Children of the Dark World

by Will Townsend

  And I did. I recited it verbatim and told him it must only pass from foreman to foreman just as Hoshi made me promise.

  “I must go now, my friend. I too am necessity’s child and I’ve my duties to fulfill. We will not see each other again, but know that your decisions and your sacrifice will be honored by my people.”

  He left then and I returned to my prison. Thinking about it now, I don’t know if it was real or just a cancer induced fever dream. Did I want forgiveness so badly for my actions that I imagined it all? I don’t know. It’s no longer possible for me to distinguish between dreams and reality. My mind is being flooded with images of distant happy times from my former life. But, of course, I know that this is just the last defense mechanism of my brain to avoid the unendurable pain that is killing me.” He stopped and his breath came in ragged, shuddering gasps that sounded like the tearing of cloth. “I choose to believe it is real. I choose to believe that my friend has forgiven me. I choose to believe that… one day… a stranger… will come from Earth and his eyes… his eyes…

  Anderson’s head slowly fell and his eyes closed. His voice trailed off to an unintelligible whisper and then his chest ceased its’ rising and falling and Stephen Anderson, architect of this bizarre world under the lunar surface, died peacefully.

  CHAPTER 17

  Both men were silent as the image of Stephen Anderson faded, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Ming broke the uncomfortable moment first.

  “Do you think he was delusional at the end; that any of it actually happened?”

  “Yes, I think he was delusional, but we also know that there was a last message from Stephen to the Foreman of the Workers. The Foreman has told us this and we’ve got to believe that it happened. I think his approaching death made him delusional, but I also think he passed some vital information on to the Foreman. Perhaps in a moment of clarity he realized that the Workers needed some hope to keep them going and his delusions wrapped it in religion and passed it on to the Workers. It worked, because they’ve held out for a century believing relief was coming from Earth, even though they could never know for sure.”

  “How about I establish communications with the ship?” Ming said dispelling the mood that threatened to settle on them.

  “Sure, I’m looking forward to talking to the Master Chief,” the commander said ruefully. Ming grinned, but then a look of consternation crossed his face.

  “It looks like the communications grid is down, but it may be interrupted at the manual station, you know, the one we were using for cover. I’ll go see if I can get it working.”

  “Stay in communication,” Farr said, warily tapping his commbud.

  “We’re safe in here,” Ming replied smiling and pointing to the place that previously held the image of Stephen. “We know because he told us that the eyes of the people here can’t tolerate the light in the dome. And a hundred years hasn’t made it any better. We might as well be back on earth as far as the Suits are concerned.”

  “But lunar night is just a few hours away,” Farr reminded him.

  “So what?” Ming countered. “They can’t handle the artificial light either, according to Stephen, and I didn’t notice a whole lot of solar shades here in the tunnels.”

  “Point taken,” Farr acknowledged as Ming left him alone in the SCC with his thoughts. He sat quietly mulling over the things he’d seen in this, at least to him, hellish land under the Moon’s cratered surface. He was awe struck by the lengths to which humanity had gone merely to survive. But it gave him hope that the colonies in the asteroid belt had survived. After all, they hadn’t had to endure the destruction of the Calamity. He was brought back from his reveries by Ming.

  “Can you check the comms now Callum?”

  “Roger that Ming. Mama Bird this is away team, come in.”

  “This is Mama Bird, about damn time,” he heard the Master Chief say gruffly followed by “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah Master Chief,” Farr answered, glad to hear the man’s voice again. “A little beat up maybe, but other than that we’re good. Ming and I are in the biome. We managed to take out the three Kashi 1123’s that were guarding it.”

  “So Takashi’s EMP worked, huh?” Wells’ voice sounded surprised.

  “Well,” he hedged, “it took out two of them at any rate.”

  “How’d you get the third,” Wells inquired.

  “Hand to hand,” he said. Chew on that for a while Chris, he thought smiling to himself.

  “Say that again,” Wells said skeptically.

  “You heard me Master Chief and we’ve got the battle scars to prove it.”

  “Okay, if you say it, then it must be so.”

  “Damn straight. Now tell me where you are.”

  “We’ll be overhead your position in three hours, just a little after farside goes into nightfall.”

  “Good, I’m sending you a list of things I want brought down here, including a heavily armed security team, all members. And I mean heavily armed Master Chief,” Farr informed him as he uploaded the list. At that moment, Ming broke in from the commbud. “Stand by, Master Chief,” he said as he took Ming’s transmission.

  “Callum! We’ve got trouble!”

  “Of course we do,” he said irritably in hushed tones and then responded. “Talk to me Ming.”

  “There are a whole lot of Suits standing around the entrance. I think it’s the time of their offering and when the machines didn’t show, they sent for reinforcements. From what we saw in the logs they’re always looking for a way in and they’re an opportunistic bunch.”

  “Well, they can’t really get in, can they? You said yourself that the light’s too much for their eyes.”

  “About that,” Ming said evasively, “all things being equal, they can’t enter.”

  “Then what’s the problem. We’ve got maybe three hours until the sun takes a fourteen day hiatus and the lights come on, which means they still can’t get in here.”

  “Yeah, well, the lights are on Callum.”

  “What?” Farr crossed to the windows of the SCC and looked out at the gathering gloom. It was barely twilight by earthly standards and suddenly he saw their dilemma. He’d assumed that the light banks surrounding the dome would come on automatically at the fall of the fourteen day night, but they were already on, at least those that still worked. Huge gaps of darkness appeared as he swept the upper reaches of the biome. He understood now that when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the twilight they were experiencing would end. The light in the biome would be pretty much equivalent to that in the tunnels. Just another reason the garden was dying, he thought.

  “Ming, I think we’re going to have a lot of company in about three hours and we don’t have any way out of here.”

  “That’s pretty much the scenario I was working with as well,” he replied blandly.

  “Okay, come back here and let’s see what steps we can take. I’ve got the Master Chief sending the lander down with a security team. We’ll work around that premise.”

  “On my way.”

  Farr reestablished contact with the Resolution and explained the situation.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a world of hurt coming down,” Wells replied, sorting through options in his mind. “I’ll launch the landing craft at the next opportunity which is about thirty minutes from now. That’ll give them time to get to the dome, but it’s going to be close. There’s no way to increase the output from the lighting banks?”

  “They’re a century old, Chris. None that we could find and implement in time.” A sudden thought occurred to him and he ran with the idea. Over the next couple of minutes he outlined the plan to Wells, who listened intently.

  “Do you think you can do it?”

  “Timing’s a little tricky and you have to stay alive until we can do it, but yeah, we’ll get the job done,” Wells asserted.

  “Okay Master Chief, we’re counting on you, away team out.”

  Stay alive till they c
ould do it, Farr thought. Well that’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?

  —————

  Six hundred kilometers above the lunar surface Wells switched into his action mode, knowing that the commander’s and Ming’s lives were riding on his performance. He outlined his requirements to Kemmler and Mbata and a lively debate ensued, mostly propagated by Kemmler. Mbata remained silent while Kemmler spoke, awaiting his turn politely as he’d been taught by Dr. Thangruph.

  “I don’t really think…” Kemmler began again, but Wells cut him off.

  “Tell me one more time why you think it can’t be done doctor, just one more, and I’ll personally toss your ass out of the nearest airlock,” Wells hissed, giving Kemmler the “chief look” that was infamous throughout the fleets of Earth. Kemmler wilted like a flower in a hot oven and flapped his hands helplessly.

  “Quincy,” the shade of Dr. Thangruph intoned, “You’ve been more than polite but my readings of your temperature and body language indicate you have something to say. I believe the Master Chief would like to hear it.”

  Wells turned his gaze on Quincy and he started to melt, but the shade encouraged him once more. “Now Quincy, if you please.”

  “We can do this Master Chief. Dr. Thangruph and I will alter the necessary programming. I will need the technicians to swap out certain parts and Dr. Kemmler must adjust the flow of power from the reactors. We’ll have to use a converted xenon arc welder from the mining equipment as well. My estimates show it can be accomplished in forty five minutes, leaving us time to conduct a final calibration on the system.”

  A look of surly respect came into Wells eyes and he made sure that Quincy saw it. Then he nodded his head and spoke, “You take the lead Quincy. Get that system up and running for me.” Then Wells swept the bridge with his gaze as he finished his order. “For the next three hours every member of this crew will assist Dr. Mbata with this and I want the names of anyone who so much as hesitates to jump when he says so.” Then he looked pointedly at Dr. Kemmler and smiled cruelly. Kemmler fled the bridge and every other crewmember was instantly moving behind Dr. Mbata.

  “You have a very interesting management style, if I may say so, Master Chief,” the hologram of Dr. Thangruph opined.

  “Yes, doctor, it’s called ‘whatever gets the job done’. It’s worked pretty well for me over the years.”

  “You do know, of course, that even though you are technically in command of the ship, it is against regulations for you to ‘toss’ Dr. Kemmler out of an airlock.”

  “I can recite every regulation in the book Dr. Thangruph.”

  “Then why did you tell Dr. Kemmler that?”

  “Because he doesn’t know every regulation in the book,” Wells said, an evil grin breaking out on his face.

  The shade nodded its head. “Yes, I perceive. Now I will assist Quincy. Thank you for the clarification Master Chief.”

  “You’re welcome doctor.” The Thangruph image immediately dissolved.

  He might just be a computer, Wells thought, but he sure has more common sense than any ensign I’ve ever beat into shape. And he’s always respectful too.

  Thirty minutes after the meeting Wells launched the landing craft, with everything Farr had requested.

  For the next two hours Wells ferociously monitored the bridge instruments while asking for constant updates. Quincy finally stationed Faye on a relay station, where she fed Wells minute by minute progress reports.

  “It’s online and tested, Master Chief,” Quincy informed him.

  “Very good, Dr. Mbata, thank you. Now hear this,” Wells voice reverberated throughout the ship, “Set general quarters throughout the ship. Prepare for battle.”

  “Okay people, let’s bail the captain out of the hot water he got himself into,” Wells said quietly to the bridge crew, his face now impassive as stone as he prepared his ship for the upcoming engagement.

  —————

  “There’s some awfully ugly stuff in that restricted area, but nothing that’s going to help us, unless, of course, you want to infect them with Ebola or Spanish Influenza.”

  “I don’t want to hurt them at all,” Farr said, disgust tinging his words. “I just want to bring this place back to sanity.”

  “Forgive me for stating the obvious, but while I find your attitude commendable on a humanitarian level, I must point out that the feelings you have most likely will not be reciprocated by the Suits.”

  “True enough,” he acknowledged, “but it doesn’t change the fact that wholesale slaughter is not an option on our part.”

  “More like not a capability,” Ming snorted in reply.

  “Yes, that too. Do you remember your evasion training from the service?”

  “Of course,” was the sneering reply.

  “All we’ve got to do is avoid them until our security team arrives. I told Wells to load them heavy, so they’ll have enough gear to handle any situation.” He decided not to tell him about the other response he’d set in motion, just in case they weren’t able to achieve it. No sense hanging your hopes on something that might not happen, or even if it happened, could still go the wrong way.

  “Yeah, that might work,” Ming allowed, “but we’ve only got seven hundred and fifty meters to work with, so we won’t know how effective evasion will be until we know their numbers.”

  “Every time they’ve hit this dome they’ve had casualties by the wagonload and they’ve never even come close. Chances are they won’t risk a large number of their people, especially with their numbers declining.”

  “That’s sound reasoning,” Ming said and Farr could hear hope creeping into Ming’s voice convincing himself of the truth of Farr’s words. He wished he could convince himself as well, but he had to acknowledge that desperate people do desperate things and the Suits were dying out. And their leader was clearly insane. Throw that into the mix and the Suits left the realm of logical assumptions. But at least Ming would be upbeat for a while.

  They busied themselves over the next two hours planning their fallback routes and setting little snares and traps to delay the Suits in any possible pursuit.

  Presently they stopped their preparations and retreated to the opening position in their gamete to await the intrusion they knew was coming. They weren’t disappointed either, for as the sun disappeared completely and the garden was cast into a macabre demesne of dimness and shadows, the first tentative intrusion came on the part of the Suits.

  “They’re not terribly inventive are they?” Farr asked.

  “It appears that if a plan fails its try, try, and try again with these guys. Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?”

  “They might get lucky this time,” Farr observed morosely as the entire force of the Suits came into view.

  The army of the Suits emerged cautiously into the dome, pushing about fifty slaves in front of them as a living shield. The eyes of Farr and Ming became flat as the Suits continued to pour into the dome. There must be two hundred of them, all armed, Ming thought.

  “Man, this is like a bad dream. They must’ve brought every healthy male above the age of fifteen. Callum, by any chance were your Native American ancestor’s scouts for the American cavalry?”

  “No, the Cherokee didn’t do that by the time the American west was being settled. The scouts were all Lakota Sioux. Why do you ask?”

  “Huh, I thought maybe one or two of them might’ve been scouts for General Custer at the Little Big Horn,” was Ming’s caustic response.

  “Touché´. Point taken.” Farr granted. “But the plan doesn’t change. We’ll have to keep them busy until the cavalry arrives.”

  “Yeah, we might as well start this shindig.”

  “You’re up first Ming. Go!” At Farr’s command Ming broke from their place of hiding running parallel to the Suits entering the dome. Their initial reaction was rather humorous. They all cringed backwards obviously expecting one of
the killer machines. When they saw it was a man and not one of the dreaded killing machines, they quickly moved the slaves out of the way and surged forward into the dome just as Ming reached his first waypoint.

  They were not very disciplined as they fanned out into the garden, still wary and hesitant and mostly clumped together. Of course, Farr admitted to himself, when you outnumber the opposition a hundred to one you don’t need a whole lot of discipline. They were now about two hundred meters from Farr and the same from Ming as they slowly crept after the two men.

  Farr adjusted his thinking and body reflexes to lunar gravity, gauging the force necessary to reach the Suits. They were still too far away. He estimated that one hundred and twenty meters would be sufficient for his purposes. At least they’d cleared the slaves from the dome. Farr had been half afraid they’d keep them as they trudged around the entire dome. That would’ve thrown a wrench into the gears of his plan.

  As they reached the distance Farr had estimated, he grabbed the first of the three crude spears waiting beside him, not much more than blunted sticks, made from the stoutest saplings in the dome, and flung it at the suits.

  His nerves were calm and his body prepared as he launched the primitive projectile toward the errant Suits. His efforts under the low g environment were at once comical and deadly serious all at the same time. Comical because it had deposited Farr a few meters away on the ground and deadly serious because the primitive javelin knifed its way through the thin air of the biome for one hundred and fifty meters, slamming into one of Suits in the middle of their errant formation. All of the lunar dwellers scattered immediately, knowing that none of them could’ve made such a throw.

  The effect was everything Farr had hoped it would be. The weapon was not sophisticated enough to kill anyone and that wasn’t really his goal. But its blunted nose did hit with sufficient force to propel the man several meters backwards and eliminate him from action. Instead of coming to his aid his fellows scattered and sought cover, leaving the wounded man wallowing in agony on the ground.