments was a green glow.
‘You!’ yelled Enoch at a Palaver. ‘Get Rugby Boy armour and belt. Troop engage.’
The Palaver leapt away in huge bounds. Enoch unhooked the belt around Fergus’s waist, put it on, and followed. Fergus ran faster than he believed possible, as he tried to catch up.
When he arrived at the allotments, the first wave of small spiders was squirming under the net. Palaver and dogs arrayed around the first terrace. The dogs wore grey, inflexible body armour and helmets that extended down over the snout. Their legs covered with similar articulated armour ending in a wide, claw-like paw. Even the tails protected by a segmented sheath.
Fergus eventually reached Enoch.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Fergus.
‘When full, grenades. Just little ones, workers. Here.’
Enoch handed Fergus the pink armour and purple helmet. Fergus put it on, glad of its protection. Once dressed, Enoch handed him a gravity belt and banged on the helmet with his fist. The armour turned light blue.
‘Observer. Keep away, watch. We see what you see. Understand.’
‘Yes.’
‘Luck Rugby Boy. Don’t fight.’
Fergus just stood there.
‘Want kiss? Go, watch.’ Enoch waved Fergus away.
Fergus leapt gently and soared over the allotments, landing awkwardly on the pavilion roof and dislodged a slate. Dave would have words. The green glow appeared again and suddenly the net was full of car-sized spiders.
‘Grenades.’ roared Enoch and the world filled with bits of spider arcing gracefully in the afternoon sun.
But the net did not collapse. It stayed full of twelve medium sized spiders.
Enoch cursed and yelled for anti-tank missiles. It was not going well.
‘What’s going on Enoch?’ asked Fergus. His armour relayed the question.
‘Grenades not working, drones have armour.’
‘Not good?’
‘Double plus not good. We fucked. Keep watching, do not fight.’
Painter wrapped his brush in tinfoil, laid it down and jogged towards the front door.
‘Trouble at allotments,’ he shouted.
‘Alright love, you take care now. Give my regards to Mr Trellis.’ replied a voice a woman’s voice from the kitchen.
Painter’s van tore through the streets of Huddersfield, he leant on his horn and yelled at cars in his way, he drove through red lights, over pavements and generally ignored traffic regulations. He yelled something indecipherable as he sped past the Slubbers Inn.
One lunchtime punter, enjoying a quality beer in that famed Huddersfield establishment leant over to his companion and muttered.
‘That sounded like Painter. Reckon there’s trouble at allotments?’
‘You’d have to be deaf not to know that.’ replied his companion.
‘Are you going?’
‘Aye, but have to stop off at shed first. No point in turning up at knife fight without spade.’
Mrs Yo
rkshire closed the ledger and placed her fountain pen on the desk. She stood and kept going up, like a Grizzly bear in tweeds.
Her office door burst open and a young girl rushed in.
‘Mrs Yorkshire, it sounds like there’s a disturbance at the allotments.’
‘I know my dear, I have ears. Be so kind as to sound the alarm. I want all the girls back here, armed and ready, just in case. I’ll be back.’
Butcher ushered his customers out of the shop.
‘Trouble at allotments then Butcher?’ asked an old lady.
‘Aye, we’ve been expecting something. Mr Trellis don’t say owt, but you can tell, what with preparations and arrivals and the like.’
‘Good luck lad, and give my regards to Mr Trellis.’
‘Luck don’t come into it,’ said Butcher, as he took down a huge two handed cleaver from the rack behind the counter. He hefted it and took a practice swing, thumping it half an inch into the cutting block.
‘Oi lad,’ he yelled to his apprentice, ‘Get the big cleaver out of back.’
The green glow came again. Three enormous golden queen spiders arrived, filling the courtyard with legs like street lamps. The air smelt acrid and musty. They screamed, as they thrashed under the steel cable net, their claws screeching as they scraped over the flagstones leaving deep grooves.
There was a loud crack and a cable parted, its end whipped back and struck a queen across the thorax. The queen screamed, reared up and the net tore away from its fixing points. As one the queens stepped over the allotment wall like a vast net curtain with far too many legs.
‘Regroup. Follow them. Missiles now.’ roared Enoch.
Dogs and Palaver poured out of the allotments and ran across the bridge, chasing after the three entangled queen spiders.
The bubble lurched again, suckers the size of dustbin lids appeared on the surface and Dave was flung to the floor.
Dave's vision flicked on and the bright sunlight blinded him. He closed his eyes and then slowly opened them again. He stood in the parkland outside the allotments, surrounded by a surreal sight.
Around him a silent battle stopped in freeze frame. A palaver about to drive a huge battle mallet into the thorax of a drone spider. An anti-tank missile with a bright tail of flame stopped in mid-air. There were worker spiders in the air, like hideous helium balloons. Lots of dogs too, all in full armour.
‘He is considering your request.’
Dave turned round to see the small pale man, who still looked like Satan's Bank Manager.
‘You called yourself Engineer, but you’re not. Who are you?’
‘I am Engineer, as much as this small human brain can hold. I embody him in human aspect. I am Human and Engineer. I am consciousness chimera, a mental mongrel -’
‘Ernie Farthing with a broomstick up his arse.’
‘Ah, humour. Skip it Trellis,’ said Engineer
‘All this.’ Dave waved his arm over the battlefield, ‘Why have you stopped the battle? Why not just get rid of them or go back to sleep?’
‘I have stopped nothing.’
Dave looked around. ‘So this is a natural phenomenon?’
‘Could I prevent the Earth from rotating, stop stars in their paths, prevent galaxies from moving?’
‘Oh, I get it. We’re moving really fast.’
‘Again no. It is more complex. Mr Loaf may understand a little, you have neither the training nor aptitude.
‘Try me.’
Engineer looked at Dave.
‘You are absorbing extra time.’
‘Really? How interesting,’ said Dave.
‘All things are interesting Trellis, it depends on your perspective. As to why we let this happen. It is difficult to stop. The transfer method used by these invaders is not normal. It was created to get engineers to and from the machine. Nobody should know it exists and no-one should be able to use it. The machine is not a normal transporter it has no receiver or transmitter. Earth is not a valid destination.
‘Then what the bloody hell is the machine for?’
‘It is the Exchange. Every traveller passes through the machine on their way to their destination. The machine routes and controls every transfer in the galaxy. A transfer to Earth requires that an entity is plucked from the Exchange and set down here at the Allotments. It is a task that requires direct control of the machine, a job that I believed only I could do. I was wrong. However, perhaps you now realize the machine’s importance.’
Dave was stunned. It explained why no off-world dignitaries ever came, why he was forbidden from traveling to other worlds. Why humanity was apparently shunned by the galaxy. It was pathetic, Earth was the most important planet in existence, yet no-one knew.
Dave sat down on the grass amongst the broken bits of spider and spent cartridges. It was a vindication of his hubris, a denial of self-doubt, yet it changed nothing. He was still Dave Trellis manager of the allotments, father of a dead daughter and husband of a lost wife. Around him a battle paused, people were going to die and by the looks of things the allotments were done for.
Dave looked up at Engineer.
‘If this machine is so important, perhaps you best look after it a bit better.’
‘Hidden in plain sight, I believe you would have it,’ said Engineer, ‘It has worked for millennia. Still, we did not plan it this way. We came to the deepest relativistic trench to give a firm foundation for time storage and a solid platform for the causeways. We never expected to build a transfer machine. We expected the causeways would allow everyone to move under their own power and volition to wherever they wanted.’
‘So didn't they work?’
‘Oh they worked, they worked fabulously. It remains the greatest engineering feat of our race. It was time that caused the problems.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Time is the key. Moving vast distances instantly is simple. What causes the problems is time. If you can't balance the local time at the start of the journey and the time that exists at the end, the journey ceases to exist and the traveller goes nowhere. So we store the time difference. When they return we give it back to them. On the causeways the absorption and restitution of time took place as you travelled along. The causeways themselves stored the time.
We believed that the sum difference in time would be small. Those going one way would balance those going the other. We were wrong. Natural disaster, war, migration. All caused huge imbalances. The amount of time stored became unmanageable and we had to close the causeways.
So we built the machine instead. Every journey goes through it. Every traveller goes only to his destination and back again. It makes time storage viable and the management simple.’
‘So you control all travel throughout the galaxy?’ asked Dave.
‘Indeed, a position of great responsibility.’ Engineer smiled. It made him look smug.
‘If you knew about these illicit transfers, why didn’t you do something?’
‘I did. I investigated and found it was an emergency protocol, designed to allow transfer to the machine in case of incapacity of the controlling entity. I considered switching it off, but didn’t.’
‘Why? Surely there was a risk of something like this happening?’
‘Interest, intrigue, excitement. Have you any idea how long I have swum in the Sunless Sea? How dull it is to watch over a machine that never fails? I may sleep for many years, but I still have to wake. Do you humans not keep pets?’
‘Pets? You consider us pets?’
‘You fulfil the same function, it is a suitable description.’
‘At least we look after our pets. Protect them from harm.’
Engineer stared at Dave.
‘Such as cock fighting, badger baiting, dog fighting even. And what happens to old racehorses and greyhounds? Hypocrisy Trellis? I thought better of you. Now let's enjoy the battle, or would you prefer to return to the
catacombs?’
‘Enjoy! Enjoy watching my life’s work destroyed. Enjoy watching my friends die?’
‘Enough. Sit and watch. There.’ Engineer pointed to the pavilion in the distance beyond the allotment walls. ‘You are the representative of Earth and I respect the traditions. You will come to no harm, but you may not interfere.’
Engineer gestured with his hand and the pavilion rose in the air and zoomed towards them. It settled down twenty feet away in a spot clear of combatants.
Dave seemed to deflate; perhaps it was tiredness or just despair. He followed Engineer to the pavilion and sat in a wicker chair. The pavilion rose and hovered fifty feet above the battle. It moved backwards and tilted so that Dave and Engineer had a perfect view of the frozen battle scene below.
The battle sprang into life, the noise hit Dave like a soft cushion, and he jerked back in his chair.
Chapter Thirteen
Regrets? Aye a few, but mustn’t grumble.
Dave Trellis
One Life, One Woman, One Shed
The steel net still held the queen spiders. They lurched across the parkland harassed by Palaver. Drones scuttled through the open portcullis and out the barbican, spreading the confused battle from the courtyard into the open.
The dogs destroyed the worker spiders efficiently, but the drones had grey armour covering on their body and legs that resisted grenade and sword.
Enoch and his troop managed to tie down the detached net, using steel hawsers fixed to the pre-prepared grid in front of the allotments. It was a mistake. Once anchored, the queen’s managed pull themselves out from under the net.
Now the defenders faced the worst situation, queen spiders running free, the allotments lost, and their first defensive position shattered. It was impossible to regroup. Small groups of dogs and Palaver fought individually. There was no control or focus; chaos reigned.
The spiders formed a line in the parkland and attacking together, forcing the defenders back along the valley. Only two waves had arrived and already they were losing the battle.
Fergus kept to the edge of the fighting, jumping in huge leaps and relaying information to Enoch. The pavilion appeared, hovering fifty feet over the battle with Dave and Engineer sitting on the veranda. Fergus put it down as one more inexplicable thing and bounced towards it, aiming to land on the roof. He hit a transparent wall. Engineer waved his hand and threw Fergus to the other side of the battle.