Journey to the Heart of Luna

by Andy Frankham-Allen

  Chapter Ten

  The Heart of Luna

  1.

  NATHANIAL WONDERED just how deep the lift shaft went. He had left his pocket watch in his cabin on the Sovereign, so could not readily tell how long they had been descending, but if he had to make a guess he would have said they had been on the lift platform for a good fifteen minutes. His ears had popped a little time back, a sure indication of the depth they were travelling. The shaft itself was clearly not a naturally occurring thing, evidenced by the wooden slats along the four walls of the shaft, held in place by support beams. This confirmed his previous theory that once Tereshkov had discovered the glow he had brought in the Russian okhrana, not only for protection against possible incursions and to bring the natives under control, but also to help him excavate the inner world of the moon. Nathanial could only imagine Grant’s surprise when he too had explored the gorge to ascertain the source of the glow, only to find a fully realised Russian camp at the bottom.

  “Not long now, I hope,” Nathanial said.

  Folkard raised an eyebrow. “One can always hope, Professor. I would ask, but I think I have reached the end of my understanding of the Russian language.”

  “It would help if the man was conscious,” Nathanial pointed out.

  “This is true.”

  They looked down at the crumpled form of the Russian guard. Once the lift had descended out of sight, he had thought to take advantage of their distraction. Of course, what the Russian had not counted on was the fact that Folkard was well trained and could quite easily take in his surroundings and be mindful of the Russian. Nathanial had been forced out of the way, while the two men grappled for Folkard’s carbine. The Russian’s own rifle had been thrown aside before they had descended into the shaft. Nathanial admired the bravery of the Russians, but such bravery stood for naught when brought against someone like Captain Folkard.

  The captain made short work of rendering him unconscious.

  Nathanial peered down the small gap between the shaft and the platform. “Ah, I see light. We must almost be at the bottom.”

  “Excellent, and hopefully some answers.”

  “What of our captive? We cannot leave him here. If he comes to while we are away he will surely alert others.”

  Folkard glanced up. “What others, Professor? I believe K’chuk has things well in hand above, and add to that the imminent arrival of the Major Larkins’ Royal Marine compliment from the Sovereign. Then, of course, we also have Lieutenant Bedford. I daresay he will soon be throwing himself into the fray up there.”

  “Assuming they live,” Nathanial pointed out. “After all, we did leave the lieutenant and their team with a limited supply of oxygen.”

  Folkard frowned. “We did,” he said slowly. “I…” He shook his head. “Lieutenant Bedford is a resourceful chap, I am certain he would find a solution.”

  Once again Nathanial was not so certain, and once again it was not his place to question the orders of Folkard. Although it did trouble him the apparent disregard Folkard had shown for the away team’s wellbeing. In Nathanial’s mind it was clear that both Annabelle and Erasmus had met a similar grisly fate on the lunar surface. “I must say, Captain,” Nathanial decided upon, “you have remarkable faith in a crew you barely know.”

  Folkard chuckled. “Barely know? I suppose that is, in part, true. I have familiarised myself with the files of every crew member on the Sovereign, Professor. I am aware of their capabilities, and their weaknesses. If I did not think they were up to the task, I would not have approved their appointment on my ship.”

  “Including Mister Stevenson?” Nathanial said, in what he hoped was a neutral tone.

  “Quite so. Ordinary Seaman Erasmus Stevenson, eighteen years of age, born in Dulwich, raised in Perivale village. He has served on three frigates in the last eighteen months, before I requested his posting on the Sovereign.”

  “You requested him?”

  “Indeed, Professor. My boatswain, Mister Dinnick, served with him on their previous assignment and swears by young Mister Stevenson. Officer material, he claims.”

  “You believe this to be so?”

  “I believe that he deserves a chance to prove himself. That is why I sent him with Lieutenant Bedford. George will be able to tell me if Mister Stevenson is as good as the bosun says.”

  Nathanial smiled at this. The captain truly believed Bedford’s team had survived. If it were so, then Nathanial was pleased for Erasmus, and hoped he proved his worth. It would be good to see him again after all this mess had been sorted out. It was a pity, however, that once the mission to Luna was over that they would have to part company. For him it would be a case of returning to the dockyard at Chatham, while Erasmus would continue on the Sovereign. They could, of course, continue to communicate via heliograph messages. Nathanial was sure that would be permissible.

  “I am quite glad I have made your acquaintance, Captain. Initially I had feared I would be out of place on this mission, but you have made me feel like one of the crew, whom you clearly hold in high regard.”

  Folkard nodded abruptly. “You are quite correct, Professor. I think, during the course of this mission, you have undoubtedly learned much about yourself, which is surely the whole point behind everything we do in this life. The more we experience, the more we learn of ourselves.”

  “I never took you for a philosopher.”

  Folkard winked. “There is much you do not know about me, Professor.”

  “So I am learning.”

  The pleasant conversation was thus ended when, with a soft bump, the lift reached the bottom of the shaft. Nathanial stepped off the platform, while Folkard remained to pull the lever. The lift started to rise again and Folkard quickly jumped off it. Together they watched it climb, the unconscious guard still lying where Folkard had left him.

  “If he awakes he will find himself in a very unattainable position,” Folkard said.

  “Quite. But how do we return up there?”

  Folkard indicated the small bell on the wall next to them. String was attached to it, which ran up the lift shaft. “I noticed a similar bell at the top. All we need do is pull the string to alert those on top. Now then!” He turned from the wall, and looked to the small tunnel before them. A soft green-white glow pulsated in the distance. “Shall we seek some answers, Professor?”

  Nathanial nodded, and the two men set off.

  2.

  THEY EMERGED into a cavern of some forty feet in height. The glow was stronger now, casting everything with a soft luminescence. Before them stood a wall of metal. It seemed perfect, not a single imperfection, despite obvious attempts to cut through it. Such efforts were witnessed by the tools and equipment discarded on the ground. Various cutting tools and drills, all damaged beyond repair. Several tunnels, these looking as natural as those previously seen, branched off in all directions. Two people stood by the wall; one was Vladimir Tereshkov. His gangly form, in its ill-fitting clothes, was unmistakable, as was the shock of white hair. He seemed to be shaking, either from fear or rage, Folkard could not be sure. Before him stood a much shorter, rather plump man. He was dressed in a more casual suit, but at least it fitted him better than that of Tereshkov. Tufts of grey hair emerged from the sides of the man’s head, which was otherwise bald. Folkard recognised him as Doctor Cyrus Grant.

  Something very untoward was happening to Doctor Grant. The man stood, his palms pressed against the wall, and the glow which infused the cavern emanated from him. It pulsed gently, rhythmically, as if with some kind of purpose.

  Folkard looked up to Stone, who was standing behind him slightly. “Professor?” he asked in a whisper, careful not to disturb Tereshkov who was now muttering to himself in Russian.

  “I have no idea,” Stone responded, equally as quiet. “We could, perhaps, ask? There appears to be no one else here.”

  “Hmm.” Folkard looked around the cavern. The professor was quite right. “Very well, but keep alert. There are almost certain
ly others down here.”

  Professor Stone nodded grimly, his eyes casting around the cavern. Folkard stepped forward, raising his carbine until he had Tereshkov directly in his line of sight.

  “Doctor Tereshkov,” Folkard began, “would you care to explain your illegal presence on Luna?”

  Tereshkov froze. He turned slowly, his eyes continuing to dart between Folkard and Grant. “What is this?” he said, his English almost fluent despite his thick accent. “British Navy?”

  “I am Captain Folkard of Her Majesty’s ship the HMAS Sovereign. Your illegal operation here is over; the Russian camp is now under my control.”

  “That is impossible.” Tereshkov, wild eyed, turned back to Grant. “I am so close. This was to be mine. Mine!” He made to move towards Doctor Grant.

  “Stand easy, Doctor!” Folkard ordered, and once again Tereshkov froze. “Or I will not hesitate to shoot you. Your operation here contravenes The Agreement Governing State Activities on Luna, and on behalf of Her Majesty’s government and other signees, I am placing your under arrest. Resist and I am authorised to execute you here and now.”

  “You?” Tereshkov looked back at him. “You and your government have no control here. Only the Heart does, and it will be mine! All of it!”

  He moved quickly, grabbing hold of Grant. Folkard pressed his finger on the trigger, his clear shot now compromised by the two struggling men. The glow enveloped them both, and for a moment they stopped, frozen to the spot. They stared into each other’s eyes. Folkard stepped forward, hoping to get a better shot, but the glow was increasing, its brilliance blinding Folkard.

  He staggered back, arm covering his eyes.

  Finally the full effect of the glow dissipated. Folkard lowered his arm only to find Doctor Grant now laying on the ground unconscious, with Tereshkov standing above him, the soft glow still about his person. If it was possible the Russian doktor looked even more insane.

  “Now it will be mine,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

  “I am afraid I must disagree,” Folkard said, aiming his gun once more. He did not know what the Heart was, but he had a deep seated fear that somehow to allow the Russians to possess it would mean suicide for the British Empire. He could not allow that. “This ends today.”

  “Drop your weapon,” said a thick Russian voice behind him, “or this man dies.”

  Weapon not wavering, Folkard glanced back. The Russian soldier, a sub-praporschik, barely a full ensign, now stood there, the barrel of his own gun pressed violently against Professor Stone’s head.

  3.

  IT ALL happened so fast. Nathanial had shielded his eyes to protect them from the glow, and listened to the sound of the two scientists struggling and then, barely a moment after normal vision returned, an arm wrapped itself around his neck, wrenching him backwards until the barrel of a gun was forced against his head.

  He looked at Folkard, but the captain showed no sign of disappointment. Perhaps he understood that the light had served to both disorientate and distract Nathanial. He certainly hoped so. Although he would never say that he and Folkard were becoming fast friends, there was certainly a level of respect developing between them. Nathanial would hate for that to be washed away by circumstances beyond his control.

  “Drop your weapon, or this man dies.”

  Nathanial blinked. If this had happened yesterday he knew he would have been afraid, out of his depth, but instead he felt an odd sense of calm overcome him. Folkard looked towards him and the Russian, but his carbine did not waver from Tereshkov.

  “And so will your doktor,” Folkard said, his voice calm.

  In the distance Nathanial heard a familiar sound. It was the lift beginning its descent. He swallowed hard. “You hear that, reinforcements are on the way. You will soon be outnumbered.”

  The Russian tightened his grip. “Nyet! The Tsar will triumph. You British pigs cannot win.”

  “It will be mine,” Tereshkov said softly, and all heads turned to him. He pointed at the metal wall. “The secrets of the Heart, I will uncover them. Not this American fool!” He violently kicked the unconscious Grant. “Those are my reinforcements. You think I chose Kondrashov at a whim? He is, as you British say, tenacious. The British Empire will fall before mother Russia.”

  “Not so,” said another voice, this time female and American. “Not when it has allies like the Selenites.”

  Nathanial was spun around and before him, standing at the mouth of the tunnel with K’chuk next to her, was Annabelle! A wave of relief overcame him, and his body sagged, as if all the fear of her death was flowing out of him like hydrogen from a dirigible. By sagging he unintentionally gave Annabelle the perfect shot. She raised the carbine in her hands and squeezed the trigger. Nathanial felt the whoosh of the bullet as it sped past his head. Once more he was jerked back, only this time the Russian guard did not support his weight. Both men fell backwards, as the guard’s rifle clattered to the dusty ground.

  For a moment he laid there, uncomfortably on top of the guard’s dead body, until a spindly insect arm reached down to help him to his feet. He smiled up at K’chuk. “It is most agreeable to see you,” he said.

  “Agreeable too, friend Stone,” K’chuk replied. “Friend Annabelle said…”

  Whatever she had told K’chuk was cut off by the sound of Annabelle calling Folkard’s name. Nathanial spun. A shot fired from Folkard’s carbine, but not in time to catch Tereshkov who had fled into the nearest tunnel. Without even thinking, Nathanial grabbed hold of the discarded Russian rifle and gave chase.

  4.

  ANNABELLE WATCHED as Nathanial hared off, a feeling close to incredulity building in her. This was a side of Nathanial she had never seen before. Perhaps being around a naval captain had affected him in a positive way. She smiled at this.

  “Miss Somerset,” Captain Folkard said, stepping forward, “introductions must be saved for later, I fear. If you will excuse me, I…”

  Annabelle shook her head. “No, Captain, allow K’chuk. He is much faster than you, and this,” she indicated the metal wall, “is the Selenites’ Holy of Holies.”

  Folkard looked confused, but he did not get a chance to argue the toss, since K’chuk dropped onto his six legs and scuttled off down the tunnel with speed a human could only dream of. Folkard shook his head, and smiled grimly.

  “Very well, then.” He looked to the wall. “Holy of Holies?”

  Annabelle did not answer. Lying there before the wall was her uncle. She slung the carbine over her shoulder and scrambled over to him. “Uncle!”

  Folkard came up behind her. “He breathes, Miss Somerset.”

  She looked at her uncle’s portly belly, which was rising and falling gently. “Oh, uncle!” she said, and lowered her head onto his body so that Captain Folkard would not see her tears.

  5.

  TERESHKOV HAD vanished. Nathanial did not know how that was possible, but it was that simple. He had followed the tunnel, the rifle held in his shaking hands, until he reached a dead end. Tereshkov had no way to slip past him.

  He turned and leaned against the end wall. There was simply no way he could have missed Tereshkov. Maybe there was some kind of secret passage? If so, in this light it would be almost impossible to find. Tereshkov had been on Luna for many months; he surely knew his way around better than any other bar the Selenites.

  Nathanial looked up at the sound of someone approaching. He lifted the rifle. Now the chase was over and the adrenalin rush had subsided he began to feel fearful. He had never shot a weapon in his life. How did one prepare oneself for the buck of the shot?

  He need not have worried. The figure that appeared around the corner of the tunnel was the unmistakable form of K’chuk.

  “Friend Stone.”

  “K’chuk, I am afraid Tereshkov has vanished.”

  K’chuk nodded. “Not vanish. Drobates. They take from tunnels, do things.”

  Nathanial frowned. “Things? What are Drobates?”

 
It seemed, for a moment, that K’chuk was going to respond, but instead he turned and walked. “We return to friend Annabelle and see gooddoctor.”

  Nathanial shook his head. He did so hate it when K’chuk became evasive. Hopefully, in time, the Selenites would learn to be more trusting of outsiders. Certainly the Russians had given them no reason to be so, but perhaps they had now learned that not all humans were the same.

  “K’chuk,” he said, as he started following, “why is there metal in these walls?” He had not noticed before, too intent on following Tereshkov, but now he could see that the same metal from the chamber continued on behind the rock of the tunnel wall.

  “Heart lives in world.”

  “Right,” Nathanial said, feeling that explained nothing at all.

  6.

  “ALIVE, YOU say? That is absurd.”

  “Can you not conceive of intelligence unless it is clothed in flesh and bone, Captain Folkard?” Doctor Grant asked in an Arizonian drawl.

  They were standing in a tent which had been set up as a triage unit. Doctor Beverly was attending to the wounded crew of the Sovereign, as well as the Russians who had sustained major injuries during the battle. The bottom of the gorge had been secured, the Russian ironclad yielding to the superior might of the Sovereign. Now the camp was entirely under Navy control. It bothered Folkard that Tereshkov had escaped, but K’chuk felt quite certain that if the mysterious Drobates had indeed taken him from the tunnel then he would not live to tell the tale. Although Folkard would have preferred to deal with Tereshkov personally, he knew he had to settle for what was. In the meantime he was having trouble getting his mind around what Doctor Grant had just told them.

  According to Doctor Grant that metal wall was a thing called the Heart, an intelligence that lived in the centre of Luna. Although Grant did not know the particulars yet, he did know that it was the Heart that had created the Selenites in some way, given them their intelligence, which was why the Selenites worshipped the Heart as some kind of god.

  “How do you know this?” Professor Stone asked.