Polarian-Denebian War 6: Prisoners of the Past

by Jimmy Guieu

  “On board a smaller iron bird, legend says, the demi-gods flew from one village to another, teaching Good to all the people along with new methods in metallurgy, medicine, woodworking, construction, mineral extraction, etc. Slowly, from place to place, from province to province, during the decades of the practical teaching of Kahen and his brothers and sisters, our ancestors organized themselves into a strong and united nation, independent and able to make a huge leap on the path of Evolution. The knowledge brought by Kahen to our ancestors allowed them to progress centuries in only one generation.”

  “Indeed,” Rudy Clark reflected. “Without Kariven… I mean Kahen, the legacy of your ancestors left to themselves would have no comparison—quantitatively and qualitatively—to what you have inherited. In 1378, you would know nothing about cars, planes, TV, rockets and all the technical wonders that are the pride of the Modern Age.”

  “There’s no doubt,” Avshton admitted. “A few years after the demi-gods came to Earth, a chief came out of the first Shelte people visited where they stayed until they died. This chief was called Ioc or Hyoky, we don’t know the exact pronunciation, but it doesn’t matter. The fact is the chiefs… and the tyrants who reigned later took the name Hyoky in memory of the first King or Chief of the Shelto-Fransh.”

  “You mean French?”

  “No, Lieutenant, Fransh. Of this we are sure because the inhabitants of Fransh are still called this. So, Hyoky I reigned for ten years, supported and wisely counseled by the demi-gods. Without a direct descendant, a young man of the tribe succeeded him. It was a man Kahen had once healed and who owed him eternal gratitude for it. He was a good and just king. With the support of the demi-gods Hyoky II advanced his people, with constant improvements and technical achievements in this young society that would be the mother of our civilization.

  “Although gods are eternal, as they say, demi-gods unfortunately are mortal. One by one they died after spending 50 years among the Iron Age men. But at their death they left a huge legacy to Fransh: their knowledge. Or at least they left that part of their knowledge that our ancestors could learn. Knowledge based solely on Good.”

  An inexpressible emotion squeezed the throats of the two officers on hearing the great deeds of their best friends, called demi-gods by this man from a time completely foreign to their own.

  “Peace,” Avshton continued, “was maintained in Fransh for a long time, maybe one or two centuries. Many records left by Kahen’s descendants were unfortunately destroyed in wars. And one day Hyoky IV, who faithfully followed the path laid out by his predecessors, was assassinated by the chief of a jealous province. A cleverly planned plot allowed the assassin, the usurper, Hyoky V, to get rid of his victim’s relatives. That was how the reign of violence started.

  “And it was at this time that we see the first truly deadly weapons appear: rifles, pistols, cannons, pretty crude but in spite of their imperfections they were still formidable weapons. Weapons that were no match for neighboring peoples who had still not reached the level of the Fransh.

  “Hyoky V first ordered that Teachers no longer operate outside the country. The demi-gods, however, had wisely encouraged the education of all humans no matter where they came from. Their dream was to bring all people into an early stage of a real World Federation.

  “For several years, under the indoctrination of Hyoky V the Fransh prepared for war. New teachers taught them harmful, selfish principles, patiently infusing the hearts of men with hatred, telling them that other people were enemies, jealous of the knowledge and technical riches of the Fransh. The effects of these vile policies were soon felt among the Fransh. On a superficial pretext—a group of foreigners raiding a nearby town—war broke out. The powerful army of Hyoky V invaded several countries at the same time… and conquered them in only a few months. The people could do nothing against the attack—swords and arrows against rifles and cannons and already the first explosive shells. In less than a year the Fransh occupied all of Arop and were still arming themselves. Over the centuries they sent expeditionary commando teams that took possession of the old continent—Arop, Afrish and Ashi—turning the natives into slaves or, depending on the mood of the conqueror, considering them as simple servants.

  “The Anglo-Sashons were conquered like all the people on the continent but fled in great numbers over the ocean and reached this continent here where they settled and quickly multiplied. At first they had to fight the natives of the red race who had been living here since forever but soon they made peace and the two races—white and red—united. For centuries they lived in peace since the Fransh were busy consolidating its position on the old continent. Once this task was finished the Fransh armies rested, regrouped their forces and left some battalions of Surveillance Commandos in the occupied countries. Then over the next few centuries the Tyrants turned their attention to the ocean and decided to invade the New World where my Anglo-Sashon ancestors had once found refuge. Because if they hadn’t come here nobody would’ve known there were other lands over the ocean as Kahen had said.

  “And the conquest of the New World began. My ancestors didn’t have the technical benefits of the conquerors but resisted heroically, even though the fight was hopeless and unequal for them. They had to surrender to save themselves being slaughtered to the last woman and child. With the New World the Fransh were masters of the Earth… and they have remained so!”

  “Still?” Commander Taylor could not believe it. “Haven’t you tried to throw off their yolk over the centuries? To get your independence back?”

  “Yes, of course. There were always resistance movements that were mercilessly exterminated. We live in relative peace, as long as we submit to the needs of our masters and the current tyrant: Marli Hyoky II-III-I. The II indicated the second millennium after Kahen, the III marks the third century of the second millennium and the I the first dictator of this century.

  “We resist and we react but alas we always lose because we don’t have the means to fight with equal weapons against our masters. With the exception of hunting rifles and revolvers we have no weapons. What hope is there under such conditions of inferiority? Only last week, as a cruel example that will give some idea, the tyrant came to inspect the west coast Surveillance Commando. While standing in his car, reviewing his commando team, a group of rebels were foolish enough to fire at him with hunting rifles. The tyrant was wounded in the arm… only. The guilty parties were executed on the spot and since this attack was the 20th in less than ten years committed against the high dignitaries of the tyrant or against himself, he decided on a terrible retaliation to serve as an example to future rebels. In Langles, the town where the attack was made, the Surveillance Commando evacuated. The people were curious at first and happy, but not for long unfortunately because the next morning a triangular spaceship dropped a hydrogen bomb that pulverized the city and destroyed the entire population. This bomb, a secret weapon that only a few Fransh scientists know how to make, wiped Langles off the face of the Earth. Radio, TV and the newspapers, being controlled by the Fransh of course, quickly broadcast to the world this news that was supposed to discourage the slightest will to resist among the enslaved people.”

  “That’s horrifying!” Taylor scowled. “Lieutenant Clark and I flew over Los Angeles, meaning your Langles, just a few hours ago. The radioactivity is still awfully high.”

  “We don’t know much about atomic physics,” Avshton explained. “Our masters keep a close eye on our education but the Fransh use bombs with short term radiation. In a week all traces will have disappeared. Teams of forced labor, recruited as always from the malcontents—and they are legion!—will clear the ruins with big machines given them by the new Surveillance Commando. In a few months a new city will be built in Langles on the ashes of its murdered inhabitants.”

  “Kariven would be appalled to learn of these awful crimes… that he and his friends caused indirectly,” Clark thought aloud.

  “Our poor friends had no idea of the changes tha
t would result from their intervention in the Past,” Taylor said. “By educating the Iron Age men they jumped almost 1,000 years—based on the chronology of our own history—in the normal span of technical evolution.”

  “Poor Kariven. So this is what he and Yuln, Angelvin, Dormoy and the others passed on to posterity. Covered in glory they are the pivotal points of this civilization that has made demi-gods of them!”

  Avshton and Shora his assistant looked at each, puzzled. The real meaning of these comments escaped them.

  “Kariven? Do you have a demi-god by this name in your Time?”

  “Your demi-god Kahen and his brothers and sisters are just our friends, Avshton. Friends who left our Present to end up—accidentally because of a disturbance in the Time Dimension—in your Past… where they couldn’t get out of.”

  This declaration left them speechless. Clark and Taylor patiently told them everything they knew about the disappearance of the Retrotimeship.

  “So, you’re coming from a Future that’s chronologically late with respect to our Present?” the doctor asked.

  “Chronologically is the right word, Avshton. We have, however, reached and even surpassed your stage but following a slower evolution because in 1378 you are already in the middle of the Atomic Age whereas we, at that time, were still in darkness. It’s easy to understand: in the Iron Age we weren’t blessed with the teaching of men from the Future.”

  “All the better,” Clark pointed out, “if you look at the social state the men of today are living in, under this tyrannical reign of the Fransh.”

  “You’re lucky you know nothing about this horrible dictatorship,” the young assistant spoke sadly.

  “The Fransh have always been our friends and allies,” Commander Taylor informed them. “For centuries their thought shined all over the known world. Their culture was rich in learning for other people but today, with the Earth finally united, the level of evolution in the great nations is pretty much the same everywhere. What will help us progress faster toward the Golden Age is the fact that the specter of war is locked away in the storehouse of past faults.”

  “Point of fact, Avshton,” Clark reflected. “If you date Kariven’s coming to your ancestors 2200 years ago, how is it that your calendar says 1378? Logically it would be around the year 2200.”

  “A lot of ink has been spilled over that question and it divided the Fransh themselves for a long time. Here’s the reason: a kind of Messenger from who knows where and who left for who knows where—on a fire arrow some say—showed up on Earth 1378 years ago, around 800 years after the Kahen Era. This Messenger was a great sage by the name of Vrish-Ju and he tried to teach men kindness, preaching to the Fransh dictators about non-violence and love of other people.

  “Vrish-Ju started a big, passionate movement wherever he visited and the dictator Hyoky Ralsh IX at the time had to deal with his influence that was threatening to weaken his… questionable popularity. So he decided not to kill the Messenger of Good but to accept his ideas and pretend to follow the New Doctrine. His prestige rose high, then, among all the people who considered him rightly to be a tyrant. On seeing this and to make the movement even more in his favor, he offered the people of Earth to celebrate year 1 of the New Age offered by Vrish-Ju. It was decided, then, to replace the old Kahenian calendar with the Vrishian. And so it was 1378 years ago that the Messenger of Good, Vrish-Ju, thought for a while that the people and the tyrant were going to follow that path of wisdom.

  “His joy was short-lived. Seeing that Hyoky Ralsh IX was quietly pulling the reins of power and that the people felt conquered, Vrish-Ju made a now famous statement… though it’s better not to quote this to a Fransh: The giant stands proud, unjust and brutal, defying the repeated attacks of all his oppressed people. But he will fall in time. The weak who are shaking, kneeling at his feet, will suffer more of his arrogance and his abuses but Time will deliver them one day.”

  Avshton smiled faintly before continuing.

  “The Wise Messenger disappeared mysteriously and sunk millions of faithful into grief and sorrow. He never made clear the meaning of the enigmatic words Time will deliver them one day.”

  The triangular spaceship had been flying all over Langels (Los Angeles) for almost two hours, circling wider and wider and gradually moving away from the zone recently devastated as a retaliation. At the commands of the patrol ship were two men, 30 years old, with sharp chins. They nervously scrutinized the landscape using a cone-shaped instrument. The powerful, electronic telescope allowed them to see the ground as if they were only 30 feet high.

  On the control panel the triangular screen showed the bust of a hard-looking man. His red and white uniform was the same as the pilots.

  “Well?” his voice snapped over the speaker.

  “Still nothing, Commander. But…”

  “There are no buts,” the officer barked. “You were dreaming, that’s all. And you wasted time searching for this ghost ship—as stupid as when you alerted all the posts in Calofnia.”

  “But,” the chief pilot said, “we’re sure that…”

  “Enough, Rolansh! Get back to your base and get examined by a psychiatrist! Over and out.”

  The screen went blank and Rolansh looked at Bertra, his co-pilot. “By Kahen and the rest, we did see it, that huge rocket ship not far from Langles.”

  “Of course, but I’m not sure that our ray hit it. Whatever the case, we’re going to get it now for setting off a false alarm all over Calofnia. Don’t you think we should search a little longer before going back to base?”

  Rolansh glanced at the time and grumbled, “Let’s patrol for another 30 minutes but I don’t think it’ll get us very far. Besides, where could that ship have come from when the entire Earth is under our control?”

  “Are you going to say I was dreaming?” Bertra said reluctantly. “What if it was a Polarian spaceship?”

  The pilot broke out laughing. “Are you joking? A Polarian spaceship here? Come on, it would have been seen long before by our space stations. A Polarian! That’s a laugh. We chased them away centuries ago…”

  “By Kahen!” Bertra shouted, looking through the electronic scope. “Look over there on the outskirts of Mishka!”

  The pilot grabbed his own automatically focused cone and swore aloud on seeing the oval helicopter left by Taylor and Clark.

  “Well now, it’s really shrunk down, this ghost ship.”

  “It’s not the same but it’s still totally different from our Surveillance Commandos.”

  The triangular spaceship landed silently 100 yards from the aircraft and the pilots, each armed with an ultra-sonic machine gun, headed towards it cautiously. Noticing that it was empty they carefully approached the small city. The first house they visited had 30 old people in the big, ground floor lounge, all of them wrapped in their long white tunics. Some were reading, others chatting quietly, lying on their reclining lounge chairs.

  “We’re searching for two strangers who are hiding in Mishka,” Rolansh announced loudly. “Did they come in here?”

  A young woman in a shiny, golden yellow smock walked up to them. She was cold and distant. “Nobody came in here except our usual residents.”

  “Maybe they didn’t come in but they certainly passed by in front of the house. Considering there’s almost no one on the streets, your residents must have seen something through this big front window.”

  “I’m telling you that we haven’t seen any strangers in Mishka,” she replied calmly. “Now, you’re free to submit us to a psychic examination if you think it’s necessary. The residents and I are at your disposal. You can also search the house.”

  The two pilots scowled at the nurse and spit at her feet before leaving to go to the central block.

  “Hello Blira,” Avshton smiled at the woman’s face that had just popped up on the triangular screen to the right of his desk. “Why do you look so anxious?”

  “Dr. Avshton, two men from the Surveillance Commando just ques
tioned me about the possibility of strangers in Mishka.”

  The doctor glanced briefly at his guests before asking, “Strangers in Mishka? And what did you tell them, Blira?”

  “That we didn’t see any,” she hesitates a second. “Don’t keep them at the Center any longer, doctor. The patrol will be there any minute.”

  The doctor thanked her, frustrated to see that his false surprise did not fool the young nurse. He turned off the screen and stood up. “I can’t hide you here, friends. You have to leave through the dining hall and hide in house number one…”

  Loud knocks at the door startled him.

  “Shora, take them away, quickly,” he whispered, betraying his close feelings for his assistant.

  She and the two officers left through the operating room while the doctor went to open the office door calmly. The barrel of an ultra-sonic machine gun smashed into his chest.

  Rolansh, alone, pushed him back with the weapon and ordered, “Stay in this room! Where are the men you were conspiring with?”

  “The men? I’m afraid I don’t understand…”

  The ultra-sonic discharge struck his belly. The doctor bent double and howled in pain.

  “You still don’t understand?” the torturer teased cynically.

  “Don’t shoot!” the doctor pleaded, shaking in pain. “They… They’re up in the…” He slowly raised his arm to point upstairs before passing out… without betraying them.

  CHAPTER IX

  Bertra and Rolansh had split up. While one entered the Central Block to question the personnel and the head doctor, the other went into the yard, around the back of the building and hid behind a bush.

  Convinced that the doctor had caved in, Rolansh blocked the elevator and silently climbed the grand staircase. Meanwhile, guided by Shora, Clark and Taylor were in the dining hall whose huge windows looked out onto the yard. Shora went out first after scanning the grounds (a little too hastily) to make sure that no one was waiting for them. Followed by the two men she hurried into the yard. They had barely gone 20 yards when a voice behind them shouted, “Stop! Hands in the air!”