Journey to the Heart of Luna

by Andy Frankham-Allen

  “She has at that,” Bedford said, chewing once more on the crunchy fungus. “Still, it will do in a pinch and I have tasted much worse.”

  Miller, who had tried very little of the fungus, was looking around the small cavern at the Selenites as they went about their business. They were scuttling from one hive to the next, occasionally looking at the humans. None of them moved in for any closer inspection, but that they were curious was obvious. “Sir, are we really going to get help from these ants?”

  “Well, that is the rub, Mister Miller. What do you think, Miss Annabelle?”

  This was the compromise. She had insisted on being called Annabelle, but as there was absolutely no likelihood of that happening Bedford had decided he could bend as far as “Miss Annabelle”; considering her age he did not think that breeched propriety too much.

  “I do not know for certain,” she said, “but like I said before the Selenites are not fighters. However I have discovered that when threatened they are fiercely protective of their colonies.”

  “Then, perhaps we can…”

  Bedford was interrupted by the arrival of a small group of Selenites. At their head was a copper-coloured one, slightly bigger than the rest. Miss Annabelle scrambled to her feet in the most un-ladylike manner Bedford had ever seen. He covered his mouth with his hand and smiled. If only women were allowed to serve in the Navy.

  “K’chuk! It is good to…” Miss Annabelle stopped inches away from the Selenite, a frown creasing her brow. “You are not K’chuk.”

  “I K’ovib. I bring you to Q’theletockus. Follow.” K’ovib turned and walked the way he came. The other Selenites remained, waiting for the humans to follow.

  “A problem, Miss Annabelle?” Bedford asked once he had joined her.

  “Possibly. K’ovib is a retainer of knowledge, an enhanced Selenite, a sort of elder of the colonies. K’chuk led me to believe that a colony is run by either a queen or a retainer, not both.”

  Bedford pursed his lips together. “Clearly something has changed, then.”

  3.

  FOLKARD’S TEAM came to an abrupt halt. They had ventured deeper into the tunnels, led by K’chuk. Nathanial had, through conversing with K’chuk, been able to ascertain that Selenites communicated by the use of pheromones, among other things. The slaves were aware of K’chuk’s approach and had already begun to make plans on revolting against their Russian masters. First though, Folkard, Nathanial and K’chuk would have to cross into the Russian camp. To that end they had followed the rumbling sound of a machine. Folkard felt certain he knew what it was.

  Now they stood at the mouth of another cavern, flat against the tunnel wall. Nathanial could feel the vibration of the machine against his back. K’chuk made to move into the cavern but Folkard reached forward and grasped one of the Selenites fore-legs.

  “K’chuk, no!” he said with a hiss of breath. “We must do this with stealth. If the Russians are alerted to our arrival, your people will be in danger.”

  K’chuk lowered his head and pulled back against the wall. “Selenites in danger now.”

  “Yes, but still they live. Let us keep it that way.”

  The rumbling ceased presently, and Folkard peered around the corner. “Excellent. Professor, K’chuk, please remain here. I will signal you momentarily.” With that Folkard slung his carbine over his shoulder and snuck around the corner.

  Nathanial edged past K’chuk to see what Folkard was doing.

  In the next cavern stood a large, fearsome looking vehicle. Nathanial had not seen its like before, although he was put in mind of a locomotive engine, albeit one without a chimney. Black smoke emerged from a small pipe at the rear, situated above the door which was, even now, being lowered. Constructed with panels of steel, the vehicle stood on four large iron wheels, with an elongated drill head attached to the front.

  A Russian soldier, dressed in the uniform of the Russian Imperial Army, emerged from the rear of the vehicle, unaware of Folkard who was crouched by the side of the machine. By the time he became aware it was too late. Folkard moved swiftly, bringing the butt of his carbine smashing down on the back of the Russian’s head. Folkard grabbed the Russian under the arms and gently lowered him to the dusty floor.

  “Spokoinoi nochi, sladkih snov,” Folkard said quietly.

  He glanced over at Nathanial, and was about to say something but before he could a second Russian, this time unseen by Folkard, had emerged from the drilling vehicle and had drawn his own gun. This he aimed directly at Folkard.

  “Ne tak tiho kak ty dumal, Britanskaya shval!”

  Once again Nathanial wished he had a weapon. The Russian had his back to Nathanial, and so Nathanial quietly stepped into the cavern with the intention of catching the Russian unaware. He was no expert at fisticuffs, but he would give it his all if he could catch Folkard’s would-be killer unawares…

  A rusty blur of colour whizzed past him.

  It took Nathanial a few moments to realise what it was, and by then K’chuk had already sprung on to the back of the Russian. The man staggered forward, trying to shake off the giant insect. K’chuk held on tight, his six tarsal claws digging in to the skin under the uniform. Blood seeped through, and still the Russian struggled. Folkard stood aside, bracing himself against the drilling vehicle, and watched, as fascinated as Nathanial, as K’chuk opened his powerful triangular mandibles. With a snap, faster than the eyes could follow, the mandibles met and the Russian’s head, in an explosion of blood, was severed.

  The body, with K’chuk still on top, dropped, the head landing next to it. For a moment longer Nathanial stood where he was, his eyes locked on the severed head. Then, as the bile began to rise in his mouth, he turned away and deposited the contents of his stomach on the cavern floor. The sight, and the cloying stench of the blood, was just too much for him.

  4.

  THEY PASSED through a hive, where they were practically ignored by the Selenites there (Annabelle wished she had time to stop and observe, since she had learned much from K’chuk, but second-hand information was no substitute for first-hand experience), and continued on a downward slope into a small, narrow, tunnel. Grey fungus filled almost every inch of the wall. The queen, Q’theletockus, stood at the foot of the tunnel, no doubt guarding the nursery beyond, with two Selenites either side of her. K’ovib indicated where Bedford and Annabelle were to stand, a few feet from the queen, and Miller and Platt stopped behind them.

  “Why you come here?” Q’theletockus asked, the human words grating in her mouth. “We Esitonina not war with other species, we live in peace. You bring evil here.”

  Bedford opened his mouth to speak, but Annabelle touched his arm gently and he looked to her. “Lieutenant, if I may.”

  Bedford did not look convinced, but he stepped back discretely. Annabelle knelt on one knee and looked up at the queen. “Your Majesty, we did not bring war to you. We, my uncle and I, came in peace. My uncle is known to your people as the ‘gooddoctor’, he has helped a Selenite colony before. You must know K’chuk.”

  “K’chuk told us of the gooddoctor. You his batch relation?”

  “Yes, I am Annabelle Somerset. I helped K’chuk be free of the Russians, the men who brought evil to your world.”

  The queen was silent for a moment. “We trust the doctor, but he bring Russians, they come from your world. Bring death sticks like these.” Q’theletockus pointed with one of her fore-legs at the carbines slung over the humans’ shoulders. “Killed many Esitonina with your sticks.”

  “Not we, Your Majesty. Unlike Luna our world is divided. We have many different, uh, colonies. I am American, these men are English.”

  “Like I Esitonina, K’chuk Compuntos. We are many colonies, but still one.”

  Annabelle sighed. “I wish Earth was so, but it is very different to Luna. Our colonies often fight over land. Every colony wishes to be stronger than the others.”

  “This not their land to fight over. Heart not know evil like this.”

/>   “We are different to you,” Annabelle said, feeling like she was losing her footing. She had to make them understand that not all humans were the same. “It would be impossible to explain human nature to you, mostly because we do not truly understand ourselves. If you know K’chuk then you must know that my uncle, the gooddoctor, did not bring evil to you. Indeed, even now, he is being forced to work against his will. Just as other Selenites are. K’chuk and I escaped; he freed many Selenites while I asked for help. Help to stop this evil.”

  “You asked for more war, more evil. More men with death sticks.”

  Annabelle swallowed hard. The queen, once again, spoke true. Annabelle removed the carbine from her shoulder and gently lowered it to the ground between her and the queen. “We did not seek to bring evil to your world, but it is here now, and it will only be removed with more…evil.”

  “Miss Somerset,” Bedford whispered in her ear, “the British Empire is not to be considered evil. Explain this to her.”

  Annabelle bit her lip, ignoring Bedford, and praying he would not oppose her openly in front of the queen. Things were delicate, and the brash thinking of a military mind would only tip the balance against them.

  “Your Majesty, please understand, if we do not use death sticks against the Russians, they will remain. They will continue to dig into the heart of this world. Many more Selenites will be killed.”

  The queen became agitated. “No! They must not be with Heart.”

  “They have heart, but they seek different things to us. They look for…” Annabelle was stumped. How could she explain the Russians desire for the relic and the power it offered them? Of course! “That which you worship, they look to misuse it.”

  “Not Heart!”

  Annabelle raised her hands, in an attempt to placate the queen. Ants on Earth were some of the most vicious creatures on the planet. They fought mercilessly to protect their nests. Annabelle recognised the sound in Q’theletockus’ voice; it was hysteria! It was just what they needed.

  “We can stop them, Your Majesty, me and my companions here. But only with your help.”

  5.

  FOLKARD STEPPED out of the Mole Drill and walked over to Professor Stone, who was still standing near the mouth of the tunnel looking a little on the worse side of green. He had been sure the professor was stepping up to the plate quite well, but clearly K’chuk’s unexpected bout of aggression was just that bit too much for his delicate stomach. For his own part, Folkard had seen much worse in his time as a naval officer, he had done a brief tour during the early days of the colonisation of Mars that would make the most resolute men turn green, but that was not to say he enjoyed seeing a man’s head being severed from his body.

  “Are you quite all right now, Professor?”

  The look Stone gave Folkard left little room for misinterpretation. “Peaceable ants? Something tells me turning the Selenites into soldiers will be a lot easier than either of us thought.”

  “Well, I shan’t grumble too loudly, Professor, K’chuk did save my life, and in effect yours. How do you think you would fair on Luna without me, surrounded by Russians?”

  “A fair point, Captain. Nonetheless…”

  “What if K’chuk turns on us?” Folkard looked back at the Mole Drill. K’chuk was inside the vehicle now, as fascinated by the interior as Professor Stone was about the Selenites as a whole. “We do not know for certain, but something in me tells me to trust him. He has had ample opportunity to strike if he had a mind to.”

  Stone nodded his agreement. “Very well, we have come too far to turn back now. And I was warned about the dangers of this mission. Let us make haste then.”

  Folkard turned and walked back towards the Mole Drill. “Haste is unlikely, Professor. A Mole Drill is not made for speed, but rather for power. With enough coal it is essentially unstoppable.”

  “What puzzles me, though, Captain, is why the Russians would need such a vehicle. Luna is littered with tunnels and caverns. What need is there to create more?”

  “A question to which we will soon learn the answer. I speak a little Russian; perhaps it is enough to get some answers from our captive.”

  Together they entered the Mole Drill, and Folkard looked at the man in question. The sub-lieutenant was bound with rope, a dirty rag, no doubt used to wipe the coal-dust off the driver’s forehead, served as a gag. His decapitated comrade had been secreted away in a burrow in the cavern; it had been freshly dug by K’chuk, who claimed that often times Selenites created such burrows to store food. The smell would not last long, it would soon join the usual sub-lunar stench which, Folkard began to realise, was probably rotting meat in other burrows. He was no expert on ant culture, but he did know that meat-eating ants existed, and most likely the same applied for the Selenites. He stepped closer to the prisoner.

  “You will talk, tovarish, or my little friend over there will make a meal out of you, too.” Folkard nodded towards K’chuk who was standing on the raised platform next to the coal chamber. The Russian’s eyes widened in horror. He may not have spoken English, but he understood the meaning.

  “I not kill. Only to save,” K’chuk said.

  Folkard walked over to K’chuk and said in a whisper; “I understand that, K’chuk, but we do not wish our captive to be a party to that information. We need to know what the enemy is planning to successfully rescue your brethren.”

  K’chuk was silent, his bulbous head tilting from side to side. Then he nodded. “Understand, friend Folkard.”

  “Superb. Professor Stone?”

  Stone, who was looking around the large interior, turned to Folkard. “A fascinating vehicle,” he said.

  “I am glad you think so, since it is time for you to learn how drive it.”

  “Me?” Stone was quite incredulous.

  “Of course, what other person is there? I will be busily engaged in extracting information from this retrograde. K’chuk will help you.”

  Stone swallowed and stepped past Folkard. The professor did not rate their success in this endeavour, and in truth Folkard had his doubts, too, but the basic operations of a Mole Drill were simple enough and the professor was a smart man. As Stone climbed the ladder to the raised level, Folkard pulled the lever that activated the door winch. Soon they would be behind enemy lines, and then they would learn first-hand what they were up against.

  Folkard found he was rather looking forward to it.

  Chapter Eight

  Into the Russian Camp

  1.

  THE QUEEN agreed, although she would not be leaving the village herself. K’ovib was to head the Selenite army (a term Bedford used rather loosely), which consisted of ten of the ugly blighters and K’ovib. Bedford was glad for the help, not least because they knew a quicker way to the Russian camp than Miss Annabelle.

  Along the way, K’ovib instructed a few of his fellows to start digging. This, at first, puzzled Bedford, until they revealed a previously dug hole which contained a crate of light Russian rifles and ammunition. Unfortunately the ammunition was not compatible with the carbines he and his men held, and so eight of the Selenites took up arms. There was something incredibly ludicrous about seeing ants with rifles, but who was Bedford to argue. A ramshackle army was better than none, although only marginally.

  “You look perturbed, Lieutenant.”

  They continued down a tunnel and Bedford looked over at Miss Annabelle who had drawn forward to come alongside his left. Bedford was taking up point, his Lancaster drawn and ready, with K’ovib, who did not favour the “weapon sticks” walking to his left. They were followed by four armed Selenites, Miller and the two unarmed ants, and then the remaining four armed Selenites walking before Platt who took up the rear. “Not exactly, Miss Annabelle. I am merely running my mind over a few things.”

  “Putting together your plan?”

  Bedford smiled at this. “It is hard to plan strategy without knowing the layout of the land, and unfortunately Q’thelocutus…”

  “Q
’theletockus,” Miss Annabelle interjected.

  Bedford looked down at her. She had a sly streak in her. Formidable she may have been, very able with a weapon no doubt, but she was still quite young; only nineteen she had told him. In some ways she appeared to be much older, but once in a while her true age showed through. “Yes, her,” Bedford continued, adopting the same sly tone as Miss Annabelle, “she was not able to provide any intel regarding the Russian camp. Very few of her people have ventured too close.”

  “Understandable, my dear George. If they had, it is highly unlikely they would have returned. Tereshkov can never have too many slaves.”

  “Hmm, a man of affluence in his native Russia, no doubt.”

  “No doubt.”

  He looked at her once again, not for one moment convinced by her innocent expression. “So, you see my problem, Miss Annabelle. I am, as the most amazing musicians would undoubtedly say, playing it by ear.”

  “Well, if it helps, I feel sure that once the enslaved Selenites see our little band here they will soon revolt.”

  “That is as may be, and although I will be glad for the extra help, of course, I am rather hoping Captain Folkard comes through.” Miss Annabelle now looked confused, and Bedford smiled again. “You said the Russian camp is near to the bottom of the gorge, and that is certainly where the Sovereign would have…departed.” He paused, to compose his thoughts. He still did not understand why Folkard would leave the away team to certain death. Certainly he would have known Bedford would find a solution, if one was available, but nevertheless…“Even if the gorge proves too narrow for the Sovereign, Captain Folkard will have discovered a way to the camp. His mission will be to rescue your uncle, and you can be assured that he will beat us to the pinch.” At least, Bedford hoped that was true.

  “So you anticipate that our own little army is merely to play the role of cavalry?”

  “At the very least. Although I am hoping for something a little more. Distracted as they will be by Folkard’s redoubtable army, they will never see us coming.”