Into the Great Darkness

by George H Y Watson

  I squirmed in embarrassment viewing the private moments of the courtship that was no damn business of anyone’s but the two participants, but the security cameras were all-seeing. Eventually the footage showed the Viewing Deck at a late evening hour, deserted except for Stella and the young Admiral-to-be on his knees holding a small black box out to her.

  In the box were two dark rings that aroused my curiosity because they weren’t the usual gold or silver bands.

  Then I could hardly bare to watch as she accepted his proposal and they kissed joyfully. I found it heartbreaking because I knew that this short time was all they would have together. No happy future existed for them as a couple and he would return to Earth alone, unfulfilled and with a raging hate burning within him for all to see.

  His life would be filled full of abhorrence for the Trills.

  I paused the viewer temporarily, more to give myself an emotional rest from what I was finding very difficult to watch. Idly I asked the computer for ‘Artefact Identity’ of the little black box for no particular reason.

  In moments it came back: Moon Rings; A pair of Betrothal Tokens. Once a favourite of the very wealthy to show their eternal devotion to each other. Made of the now prohibited Luna Symbiotic Ore, each pair of these betrothal rings would bear identical markings that made the pair unique. These tokens would be absorbed into the wearers DNA and become part of the wearer’s body.

  See also; Luna Symbiotes (Usage banned by the Surgeon General Under the ‘Harmful Symbiotic Organisms Prohibition Regulations 2204’).

  As I digested this information, I felt my neck hairs stand up because subconsciously I detected a clue that I did not understand. Something then began to bother me, unreachable at the back of my mind. Some fact I had overlooked, ignored.

  The following morning I continued to watch the footage that proved to be unremarkable except for the fact that at the side of the screen I could see the playback counter was nearing zero.

  ‘The Empress’ had reached Pluto and also its return point on the voyage. After several hours in the vicinity of what was a rather uninspiring large asteroid that had never lost its planet status in the mind of the masses, the ship had begun to swing around.

  As if from nowhere, out of the Great Darkness the now familiar shape of an old-fashioned Trill Corvette appeared. Of course, in those days no one knew what it was and many passengers just stood looking as the craft nosed closer for what we know now was an explosive docking manoeuvre.

  At the same time Stella and Nimitz sat at dinner in one of the first class lounges, totally oblivious to what was going on around them when the Trill vessel collided and blew a hole in the aft fuselage to enable boarding. The explosive de-compression also deactivated the gravity-motors with the result that the couple were thrown apart. Nimitz crashed into the upper ceiling and Stella flew against the aft bulkhead.

  By the time the emergency gravity-batteries kicked in the savage Trills were causing mayhem as they systematically moved forward from compartment to compartment leaving a red trail of death behind them. Nimitz fell to the floor but before he could go to Stella, panicked passengers and crew surged into the compartment fleeing the horror being visited upon them. Two pursers grabbed him and dragged him unwillingly away from the approaching aliens.

  Once in the next compartment, the pressure doors slammed down forever upon Stella. Nimitz was carried along with the throng into the lifeboat deck where a Trill warrior patiently waited in his motorised and armoured Robo-Suit, viewing the assembled victims through a large shoulder-wide helmet-cockpit. The infernal machines’ kill-blades were awash with red and the screaming of the passengers was tremendous but after a few minutes slowly began to lessen.

  The gravity finally failed just as the Trill reached for Nimitz who again was thrown upwards. Whether in panic or by design he kicked out and struck the top of the Trill helmet with both feet. This flung the machine back against the lifeboat where a length of steel studding pierced the suit and the unfortunate Trill head inside.

  In the distance the sound of approaching aliens could be heard and the air-pressure alarms began to blare. It looked like Nimitz would be finished by explosive decompression.

  Showing the flare and ruthlessness that would make him the most renowned Admiral in the Earth Navy, I watched this unseen footage for the first time as he positioned himself between the large helmet and the bulkhead. Bracing himself, he used his feet to push against the helmet until the Robo-Suit began to messily detach from the impalement. He then began to try and figure out how to lever up alien fasteners and gain access, simultaneously hoping the aliens breathed oxygen! Once open, the auto-sealing of the damaged helmet began and had completed by the time the earthman had manoeuvred inside the bulky suit to slide in behind its dead owner. He quickly slammed the helmet shut and locked it onto the suit.

  The holocube footage now began to show error messages as the shipboard power had degraded so long ago and the cameras had begun to fail.

  Input Fail.

  For a time inside the suit Nimitz watched the barbarous Trills as they passed by with items of technology and other artefacts that would help their superiors to assess if this small solar system would be worthy of conquest.

  Input Fail.

  The Trills ignored the dead soldier and his Robo-Suit, as would prove to be their custom.

  Input Fail.

  The Trill Corvette disengaged from the primitive and lifeless hulk that had been grandly called ‘The Empress of Space’. In front of the inert Robo-Suit, a large section of the port side fuselage was torn away.

  Input Fail.

  The last thing I saw were those familiar eyes of my lifelong hero staring out from behind the dead alien and into The Great Darkness.

  Input Fail.

  I sat staring at the blank screen for a long time, waiting for my mind to settle down. And then it came to me.

  The Great Darkness.

  Blackness.

  Black Moon Rings.

  Two of them!

  Papers and holocubes scattered onto the floor as I searched for the first video I had viewed in Commander Brexler´s office.

  Fast-forwarding I reached the part where Nimitz had held the woman´s hand in the ‘Teach Room’. Zooming in on the interlinked hands I could see the matching notches on the dark metallic rings that adorned each second finger of each left hand as they squeezed together, as lovers hands do.

  “Correlate these artefacts with all contents of first holocube: 1st Voyage Cunard ‘Empress of the Stars’,” I told the computer.

  Within milliseconds the reply came, “Moon Ring artefacts are common in both Holocubes. After scanning, a 99% likelihood exists that they are the same items.”

  I slid into the interview room again where Nimitz sat unmoving, still staring at nothing.

  “I know who she was, in the Trill ‘Teach Room’,” I whispered, “Stella!” Then raising my voice in frustration at the lack of response, I screamed “STELLA!”

  No reaction, but a slight twitch of his cheek.

  Slamming the photograph down upon the desk, I grabbed his left hand and savagely pulled it over to where his Moon Ring could be compared to the two in the picture.

  “See. They´re the same! I know why you did it! For god´s sake I know!”

  I then shook him violently, trying to get him to wake up. God help me!

  Suddenly he looked up as if becoming conscious after a long sleep. His face was ashen, his shoulders slumped forward and the words began to gush out of him as if a dam had broken, “I’d known her since college and we tried to keep things quiet because of our families. There were certain social niceties that had to be observed by people of our class, etc. But on that voyage we decided that we couldn’t wait and I arranged for us to be married on the return voyage. ‘To hell with the consequences’, we had laughed!”

  “I am so sorry. I understand what a tremendous shock it must have been to finally find her after all these years.”

  He loo
ked directly into my eyes, “It was much worse than that. Fifty-three years and six months.”

  With that said I was mortified as he cried out and collapsed onto the table sobbing into his hands.

  I froze in horror, hating myself more than I ever thought possible. I didn’t know what to do. Of course I had been monitored. They wouldn’t trust me alone with their best asset.

  The door flew open to admit the shrink in the white coat, Doctor Lopez and four orderlies. The doctor held me by the shoulders and beamed in satisfaction, “Wonderful Captain. Wonderful! I’ve, never seen anything like it! Wonderful! We´ll take it from here.”

  I was pushed aside as they administered an injection to the admiral then put him in a wheelchair and wheeled him away.

  It took two of the orderlies and a marine to restrain me as I sought to wrap my metal arms around the doctor´s throat.

  The following day I sat in Commander Brexler´s office again. This time there was only the two of us and the Commander looked pleased.

  “Grand Admiral Nimitz is responding to further treatment and hopefully will be ready for the ‘Peace Talks’.”

  When he said the last two words a hint of a smile appeared on his face and I realised there would be no return shuttle for me.

  “I’m not going back, am I? To Luna I mean?”

  He ignored the question and instead asked, “Did you ever wonder why an officer such as Admiral Nimitz, who has a well-known pathological hatred of the Trills, is allowed anywhere near the peace talks?”

  I slowly shook my head; this was well above my pay grade. Beneath my feet the floor vibrated as the huge flagship began to change course.

  “The Trills managed to continuously expand their empire for well over eight hundred years that we know of without encountering any meaningful resistance. Until they came up against us, that is. They desperately want the peace talks to succeed so they can bypass us, temporarily and their expansion can continue. They are driven by out of control population growth and their warrior code, apparently.

  We have received intelligence from alien prisoners that this is normal operating procedure for the Trills and there will indeed be a ‘Later’ when they think we’ve relaxed and they can return in force. Consequently, our foremost strategist, Grand Admiral Nimitz has formulated our response.”

  I now began to realise why they had been so concerned about the Admiral and why I had been dragged out here. Suddenly I had to grip the table as the ship lurched, its light-speed turbines thrummed through the structure as the vessel began to build up speed.

  “What’s happening?” was all I could say.

  I knew then that I was a used pawn discarded from the chess board.

  Commander Brexler leaned back in his chair, his finger interlinked as if he was in contemplation.

  “The Trills attach great importance to the ritual of their warrior code and at this moment they will be lining up their battle fleet at the agreed peace talks location. Part of their peace ritual goes back to when they were nomadic tribes and would lay their spears etc. on the ground in front of their enemy to signify that fighting was finished. They will be at a certain location, on the edge of Combat Zone 33 with shields off and weapons stowed. Waiting for us.”

  Treachery, whichever side employs it, is always justified when it’s successful and conveniently forgotten when it was not. I felt I was being made party to something that would haunt me for years to come, whilst all around me people would slap each other on the back at how clever and devious the human race had been.

  “Also in Combat Zone 33 are several hundred of our nuclear mines lying in wait. They will be activated as we approach.”

  I began to sweat and stammered, “That’s not all, is it?”

  He smiled devilishly, “I’ve said it before. You’re sharp! But only sometimes. Behind Combat Zone 33 is a straight run in to the Trill home systems and we’re gonna’ gut the heart out of their damned empire! Our ‘Intelligent Biologicals’ are already on the way.”

  I felt a dark gloomy despair fill me as I contemplated our ‘Biologicals’ leaping from one Trill world to the next until their empire consisted only of empty lifeless husks.

  I slumped back into the chair sick of war and fear and death.

  ‘Twirling’ my arms, I became mesmerised by the reflection of the overhead lights.

  Outtake from ‘1st Voyage Cunard ‘Empress of the Stars’. Year 0 of The Trill War. Pluto.

  Attack Officer Gann of the War Lord Nest-Gann would be the last Trill to leave after the successful raid on the unarmed passenger vessel. As he floated along the port fuselage the wall showed severe cracks and fatigue markings where soon it would be torn away when the Corvette disengaged. He was incredulous at the simple, stupid creatures who would venture this far into space unarmed! He was confident that in less than two years the Trill Battle Fleets would sweep by this location to subjugate the inner planets, further expanding the Trill Empire of a Thousand Suns!

  Abruptly he stopped. His Nest-Sense had detected something! He turned and followed the Sense that became more acute the nearer he got to a dead Robo-Suit.

  Could it be that a Trill soldier was still alive?

  No it was not that.

  With a shock he realised he was in the presence of the Aura of a Great Warrior! How could this be?

  Moving closer he peered into the suit and detected movement behind the dead Trill.

  Gann drew both of his long kill-blades, at first intending to finish the Earthman but a lifetime of Imperial service in the Nest Brotherhood demanded that he give obeisance to such an Aura.

  He could not destroy it.

  He took the formal pose of a Warrior of the Trill Empire; he held out the kill blades at each side of his body and bowed three times whilst repeating each time, the holy mantra for those defeated in battle;

  “Please forgive me, oh mighty warrior, please forgive me for allowing you to live, and live in torment forever!”

  THE END

  LETTERS FROM THE GREAT DARKNESS

  The small City of New Hudson lay along a four mile stretch of the Hudson River. From a harbour busy with steamships and sailing vessels, narrow streets of houses wound up the hill to the old wooden stockade, the site of the original settlement.

  We were told at school that it was from the stockade that the original Founders fought off marauding bands from the old cities during the ‘The Adjustment’. So it was probably fitting that in the Year of Our Lord 2102AD, during a cold and sunny November, I found myself up on the walls of that same stockade with my fifteen soon-to-be ex-classmates. We were all eager to leave school and at our tender age of twelve years there was only one obstacle left; the end of school 'Founders Day' speech from the last surviving Founder of the colony.

  We lounged against the old cannons on the upper battlement, relaxing because we thought that we were all grown up and in the far distance we could see the sightless towers of Manhattan with a few remaining glass panels reflecting the noontime sun.

  Inside the stockade there were earthworks that people once ran up to carry ammunition to the old guns and it was the nearest one that Our Founder, Mr Wilson, struggled to ascend using his walking stick. He was always referred to as ‘Mr Wilson’, never anything else. I suppose he had a first name but we never found out until that last day. On reaching our group he smiled and paused for breath against the rough wooden parapet.

  In my later years I suspected that he must have privately thought that lecturing us was a waste of time because we would struggle to understand many of his references to the world before ‘The Adjustment’ since so much knowledge had been unlearnt. However, the Council insisted he do it in the vain hope that the young would see what mankind had been capable of before 'The Three Eyes' had arrived.

  Mr Wilson was a sprightly 94 years old, tall, surprisingly well built with thin grey hair and always identifiable by his old-fashioned military combat jacket as well as the well-worn Service Pistol at his hip. His familiar rifle ha
d been replaced these last few years by his walking stick that he now pointed at us.

  “Relax children or should I say Ladies and Gentlemen. You’re done with school. Tomorrow you’ll enter the world of work; be it woodwork, what now passes for engineering or agriculture, etcetera.

  The reason I like to give these ‘little talks’ is to hopefully explain a few important things; why we live near a wooden fort instead of that city yonder; why every night the triangle of bright satellites we call ‘The Three Eyes’ fly far over our heads in Earth orbit and most importantly,” he now grinned mischievously, “My part in the downfall of our civilisation!”

  He opened a large leather satchel and carefully drew out eight sheets of very rare and much worn plasti-paper obviously pre ‘Adjustment’.

  After placing an ancient pair of spectacles on his nose he peered at the plastic sheets and now, years later when I am a young man I realise and appreciate what he must have lost personally. His expression changed to one with a tinge of sadness.

  “Make yourselves comfortable kids and I’ll begin. My tale begins in the summer of 2030. It was a time of worldwide excitement as mankind stood on the brink of its destiny. The stars were within our grasp!” His eyes lit up as he remembered the other world of his youth, “I graduated from university in Florida with a nice shiny degree in ‘Spacecraft Sensor Mechanics’. What that means will become apparent, shortly.

  Virtually the day after graduation I was recruited by NASA for their new state-of-the-art Mission Control facility up in New York State.

  This was every aerospace graduate’s dream, career wise.”

  At this point, Big Ellie Pearson, encouraged by nudges from her girlfriends, put her hand up to interrupt and deflect Mr Wilson from his boring talk. She had always had a short attention span but we boys forgave her because she possessed the most magnificent chest we had ever beheld, “Have you ever been married, Mr Wilson?”