Monk Punk and Shadow of the Unknown Omnibus

by Aaron French

  Startled, he straightened up, trying to decipher the new vibrations in his body. Yes, something was sending waves through the ice, a dull throbbing like bells calling servants to church. A summons, gathering speed in the gloom. Amundsen’s eyes had become used to the darkness and he could now see some light oozing from the pyramid, dark against dark and fine pin-points of light dancing in time with the thrumming. Was he hallucinating again? Maybe the light was an effect of concussion, from the shock?

  Straining to get up, he turned his eyes again to the breach in the wall. The inner volume was luminous! He could clearly see it now, an obviously manmade structure carved with designs he could not quite discern. The pin-points were more active there, and their chanting – could it be that they were the source of the chanting? – more vehement, more insidious. He wanted to go inside the pyramid and join them. He could tell they were angry at his delay, but at the same time his body had frozen. The hair at the back of his neck had risen in clear warning. His head felt like a spinning top, tossed between emotions, his teeth chattering and his eyes too widely opened. He called out, a muffled cry smothered by biting his own tongue.

  The humming had stopped, the lights frozen in their ballet. A second, two, three. And then they rushed to the breach, pushing him aside on their way out. They twirled angrily into the absent night, furious wasps looking for a target, and went straight to the sea plane. Amundsen saw them disappear into the cockpit and immediately heard the metal complain. He felt warmth on his face and his hands touching his cheek felt sticky.

  Blood? The lights had come so close, could they have cut him? It certainly sounded like they were wreaking havoc in the shattered aircraft, which was whining and moaning against the assault. He dared not get any closer to see what was happening. Not that he needed to. After a few minutes of furious activity, the broken plane lit up in a brief flash and disappeared, shimmering dust falling slowly to the ice where the huge metal carcass had been moments before. The lights were still there, forming some sort of spiral that shot up straight towards the sky before coming back down just as quickly, zooming past Amundsen into the pyramid. Inside their dance took on a savage rhythm, a frenzy illuminating the whole structure. The explorer could nearly make out the patterns on the inner building, twirling designs like flowers or tentacles. Or the diaphragm shutter on a camera.

  Meanwhile the lights seemed ready to swarm again, gathering in a spearhead formation, their buzz strong and urgent, attacking the whole structure in waves. An aperture slowly unfolded on the inner structure, letting darkness seep into the chamber, absorbing the noise and light in slow oily ripples as Amundsen looked on, frozen in place. Something darker than night moved into the room, advancing in tentacle-like movements from the opening, smothering the lights one by one, slowly coming closer to the breach. Viscous gloom reached out from the crack, feeling its way upward.

  Amundsen felt it brushing against his face and flung himself backwards. Falling heavily on his back, his leg sending agonizing pain through his body. His mind was solely focused on escaping. Crawling backwards, his eyes fixed on the fissure, he searched for the broken wing-float he had found earlier and pulled aside, finding the structure just as darkness began oozing from the pyramid towards him.

  Pushing the fragile vessel into the water canal, he pulled himself on board. But he had nothing to paddle with and his hands were of little help in pushing him further out to sea. Gloom reached the water edge and pooled on the surface, rising into a large murky wave that lapped at the floating shell, seized it and flung it back hard against the wall of the pyramid.

  With his back broken but still alive, Amundsen looked on as darkness retreated to the inner temple, passing over his supine body. For a moment he entertained the illusion that he was safe. Crippled and cold yet saved somehow. Then the pyramid started pulsing into the night, humming once more in a stern rhythm, lighting up once again. Suddenly it dissolved in a chanting blizzard of light and ice shards, tearing at the feeble night, tearing at him, tearing at the universe; until there was nothing left and everything once again fell silent.

  About the author: Nathalie Boisard-Beudin is a middle-aged French woman living in Rome, Italy. She has more hobbies than spare time, alas – reading, cooking, writing, painting and photography – so hopes that her technical colleagues at the European Space Agency will soon come up with a solution to that problem by stretching the fabric of time. Either that or send her up to write about the travels and trials of the International Space Station, the way this was done for the exploratory missions of old. Clearly the woman is a dreamer.

  Antarktos Unbound

  Glynn Barrass

  Two hours they’d been running from the enemy. Only recently did it appear their attackers had ceased the chase. The group didn’t feel any easier however, for they now traveled through uncharted lands.

  Their means of escape: the sleek, olive-armored military yacht Persephone. Attached to the prow like a grim metal-skinned figurehead stood the group’s only mechanoid soldier, Tibor. Operating the craft with the unerring perfection of a positronic brain, he navigated the river with a calmness that betrayed none of the horrors they’d faced.

  Five souls accompanied Tibor, led by the only surviving CO, Commander Jonathon Pearson. Stood beside the robot, he watched in silence as the ugly landscape slid quickly by.

  Their abandoned installation originally held a thirty strong military unit, dispatched in preparation for the colonists’ arrival. Now a corpse-filled wreck, of the intelligence received regarding the planet’s indigenous species, nothing had prepared them for the beasts’ murderous hostility.

  Over a score of names told a different story.

  Of the survivors, Lieutenant Zazzi lay badly injured, currently being tended to by their medic, Georgina. Two grunts, Kano and Franks, sat astern, their automatic rifles aimed towards the retreating river.

  The attack had shaken them considerably, their escape from the installation a nightmare memory of gunfire and death. Fifteen having started for the yacht, only six, with one quickly fading, had survived onto the boat.

  Shaking sour memories away, Pearson scrutinized the scenery around him. It wasn’t an improvement. Capricus-B’s ugly carnivorous flora faded off beyond the river towards a gray haze of nothingness.

  Those black, yellow-spotted puffball mounds smothered the landscape. Trapped on the boat until the growths cleared, there was no sign of this happening anytime soon.

  This in mind, he tapped Tibor’s shoulder, saying, “Can you see anything beyond this crap? I’d like a clean landing spot if possible.”

  Shaking his bald chrome head, the robot replied, “Nothing for miles sir. But I’ll maintain a telescopic view.”

  Dejected, Pearson turned to find Georgina approaching from between the yacht’s fore-cannons. The freckled brunette’s face bore an expression comparable to his mood.

  “At ease,” he said. “What’s the Lieutenant’s condition?”

  She stood in silence, seemingly hesitant to speak. He fought the urge to touch her, to reassure the woman.

  “Is...” she nodded towards Tibor, “is he confidential?”

  Pearson smiled despite himself; his underlings were still unused to artificial intelligences.

  “He’s not a mess table gossip, if that’s what you mean,” he replied.

  “Good, good,” Georgina continued. “It’s just that the lieutenant’s condition isn’t improving. Also I’m scared like hell of infection getting into the wounds.”

  One of the lucky ones, Zazzi had suffered only mild lashes from the acidic tentacles. Pearson had thought as much anyway, until now.

  He voiced his concerns. “Is she not responding to treatment?”

  “It’s not that sir,” she replied. “It’s just with all the bacteria around the river, and...” she indicated the shore, “the spores those things produce, we need to get well away from here.”

  Pearson nodded, saying, “Join me,” before stepping the way she had com
e.

  The yacht being only forty feet from bow to stern, he said what needed saying before they reached the grunts.

  “I’m sick of this shitty water myself, George. But there’s no sign of a stopping point anytime soon, unless we blast our way through.”

  Reaching the yacht’s two small cabins, they halted at the roofed tunnel between.

  “That may become a necessity sir,” Georgina said, letting Pearson through the narrow space first.

  Beyond stood another roofed section, piled with the supplies and ammunition they’d removed from the hold. Lieutenant Zazzi lay amongst these, a makeshift cot formed around her.

  Approaching the lieutenant, Pearson knelt down. He didn’t like what he saw. Georgina was quickly beside him. Gently wiping the curtain of frizzy Afro hair from her brow, she felt the woman’s forehead.

  “She feels cold,” she said quietly.

  Pearson nodded, standing with a sigh.

  “I’ll go see about making a land incursion. Just stay tight.” Turning, he headed towards the stern.

  He found Kano and Franks talking quietly, their words unintelligible beneath the boat motor’s electric hum. Stepping between the aft cannons, he halted behind the pair. Noting his presence, they stood at attention.

  Beneath their helmets, the men’s eyes looked scared, wary.

  He put them at ease before speaking.

  “Any more signs of pursuit?” Saying this, he nodded towards the water. Upon their escape, the aliens had jumped in after them, fast moving and difficult to spot beneath the oily black river.

  Kano answered first. “It’s been quiet, sir. They could still be under the water though. That’s if they don’t need to breathe...”

  Franks cut him off, saying, “Anything that can swim and survive under that filth is bad karma sir.”

  Kano quickly added, “Of course they can swim in it, dope. It’s their damned planet!”

  “Fuck off,” Franks replied.

  Ordering them quiet, Pearson said, “I hate this river just as much as you do. So how about we utilize the boat’s ordinance?” This made Kano smile, Pearson continuing, “You’ve fought in one of these buckets before, what’s the chance of us clearing a swath through the toadstools?”

  Kano removed his helmet, revealing a shaved head lined with scars. Depositing it on his seat he stepped past Pearson, heading towards the closest cannon. The soldier knelt, examining its thick steel tripod.

  Kano fiddled with a handle before standing. Leaning back against the big gun, he said, “If we slow to a halt and put stabilizers on, both fifty-mil guns should get through the stuff with a sustained blast, but...” he paused, staring at the commander. “That crappy fungus might last a lot longer than our ammunition.”

  Pearson thought as much, but hoped the puffballs realm would eventually grow narrower.

  A high-pitched squeal, issuing from the prow, put his thoughts and his feet in a different direction.

  It was a sound only he could hear: Tibor transmitted it straight to his earpiece. Assuming the robot had spotted something ahead, Pearson turned towards the prow. His hurried movements quickly had the men at his heels, followed by Georgina.

  A frantic minute later and Pearson skidded to a stop behind Tibor.

  “Commander Pearson, sir,” Tibor said. “There are anomalous structures ahead, fifty-two clicks.”

  Kano, panting behind him, said, “Damn, is it a native hive? We should just...”

  Pearson silenced him with a wave of his hand. “Can you describe it for us, Tibor?”

  “I can do one better than that sir.” His mouth issuing a whirring sound, a small card appeared between Tibor’s lips. The robot tore it off before passing it to Pearson.

  Retrieving Tibor’s discovery, he grimaced. Picturing the river flanked by fungus growths, something quite different lay beyond. Scores of bright blue, spiky pylons, their gigantic forms piercing the sky.

  Pearson passed the card around.

  Examining it first, Georgina said, “Those aren’t natural formations.”

  Tibor said, “I believe you are correct ma’am.”

  Approaching Tibor, Franks cupped his hands. Staring into the distance he said, “Can’t see anything yet, too hazy. Hey! Surely the survey teams would’ve picked up a city?”

  “Yeah,” Kano added. “This isn’t something those beasts could build.”

  Pearson turned, nodding his head, “True. And we all know these rivers are too straight to be natural formations. What we have here is a relic from an ancient civilization.”

  Part speculation, part observation, fifteen minutes later, when the structures appeared visible to the naked eye, Pearson was proven correct. Those first pylons formed the outskirts of a massive, sprawling city.

  Since Tibor’s summons, everyone except Georgina, who left occasionally to check on Zazzi, had remained at the prow.

  It was an awe-inspiring sight.

  A luminescent vista of mountainous spines, the sapphire hewn towers stretched towards the horizon, their jagged fangs stabbing the tepid white firmament.

  Silence filled the group. Even the normally stoic Pearson felt awed by the view. Still, he voiced the concern Franks had earlier mentioned. “Tibor,” he asked, “how is it possible that the survey team missed this?”

  Steering the yacht towards the riverbank, Tibor turned to the commander. “My sensors detect erratic signals from the structures. Perhaps a cloak? I will know more when we get closer.”

  The banks, hewn from the same material as the city, stood a few feet higher than the river. As Tibor lined up the yacht, their bank became a stepping-stone.

  Soon, all six had dismounted, Zazzi’s unconscious form between them on a stretcher. Tibor, his arms and backpack loaded with supplies, took the rear.

  In no time the city had completely surrounded them. Impressive from a distance, close up its immensity proved too imposing for words.

  Crystalline in structure, its spikes escaped the dusty gray earth at irregular angles. Bubble-like protuberances, the same material as the towers, surrounded the boles of many.

  “Nice place,” Kano muttered, breaking the silence. Walking beside Pearson at point, he aimed his rifle towards every doorway they passed. Spotting the domed buildings, those triangular holes led to deep, mysterious darkness. Pearson followed Kano’s lead where the doorways were concerned. Georgina and Franks, bearing Zazzi behind, required additional protection.

  Minutes passed, the monotony of the necropolis remaining unchanged. The air however grew stiflingly hot, bringing sweat to brows and backs.

  “Commander Pearson,” Tibor said. “Temperature has increased by thirty degrees and is still rising.”

  “Duly noted,” Pearson replied.

  “It’s the first time I’ve felt any warmth on this ball that wasn’t artificial,” Franks said. Kano grunted his approval.

  “So what’s the prognosis, Tibor?”

  “Possibly the material these structures are formed of. Or perhaps an underground power source.”

  “You think this place extends beneath us?”

  “Indubitably sir.”

  Pearson looked around warily. The discovery of ancient technology wasn’t unheard of in planetary colonization. But sometimes, it proved hostile.

  This brought him, then his group, to a halt.

  Turning, he said, “I’m going to recon one of these structures.” Pearson aimed his rifle at the nearest. “Tibor, Franks. You come with me. You two...” he looked to Kano then Georgina, “start unpacking the supplies. We won’t be long.”

  Tibor deposited his loads as the two bearing the stretcher followed suit.

  Heading towards the doorway, Pearson’s soldiers flanked him to either side. It had him on edge, the darkness beyond the triangle. Gripping his rifle tighter, Pearson pushed his reservations aside.

  As he reached the doorway, Tibor said, “No life signs in this or any other structure within our immediate vicinity, Commander. And yet my sensor re
adings are fluctuating in ways I cannot explain.”

  Tibor confused? This was not a good sign. Pearson entered the structure regardless. Once inside, the walls and floor emitted a low luminescence, soon dispelling the darkness with a blue-tinged light. Seamless, the dome bore no feature but the door they’d entered by.

  The air growing cooler, Pearson accepted this welcome warily, his finger petting the rifle trigger.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later and the group had camped inside the dome. Having dispatched Tibor and Franks to search out other areas, Pearson felt more at ease within the alien environment.

  Before leaving, Tibor, having constructed a portable launcher, fired a locator beacon towards the planet’s upper atmosphere. With two weeks of rations between them, hopefully retrieval wouldn’t take that long.