Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom

by S. B. Davies

Fergus kept to the edge of the fighting, jumping in huge leaps and relaying information to Enoch. The pavilion appeared, hovering fifty feet over the battle with Dave and Engineer sitting on the veranda. Fergus put it down as one more inexplicable thing and bounced towards it, aiming to land on the roof. He hit a transparent wall. Engineer waved his hand and threw Fergus to the other side of the battle.

  ‘I thought that one was transformed for good. His survival is an incident of low probability.’

  ‘Oh aye, disappointed that you didn’t manage to kill yet another innocent?’ asked Dave.

  ‘In my dominion, this is nothing; a distraction. After all I have explained, have you still no concept of the scope –’

  ‘Bugger scope. Those are real, thinking, feeling people dying down there. Have you no humanity?’

  Engineer tilted his head and stared at Dave.

  ‘You have seen what I am.’

  ‘You’re sentient; you can imagine the suffering of others –’

  ‘Enough. You are the one lacking imagination Trellis. I control the fate of entire planets. When one civilisation decides to invade another and I switch off their connection, do you think I do not doubt, do not suffer guilt? I consign billions to isolation and decline, it is my duty, yet I feel the weight of that responsibility.’

  ‘At least they choose their course of action. We are innocent.’

  ‘As if that makes a difference. Suns decline, asteroids strike and worlds die. Innocence is not an excuse; it is the pathetic whine of the unfortunate.’

  ‘You can stop this with a wave of your hand. It’s not much to ask in return for keeping your machine safe all these years.’

  ‘Are you begging Trellis?’

  ‘If it will make a difference I will beg, crawling on my belly,’ said Dave and stared at Engineer.

  ‘Your belief in mercy in disappointing, it is an over-rated virtue, its only purpose to allow miscreants the opportunity to offend again. In any case, I believe that this change will be for the better. You humans have over-populated this planet. Thus, you are always squabbling over resources.’

  ‘You mean you welcome this? Millions, billions even could die if these damned things get loose.’

  ‘Equilibrium will form. And if not, then these creatures will present less danger than you uncontrolled humans.’

  Dave just stared at Engineer, utterly lost for words.

  Engineer’s attention returned to the battle, he laughed and shouted encouragement to the defenders. Dave stared intently at the fighting.

  ‘Trellis can you perceive it? The roof spiders are singing.’

  ‘You’re daft, they don’t sing.’

  ‘How parochial. ‘The Lament of the Lost’ is one of the precious sensory treasures of this sad, little sinkhole in space. Few humans are receptive enough to perceive it. I shall transform it to sound. Listen.’

  An eerie, almost familiar chorus broke out, it was Mozart/Beethoven/Wagner mixed and enhanced with delicate complexity that wove perfect tones into a landscape of music that seemed to wrap about Dave and ease his anger.

  ‘It’s incred -’

  ‘Quiet! The solo begins.’

  The chorus melted away, a soaring, perfect voice speared through Dave’s mind, and brought sorrow and longing for his own lost loves. The battle faded and time skipped.

  ‘Sung only at times of great loss, such an honour to hear it. You’re lucky Trellis.’

  Tears rolled down Dave’s cheeks and he stared blankly at the horizon. Engineer reached over and slapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Here comes ‘The Battle Chorus’, that’ll shake you up. I will spread the joy.’

  A great wave of voices rolled out over the parkland. The stirring crescendo and tempo, buoyed by the psychic undercurrent galvanised the defenders and the spider’s attack faltered.

  Dave squared his shoulders and wiped his face; the spell of sadness passed.

  ‘Such timing; they always make grand entrances.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Tuatha De Daanan, who else were you expecting?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting them at all, what with history and all.’

  ‘Well they’re here; their charge should be spectacular. This is turning into one of the best events in ages. Human wars are usually so brutal; they lack any sense of theatre.’

  Boadicea in full armour led the column of knights rode over the bridge and spread into line. She could see the situation was desperate, the wall of brown spiders pushed forward, threatening to overwhelm the small groups of defenders. In the distance she could see the bodies of dog and Palaver laid out, protected by the walking wounded.

  She raised her arm, a trumpet sounded and they broke into a gallop. Boadicea lowered her lance and took aim at a drone. The spiders noticed the attack and a few turned to face the charge, but it was too late. The Tuatha de Danaan’s charge hit the attacking line in the rear and lances struck home with devastating force.

  Swords drawn, the Tuatha De Daanan lashed out. With the line broken, Palaver and dog rallied. Enoch yelled orders and the defenders started to concentrate their attacks.

  Boadicea gathered a small group of knights and charged a single queen. Their lances struck the thorax and swords hacked at the huge legs. It stumbled and fell on its side. Boadicea kicked her horse forward and thrust her lance into one of the queen’s eyes. Three feet of steel-tipped lance sunk into the head and huge spider convulsed throwing Boadicea from her horse and ripping the lance from her grasp.

  She hit the ground hard and lay confused amongst the milling spiders’ legs and horses’ hooves. She rolled over, got to her knees, and pulled her shield from her back. It was a different battle on your feet with just a sword to protect you; not sat on a powerful horse with a long lance to keep the spiders at bay. Boadicea was alone and surrounded.

  A drone turned and noticed her. It sprang forward and reared up. She struck out with her sword severing a palp, then the spider’s front legs dropped, pinning her to the ground. She could smell a musty, acrid scent and see thick hairs growing in clumps on the spider’s thorax. It raised another leg and thrust it towards Boadicea’s chest. She managed to raise her shield and deflect the blow, but the shield tore away.

  Then something blue filled her vision. Fergus landed heavily in front of Boadicea and lashed out with his katana, severing a spider leg. He spun and struck out again, cutting a long furrow in the spider’s thorax. The sword blurred as he twisted, cut, spun and cut again. The spider retreated.

  Fergus pulled Boadicea to her feet, grabbed her round the waist, and leapt. They didn’t leave the ground.

  ‘Oh yeah, of course,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Nice try,’ said Boadicea, ‘Let’s run.’

  They sprinted between the forest of spindly brown legs and ran straight into another Tuatha De Daanan charge. The horses flowed either side of them and they turned to watch as the lances struck home. Another queen brought down.

  Fergus and Boadicea ran across the broken grass, avoiding the small skirmishes and trying to find a way to re-join the battle. An anti-tank rocket slammed into the remaining queen, severing a leg. It toppled sideways and swarmed by axe wielding Palaver. Soon the field cleared and the defenders raised a ragged cheer.

  Dave jumped to his feet and punched the air.

  ‘This calls for celebration.’ he said and strode into the pavilion. He reappeared with glasses, Irish whiskey, and cigars.

  ‘I care not if you indulge Engineer, but you are welcome in any case,’ said Dave and set everything down on the card table.

  Dave was putting a match to his cigar when the allotments glowed green once more and a queen spider appeared behind the allotment walls.

  ‘Oh no, not more, can’t you stop this Engineer?’

  ‘I could, but why spoil it when it is going so well.’

  Suddenly there were barks deep as thunder in the distance. The queen screamed defiantly and disappeared below the wall. Dust rose in a plume and the ground shook a
s a titanic squabble went on behind the allotment walls.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Engineer.

  ‘I think I can guess,’ said Dave. He sat back in his chair with a grin on his face and took a deep, draw on his cigar.

  Out of the barbican walked a column of armoured, giant dogs. Azimuth rode the lead dog, a hammer the size of a small filing cabinet in his hand. Cheers broke out amongst the defenders and Dave saw Enoch throw his battle-axe in the air.

  ‘We have had such drama and now a touch of pathos.’ Engineer gestured with his cigar towards the head of the valley.

  A horde of people walked towards the allotments. At the front strode Mrs Yorkshire, closely followed by Painter.

  ‘Oh bugger,’ said Dave, ‘The Allotment League of Friends. Who told them? This is going from tragedy to farce.’

  ‘And the curtain rises,’ said Engineer, as another green glow appeared over the allotments.

  ‘Will this ever end?’

  ‘Well, let’s hope for a few more minutes’ entertainment at least.’

  Twenty drones charged out of the barbican followed by hundreds of workers milling around like a pack of hounds following a hunt. They fell on the celebrating defenders, creating instant confusion.

  Dave sat back with great sadness and watched the battle re-start. Engineer stood at the rail with his whiskey in one hand, cigar in the other.

  He seemed a Mrs Yorkshire fan and yelled encouragement as she pummelled worker spiders with a rubber fence-post mallet and each time a giant dog crushed a drone he yelled ‘Ole’ or ‘Bravo’.

  ‘This is fantastic. Look more come.’ Over allotments walls strode another three Queens; they waded into the battle throwing the defenders into disarray.

  Enoch yelled ‘Retreat’ and the giant dogs formed a rear-guard. The Palaver rearmed at a weapons cache and formed a defensive line. The humans were herded back to form a secondary line in the rear.

  Enoch roared ‘Arrrrooooogh’ and the giant dogs turned and ran towards the newly formed line. On came the spiders, met by anti-tank missiles and a sally by the Tuatha De Daanan. The heavily armoured knights crashed into the three queens, lances shattered, horses fell, and once more the huge spiders toppled and were swarmed.

  The ammunition was low and the defenders looked ragged and tired. It could not last much longer. Enoch ordered a retreat the last line of defence, below the steep roadway where the narrowing of the valley meant a smaller perimeter. The defenders opened the last ammunition cache and organised themselves. They watched as the allotments disgorged another wave of queen spiders.

  Instead of attacking straight away, they waited. Another wave arrived, then more. Soon twelve queens, 200 drones and a sea of workers milled about in front of the allotments. Then they charged. A huge wave of chitin, a sea of thin legs, thundered towards the defenders.

  It attack met with a barrage of anti-tank missiles and grenades. The giant dogs sallied and the ground trembled as the two charges met head on. Azimuth thrown high into the air came down with his hammer cocked, ready to strike one last blow.

  ‘This is epic stuff. The recording will be priceless,’ said Engineer, ‘though I feel the side are a little unbalanced.’

  He waved his hands and a complex graphic appeared in the air, showing various coloured columns with differing heights. With a gesture, Engineer expanded one column.

  ‘Ah yes, that should do nicely.’

  The allotments glowed green. Dave groaned. ‘Not more.’

  ‘This time it’s an ally.’

  In the allotment courtyard stood a vast, demonic figure. In its hand it held a club the size of a telegraph pole. It threw back its head and roared. The sound numbed; it battered the senses. Honey Bun was back.

  The ground shook as it jogged towards the beleaguered defenders. The huge club descended and flattened a queen, the body thumped into the ground and burst, spraying yellow ichor.

  Stoke upon stroke, the club fell and spiders died. Enoch rode on a giant dog, shouting orders and organising the frantic defence. Mrs Yorkshire and Boadicea fought back to back against a carpet of worker spiders. The A.L.F formed a defensive square around the wounded, Fergus and Painter fought side by side. Those Tuatha De Daanan still on horseback joined with the giant dogs sweeping across the battlefield creating a swath of crushed spiders.

  Then it was over, the spiders broke and fled back towards the allotments. The defenders sagged, no cheering or celebration, just relief. The parkland was a scrap yard of spider body parts, carpeted with ichor and the crunchy remains of worker spiders.

  The Honeybun’s skin, coated with burnt ichor, still looked glorious. It turned towards the pavilion and bowed to Dave.

  Dave stood and bowed deeply in return. The huge creature walked back to the allotment courtyard and in a moment disappeared.

  Dave stood up, yelled, and threw his cap in the air. It rotated in the wind and fell towards the broken remains of spiders, humans, dog, and palaver.

  Suddenly it stopped falling and everything was still.

  ‘You haven’t won. It hasn’t even begun,’ said Engineer. ‘Look.’

  He pointed to a tall green column on the floating graphic. ‘See that thin blue line. That is the number of the spiders you’ve defeated. There are hundreds of thousands, millions even, just waiting to appear.

  They are a bio-weapon, created by some mad, ancient race. A planet killer. One queen breeds an army, they swarm with a host of new queens, and the process repeats.

  Someone has set up a transfer, moving everything that arrives at the swarm’s target, to your allotments. First you get the scouting party, and then one planet rotation later, you get the swarm.

  ‘So all this was a waste of time? We can’t possibly win?’

  ‘A waste? Far from it. You have entertained me. More, you have convinced me of your loyalty to the allotments; you and those who risked their existence to preserve it. I am touched.’

  ‘So you will intervene at last?’

  ‘No, but I am touched. I thought you ought to know before everyone died. It was an honour Trellis, an honour. So goodbye, I wish you … What was that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There,’ Engineer pointed, ‘Over by the edge of the battle field, something moved.’

  ‘Oh, that’s one of the Murgatroyds.’

  ‘You have a Murgatroyd here? Unbelievable.’

  ‘No, not one, many; must be a dozen or so by now.’

  Engineer stared at Dave.

  ‘What! Why didn’t you tell me there are so many here? It’s outrageous, incredible.’ Engineer pulled his hair and yelled ‘Impossible! You’re wrong. They hate each other with too much determination.’

  ‘Whatever you say. We have loads of the blasted things.’

  ‘Why didn’t I know?’

  ‘Well, they are invisible. Unless you spent time in the allotment, rather than mooching around spying, you’d never notice them.’

  ‘This is an event cusp. Two such improbabilities combined imply causation. This requires investigation.’

  Engineer motioned and the graphic expanded. It showed a map of the immediate area, a group of thirteen glowing dots showed in one corner.

  ‘So many! It must be a conclave. This has not happened for millennia. He will calculate a probability matrix. Watch.’

  The graphic expanded again and showed a complex dance of surfaces, interacting, combining, and twisting apart again. Eventually they resolved into a single flat surface with a pointed spire in the middle.

  Engineer gestured and the screen turned to rank after rank of complex formulae and matrices. He reached out and dragged one set of results to one side and it expanded showing incomprehensible details.

  ‘Such arrogance, such selfishness. They dare take this from me!’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘They plan to steal control of the machine,’ said Engineer.

  ‘It is obvious now; hindsight such a depressing insight. They fooled us all those years ago. The
y wanted the causeways built so they could travel freely. So much for the greater good of all. When we built the machine instead, all travel was controlled; locally at the receiver and transmitter, and centrally at the exchange.

  I understand their outrage. They gave us the necessary knowledge to create travel over vast distances. Us, the greatest of engineers, went and built the wrong thing. Inter-planetary travel disappeared, replaced by our fabulous machine, and their plans for freedom went with it.’

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ said Dave.

  ‘They are hated. Nobody lets them use the transmitters. They have to bribe, with valuable information, every time they want to travel. This attack is to remove the machine’s defences. In particular the roof spiders.

  ‘What? They couldn’t stop a Murgatroyd.’

  ‘Indeed? So why have they never ventured into the catacombs? The roof spiders can detect and immobilise them.’

  ‘In that case, how did they manage to interfere with the machine?’

  ‘Hold, I will scan the machine…’

  The graphic changed showing a multi-layered plan of the catacombs.

  ‘The cooling system. One of them entered via the main intake pipe and followed the cooling system to the heart of the machine. See, it is still there, but not for long.’

  Engineer gestured and there was a huge splash in the river.

  ‘This must stop right now,’ said Engineer in a quiet voice.

  ‘Indeed, us humans have saved your vast warty arse. If we weren’t here, then they would have succeeded in stealing control of your machine. You owe us Engineer.’

  Engineer stared at Dave and then nodded his head.

  ‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps this can continue. Humans may even grow up in time.’ Engineer smiled, it looked painful. ‘I am fond of some of your cultural assets; it would be a shame to lose Led Zeppelin and Motorhead.’

  Dave’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘You’re a rock fan?’

  ‘Strictly old school of course. Which is more appropriate Black Dog or The Immigrant Song?’

  ‘How about Smoke On the Water?’

  Engineer waved a hand and music rolled across the vale.

  ‘Oi, no Stairway,’ said Dave. Engineer ignored him and waved his hand again.