The Final Sunset

by Trevor Herron

  “That’s it then,” finished the astronomer you’ll be hurtling through space at a thousand kilometres a minute. Your navigator will be fitted with an SPS, a Spatial Positioning System that calculates at thousands of megabytes a micro- second so you should all have enough time to make adjustments as required.

  It will be rather unusual to be travelling in free flight but most of you will have done it using jet packs. We will spend the next week practising in space and you lot will go down as the first free travellers and magnetic surfers in history.”

  ###

  It was dark in the Chasma only the emergency lights and control tower lights and an occasional security light burned. A slight rattle from a sentry’s rifle and a spasm of coughing that in the darkness can be a very lonely sound.

  Lights suddenly came on with the shock of an exploding bomb and the not so soft swear words issued from some rooms. The occupants of the rooms were still blinking away the rape of bright lights on their sleep enlarged pupils when the next assault on the senses came. A sergeant going from door to door knocked loudly and called out, “Rise and shine, rise and shine. It’ll be a beautiful day in another couple of hours.” Sadistic bastard.

  “Aah shut up!” was one of the kinder remarks shouted at him.

  A fifteen-minute period where a few desultory sounds were uttered and the only other sounds were the sounds of ablutions, an occasional fart, and the grunting and groaning of recent sleepers coming to grips with being inserted into a new day.

  “Fall in, fall in. Move it,” a typical a typical cry of a typical drill sergeant.

  Are all sergeants’ sadistic insomniacs, was a frequently asked question”

  It was all part of a typical military morning but this was not a typical military morning.

  “Don’t you know the fucking meaning of Fall in?”

  The mating cry of the red-faced NCO issued in the dulcet tones of the most disliked rank in the army especially at this time of the day. A little charge of excitement was in the air this day. This was surf the flux Day for the first time.

  ###

  The regiment didn’t look too enthusiastic. They’d only got to bed at midnight and had been practising the use of the jet pack in zero gravity and their bodies still ached from spills and misjudged landings, “You’ll get it right or you’ll still be here this fucking time next week. I don’t give a shit. I got no girlfriend and nowhere to go.” That much we could believe.

  The thought of spending so much time in the company of a superannuated little bastard Like Staff Sergeant FG Crompton was incentive enough to get it right and finally they staggered into bed just after midnight. Now it was four thirty and they were being kicked out of bed all over again by a bright eyed sergeant Frederick George Crompton.

  “What did the army have against sleep?

  ###

  How to keep lined up on the correct magnetic flux lines, was the title of the next exciting lecture starting at 5 am followed by, how to change lines, how to surf a run and how to slide diagonally across a magnetic field. Most of all the importance of instantly reading positions from the SPS, the Space Positioning System, the direction indicator and the virtual horizon and the vertically up indicator and having all this information rush at the reader who must form an instant position picture in his mind.

  One mistake and that person or even as many as a section, a platoon, a company, a regiment could wander off course and never be seen again. Ahead of them they had two days of rest and relaxation before the battle.

  Does making love fall under the heading Rest and Relaxation? If it does, then Forsetti and Kara were the most rested and relaxed people in the universe.

  ###

  The doors on the huge personnel carriers opened, “Attenshun. Forward march. Sit according to your wing position and rank,” and they marched in one rank at a time. And sat down on the long hard benches in accordance to their wing positions and rank.

  ###

  “Okay time to cut the apron strings, people,” the pilot came to the back to wish them luck and give some last-minute instructions. “When I give the word line up at the jump door and hook yourself to the static line. Take a pack off the conveyor belt. Stand at attention. A blast of nitrogen will launch you out the door. The first man out will be conspicuous in a bright orange suit and immediately starting a westward slide at a 1:50 rate. He will be your Path Finder, make sure you maintain a fix on him at all times.

  That should give you a nice symmetric line of men. Not an easy formation to attack from any direction; supposing anyone would have the temerity to try.”

  Synchronise your SPS’s by holding its face toward to the ship’s clock as you pass it.”

  ###

  Good you may start the final countdown. As many as came in must go out. I’ll say this; You’re a brave bunch. Damned if I would do what you’re doing.”

  A voice from the rear called, “Rather this than what you do. I, at least get a chance to see what’s coming my way. You go to war riding on an oil drum and any minute some unseen bastard can shove a laser up your arse and guess what? Well done fried liver.”

  ###

  Mme Jeza strode the bridge. Many of the panels were open and wires and electrical components stripped of the gold, silver and other precious metals used for their good conductivity. She had already had a number of the Garinos and Boltars flogged, put on oxygen rations and space walked for a number of hours, three had died from the treatment and now she threatened death for anyone caught with precious metal in their possession.

  There were signs up in several languages detailing the punishment for theft of precious metals. One of the things she had learned early in the occupation of Solaria was that Uranians could not tell a lie. They could withhold an answer but they could not lie.

  She had also learned that it would be possible to remove the planet Earth section from the Solaria Complex without too much trouble other than occasioning the death of one or two million Martians, Titans and Uranians. That was something for future consideration.

  The most powerful potentate in the Five Constellations. It sounded just how she wanted it to sound in face of the planned eradication of the Solarians. She’d have to start her selection process soon.

  Already they had been in control for almost three years and very little had happened in that time except a few sniping exchanges and a bridge, a road or a magnetic rail system getting blown up. She quite enjoyed these forays by the underground. Her troops swept the streets sweeping up men, woman and children to be executed in reprisal. It was enjoyable to watch. Her assistants spent most of their time at the execution block.

  Imagine how it would look; her travelling through the Constellations in a complete star-ship complex of this size. The whole Galaxy would bow down to her. Her Royal Highness, Queen of the Five Constellations.

  But the Earth section was the powerhouse of the whole project. By dint of careful questioning she learned that the power house was all that was needed. It could be linked into any selected orbiter even if it meant removing or destroying another planet or two. Only one drawback to that, travelling in a planet sized space craft was not as imposing as travelling in a solar system sized craft.

  Fry had disappeared, even captured maquis, the underground troops could not say if he was still operational or not. It was so long since she had heard anything about him that she felt he must be dead. Best start with the Prisoners of War on the Garinos’ mother ship. Pay them a visit and get the selection and execution process under way. There were several thousand Solarian slaves based there. As good a place as any to begin.

  ###

  “Okay General that’s what I want done. Keep most of the Humanoids and any Titans you have on board. The Martians will need close scrutiny. Be very careful who you keep and who you reject from the Solarians. Remember they are the brains behind the heat shields.

 
He swelled with pride. Just like his original counterpart he thought he was indispensable to his leader but then just like dictators of the past had done she popped his balloon, “Screw up on that lot and I’ll feed you to their Sun along with the rest of them. Your predecessor screamed like a pig even before he felt the warmth of the sun.”

  “Don’t worry Mme Jeza,” he confidently assured her, “Nobody on board will even suspect what’s going on. I’ll set up holding and processing camps, I’ll use the ferry ship for that. I’ll need some extra labour to get it going.”

  “Well set up a system based on military levels I don’t have to spell it out for you do I?”

  “Tell me what you want and I’ll see you get it.”

  “Thank you Mme Jeza,”

  Her ship took off on its return trip accompanied by the General’s mumbled thoughts, “We’ll have to get rid of that bitch. She already sees herself as Paramount Head of the Five Constellations; I’ve got news for her. That’s reserved for me.”

  ###

  It was no easy thing to shock Mme Jeza but out of the blue came hordes of insect like attackers. They made small darting targets. Hard to hit and stinging like bees. Very destructive in turn and the more her troops swatted the worse they got stung. Oh they were human enough their use of electron guns proved that but where had they come from?

  The Solarians had not had real fighting troops for years. They had been wiped out long ago when Forsetti Fry had ploughed nose first into the plain of Echus. She had seen him go down. They had spent nearly a decade hunting for regular and irregular troops and they had found none. So where had this lot come from and where had they got their unusual transportation from?

  This was something new, something the Garinos had never experienced before. How did they manage to fly at such speeds? That could be answered easily enough but where had they come from? She had found nothing like it anywhere on Solaria.

  To be in space not encapsulated in some craft or another? It was unthinkable. A few Garino ships made it out of the mother ship to counter attack but their attack never materialised. It was easier for the attackers to hit the ship with their electron guns and neutralise the personnel inside than it was to bring a canon sized gun on a man sized target. The surfers swung and swerved; each flash from an electron gun spelled the disappearance of another Garino and his ship. Return fire with laser guns and lances endangered the users on board more than they threatened the attackers because of the confined space at the nose and outside the ship the individual targets proved almost impossible to kill.

  The defenders were using the stored operating power for the lasers at a rate that a battle of this nature would soon use all available power in space and on board. Mme Jeza’s troops would have to come in soon to have their weapons recharged. Mme looked at the gauge, they had 813 Mega Volt/units Amps of stored power and 643MV/A units of operating power left which they were using at the rate of 116 MV/A units an hour which means they had a little more than 12 hours of functioning time left.

  ###

  Mme Jeza was about to return to Solaria when the attack commenced. Taking advantage of the confusion Mme Jeza made for the docking area of the Garino’s ship. She selected a small ship that could hide among the space junk yet be big enough to get her back to her home planet.

  Why were her troops not launching from the emergency runways? It never struck her that she was the reason for that. She had introduced humanoids as slaves and servants and her gang of misfits had found them ideal mediums for their individual perversions and she had allowed it.

  The humanoids had long memories and her Buccaneers were facing attack from outside and inside. She waited her opportunity, drifting like a piece of space junk she floated her ship away from the mother ship.

  She was beaten and she realised it. What a mistake to assume that Forsetti was dead. She should have known he was a survivor, she was one, herself and who else could have been behind such an operation? She cursed herself for a fool.

  There would be no Queen of the Five Constellations now.

  ###

  “Fifteen years,” Forsetti’s voice cracked with age, “Fifteen years they cost us in refabricating and repairs. It’s time to hand over to the Uranians.”

  “Yes darling and its time you learned to sit back and enjoy your retirement. You’ve got a professor Hoskins coming around this afternoon.”

  “Hoskins, where does he fit into the picture?”

  “The picture; that’s the operative words. The University council engaged him to paint your portrait and he wants a short pow wow to get to know you and maybe an old fashioned photograph or two,” she had a hard time keeping a straight face, “To familiarise himself with the shape of your head. It is weirdly shaped …”

  “I knew I should have left you to fend for yourself at the Mother Ship battle,” he interrupted her.

  “Leave me? Why if I hadn’t been your wingman you’d still be looking for a target to shoot at.”

  “Did anyone tell you that you don’t show enough respect for your superior officers.”

  “Ha! Senior officer maybe but superior? Never.”

  He grabbed her and pulled her into the chair on top of him. For a while they wriggled around and somehow the rug that covered his lap was around her shoulders making a shawl for both of them.

  She stopped wrestling and gave him an enigmatic look “Why you dirty old man!” She laughed burrowing her head into his shoulder before jumping out of the chair, “Well are you going to sit there all day? Let’s go upstairs before someone disturbs us.” And she took his hand pulling him up the stairs both of them giggling like teenagers.

  The second generation knew only too well the meaning of rest and relaxation.

  ###

  CHAPTER 3

  THE THIRD GENERATION

  The Star Ship was an awesome sight. Unbelievable; it was not a space- ship it was not a world nor a Solar system; it was a universe in microcosm. It filled those who saw it and those who were not advanced enough to reach out to the stars with awe.

  Those already capable of star travel were not about to invite travellers of this sort into their homes. There was just too much raw power available. It was a typical ant and foot syndrome and no one was willing to be the ant.

  No matter what explanation the Solarians gave of the restrictions placed upon them by the Amandla/Perdue/Harding Act no one was willing to put it to the test.

  “Honourable Governor,” the generals gave their opinion, “All the inhabitants of all the worlds we have come across are afraid of us and consequently want us to move on. That sir, tells me they are not afraid enough.”

  “What are you proposing, general? That we crush them in an all-out war? I’m afraid that such a step is not acceptable.”

  “We, the generals, Governor are not proposing a war we are forestalling one.”

  “Are you saying that any of these systems would make war on us? I find that preposterous.”

  “Preposterous for any single system to attack us but what if they banded together and attacked in great numbers? Would we be able to hold them off?”

  “What’s your proposition then, general?”

  “Presently it is only our size and not our power that intimidates them, but we’ve all heard the story of David and Goliath. What happens when one of them develops a David complex and knocks over somebody or something important to us; we will have a quasi-religious war on our hands.

  Wherever we’ve found life we’ve found a witch doctor, a priest or a shaman ready to preach against us. The theologians have a lot to lose if we take over and more to gain if they can tell us to go and we depart hence. In that case their god or gods are more powerful than us if we don’t fight and we don’t use the force at our disposal to intimidate them. The preachers would soon have us running for cover by telling their adherents that the gods, whom they, and they alone com
municate with recommended that course of action.

  They are not without star travel, relatively primitive, but fully capable of carrying messages that would indicate we are toothless bulldogs. How long would it be before they form an army to fight a war of attrition?”

  “We should pull our heads in and not give them any excuse to change their minds regarding the influence of size.”

  “We see it differently, Sir. They are worried by our size but for how much longer? They really know nothing of our prowess. Let us suggest a gathering of all who can make it to the Argentine pampas for a period of cultural exchanges culminating in a demonstration of electron weapons.

  “How will that help?”

  “At the moment, Honourable Governor we are trying to claim superiority by size and if it comes to it they will be hoping that their sheer numbers will keep them ahead. If you’ll excuse the expression Madam we’re both behaving like pubescent boys comparing penis sizes. As long as we’re doing that then let us settle the argument once and for all. Show them our electron guns and let them show us their undersized beam or bullet weapons.”

  The general smirked at the double entendre’s he used in his metaphors

  A silence fell in the board room and then the general continued, “This is where we show our trump card. They’ve had several years of crop failures. We offer them some relief by moving our ship to allow sunlight into parts that have not seen sunlight for years and at the same time offer relief in the form of food supplies. They’ve never made a request to us to supply them with food but I do believe that they are ready to break down and to request food. It’s like playing poker. We’ll be holding their IOU’s.”

  “Doesn’t that make us into board room brigands –well brigands boardroom or otherwise but brigands all the same? No different to the Garinos our fathers had to put up with.”