Hollow Moon

by Steph Bennion

  Ravana peered through the cabin porthole, looking for signs of movement, but all was still. The Sun Wukong’s pilots had left the ship shortly after landing, leaving robot porters to unload and take away their cargo to the nearby buildings. Upon finding them lurking in the passenger cabin, the man who introduced himself as Hanuman had not been angry but had made it clear he wanted them off the ship as soon as they made planet-fall. The trouble was they had no idea where on the moon they actually were, or indeed where to go from here.

  “I take it this is Yuanshi?” whispered Ostara, at the next window.

  “Seeing Shennong in the sky like that brings it all back to me,” Ravana murmured, stroking her cat. “There’s no way it would appear that big from Daode.”

  “We should leave,” said Zotz nervously. “Before they come back.”

  The airlock door to the cargo bay was unlocked and before long they were slinking surreptitiously away into the warm night air. Like that of all terraformed moons, Yuanshi’s atmosphere was thin but had a high oxygen content to compensate. However, the civil war had left the terraforming programme on Yuanshi less advanced than on Daode and once out of the ship the difference in air quality was noticeable. Moving quickly as they were, by the time they reached the fence separating the runway from the nearby buildings, Ostara and Zotz were panting heavily and close to collapse.

  “My word!” exclaimed Ostara, between gasps. “This is like running up a mountain!”

  “Why aren’t you out of breath?” Zotz asked Ravana, sounding almost offended.

  “I was born on Yuanshi,” she reminded him. “I guess I’ve still got the lungs for it.”

  The nearby gate, lit by the sole security light, had been left wide open by the long-vanished robot porters. Beyond, a gravel track ran towards the nearest of the vast warehouse-sized constructions they had seen earlier, which now they were closer proved to be immense square tents of canvas sitting upon stone foundations. From where they stood the lower point of Shennong’s crescent was just visible through the thin canvas walls of the nearest tent and its yellow light revealed a tantalising glimpse of a jungle-like interior. Yet there was still no sign of the crew of the Sun Wukong, or indeed anyone else. The quiet within the forest clearing was positively eerie.

  “I thought Yuanshi was supposed to be a war zone,” murmured Zotz.

  “We’re obviously far away from any fighting,” guessed Ostara. “And from anywhere else by the look of it.” She looked hopefully at Ravana. “Any ideas?”

  “You’re asking me?” Ravana retorted. “I haven’t a clue where we are!”

  “You were born on this moon!”

  “I left Yuanshi when I was seven,” Ravana said irritably. She was starting to think that stowing away on the Sun Wukong had been a very bad idea. “All I can tell you is that this is definitely nowhere near Ayodhya, which is where Fenris was heading. If my wristpad wasn’t broken I may have been able to tell you more.”

  “I doubt it,” remarked Zotz. He had been tapping fruitlessly at his own device, having dropped his bag to the floor. “I can’t get a signal. I think this place is shielded.”

  “Nothing at all?” asked Ravana.

  “I did receive a message just before we landed,” he admitted. “Miss Clymene was asking where we were and why we missed the rehearsal this evening.”

  Ravana groaned. “Everything is going wrong. Were you able to send a reply?”

  Zotz shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Well, we can’t stay here,” Ostara said brightly. “Let’s have a look around.”

  Zotz glanced back at the Sun Wukong. “We could wait until the crew returned.”

  “I have a feeling we wouldn’t be welcome,” she replied. “Come!”

  Ostara led the way through the gate and on towards the nearest tent. Ravana felt her cat squirming in her arms, clearly distressed, yet when she tried to put it down it dug its claws into the sleeves of her flight suit and refused to let go. As they approached the huge wire-mesh gate in the wall of the nearest tent, her pet began to wail in a highly disturbing manner, each meow fainter than the last until finally it fell into a trembling silence. Ravana was getting another of her headaches and the increasingly erratic and uncalled-for vocal displays of an electric cat were not helping at all.

  “This gate is locked,” observed Zotz. He peered at the control panel on the wall next to the entrance. “And electrified. I wonder what’s inside?”

  Ravana stared at the panel, then her eyes went wide as an image suddenly popped into her thoughts. Somewhat unexpectedly, in her mind was a pictogram of the gate, just as she had seen the airlock control whilst dangling down the shaft on the Dandridge Cole.

  “Pictures in my head,” she murmured.

  She knew now it was her cranium implant that had opened the airlock; a revelation she found somewhat disquieting. The gate control was relatively straightforward in comparison, being a simple square of red lines with a jagged red symbol upon it. Armed with a determined scowl, Ravana directed her thoughts to mentally push first against the symbol and then the square. In her mind she caught an odd little beep, then both images changed from red to green. There was a loud clunk as the real gate powered down and unlocked.

  “Are you okay?” asked Ostara, seeing Ravana wince.

  “This thing in my head feels ready to explode,” she said grimly. Ahead, the two halves of the gate slowly rolled aside to reveal a dark and humid interior.

  “You used your implant!” Zotz exclaimed. He looked at Ravana in awe.

  “Girl and machine in perfect harmony,” she replied gloomily.

  Inside the tent, the dim light of Shennong shimmered softly upon a confusion of tightly-packed trees, shrubs and undergrowth drenched in heavy condensation. The air was alive with the gentle cacophony of rustles, chirrups and slithers of creatures of the night, punctuated by occasional glints from tiny watching eyes. The lack of artificial light emphasised the primeval ambience. An unnerved Ravana, Ostara and Zotz found themselves huddling close as they peered into the riot of foliage before them.

  “What is this place?” murmured Zotz wonderingly.

  “It reminds me of the banana plantations near Lanka,” Ravana remarked. “They grow them inside big tents to keep pests and poachers out.”

  “Whatever it is they’re growing here, it isn’t bananas,” muttered Ostara. “This is very creepy. Any chance of some light?”

  Ravana thought the request was directed at her, but was saved from having to hunt for a light switch using her implant by Zotz, who quickly rummaged through his bag and withdrew a small sphere with twin rotor blades on top. After pressing a switch on the base, he threw the globe with its now-spinning rotors high into the air. A split second later the hovering sphere blazed into life. The jungle shadows were instantly banished as the globe illuminated the tent and Zotz’s triumphant grin with a stark and blinding white light.

  “Neat,” admitted Ravana, shading her eyes. “One of your inventions?”

  Zotz nodded. “The fuel cell is only good for ten minutes though.”

  The bright light transformed the scene before them, revealing the jungle as a twisted, chaotic explosion of vegetation that showed no signs of being an orderly crop plantation of any kind. The dark foliage was the characteristic myrtle green of plants native to Yuanshi and Ravana was instantly reminded of the ancient forest near her childhood home. For a moment she thought she saw a grey shape deep in the undergrowth, then it was gone.

  “Did you see that?” whispered Ostara. “It looked… alien.”

  “Yuanshi’s own flora and fauna,” said Ravana, her voice filled with awe. She took a few steps along a narrow gravel path leading into the jungle and then paused. “A lot of the native plants and animals are deadly to humans and were deliberately destroyed when Earth crops were introduced. This could be some sort of nature reserve.”

  Intrigued, she walked on, her senses primed to the sights and sounds of the plantation. As she moved further from
the gate, Ravana felt the eyes of countless hidden watchers upon her and twice more saw a brief blur of grey as a shadowy creature moved through the bushes ahead. At one point her mysterious guide seemed ready to emerge into the open, then abruptly disappeared when Ostara and Zotz crashed noisily through the undergrowth behind with such a commotion that even Ravana jumped. All this time her cat continued to act very oddly and squirm in her arms, its electric gaze darting back and forth as if it expected to be leapt upon and eaten by a fierce jungle beast at any moment.

  The path ended abruptly at the edge of a circular pit in the ground, several metres in diameter and more than a metre deep. Arranged neatly inside the earthen hollow was one of the strangest sights Ravana had ever seen: row upon row of large greyish-green spheres, each half a metre wide and covered with silken threads. As she stared, her cat wriggled free from her arms, jumped to the floor and cautiously sniffed the edge of the pit.

  “My word!” exclaimed Ostara, as she and Zotz came up behind her. “Look at the size of those, all covered in webs! Is this the nest of a giant spider?”

  Ravana shuddered. “Don’t say things like that!”

  “They look like eggs,” Zotz murmured. “Giant alien eggs.”

  “They can’t be!” protested Ravana. “There’s nothing on Yuanshi that lays eggs like that. All the big native animals died out when people arrived and started terraforming.”

  “Those are definitely alien eggs,” Zotz declared. “Probably ready to explode and spew out some face-sucking creature at any moment. Have you never seen the Alien films?” he asked, seeing Ravana’s confused and rather horrified expression. “Alien versus Godzilla III was added to the Dandridge Cole holovid library just a few months ago.”

  “I don’t watch horror films,” Ravana said firmly.

  Zotz was flabbergasted. “But the Alien holovids are classics! They go all the way back to the old-style movies of the twentieth century!”

  “What about Alien: The Opera? You must have heard of that one,” interjected Ostara. “Remember Administrator Verdandi at Newbrum? Her mother is a famous diva who played Ripley in the recent revival. Your father took me to Bradbury Heights Opera House to see it.”

  Ravana blinked. “I don’t remember that.”

  Zotz nodded eagerly and to Ravana’s amazement suddenly broke into song:

  “The alien is coming, we need to run!

  Where can I find my flame-throwing gun?

  The alien spits acid to melt my bones!

  What has happened to the ship’s cat Jones?”

  Ravana stared at him. “I’m almost lost for words,” she said. “Is that why you call my cat Jones? After some moggy in a horror film?”

  “It’s more science-fiction than horror,” Zotz protested weakly. “In the original movie, Jones is the only crew member to survive other than Ripley. In Alien and the Terrorclones, the cat mutates into tiger cyborg and saves Ripley from the Mechanoraptor.”

  “I’m obviously missing some class entertainment,” muttered Ravana.

  “Can we forget Alien for the time being?” interrupted Ostara, sounding exasperated. “We’re supposed to be trying to get to Ayodhya to rescue your father, yet here we are standing next to a pit of alien eggs in the middle of nowhere, debating the merits of science-fiction horror films! We need a plan!”

  “The light from my lantern won’t last much longer,” added Zotz.

  He jumped and gave a shriek. For a moment, Ravana thought she saw an indistinct grey face in the undergrowth peering up at them, then frowned and decided it was a trick of the shadows. A split second later, the light from Zotz’s hovering globe failed and they were promptly plunged into darkness, then heard a faint crash as the powerless sphere fell to the ground. Now they were away from the canvas walls and deep in the jungle, the darkness was complete. Ravana could not even see her hand as she reached out to find Ostara.

  “An alien!” exclaimed Zotz. “Anyone got a light?”

  Out of nowhere, the beam of a torch pierced the gloom. Startled, Ravana, Ostara and Zotz turned and were instantly blinded by the light.

  “Who’s there?” demanded Ostara. The words of her brave challenge trembled.

  “I was hoping you three would run away once we landed,” grumbled a male voice. “That at least would have saved me the bother of wondering what to do with you.”

  The beam changed into a gentler, more diffuse glow, revealing the stern but roguish features of Hanuman, the pilot of the Sun Wukong. The lantern was in his left hand, leaving his right free to linger cautiously upon the butt of the plasma pistol holstered at his waist.

  “You!” Ravana cried, picking up her cat. “What is this place?”

  “And where could we go?” asked Ostara. “We’re miles from anywhere!”

  “Actually, on the other side of the forest is the main road to Anjayaneya,” Hanuman pointed out. He acted annoyed, then relented and gave Ostara a wink. “I’m sure you could have flagged down some friendly trucker willing to take you back to civilisation. How did you get in here? These plantations are supposed to be secure.”

  “I really did see an alien!” insisted Zotz.

  “I opened the gate,” Ravana told him, ignoring Zotz. “I used my implant.”

  “Never had you down as a military spy,” Hanuman admitted, not noticing her look of confusion. “On that note, we should go before we all get into trouble. Are you hungry?”

  Ravana glanced at Ostara, who seemed equally surprised by his apparent show of concern. Ostara nodded, for none of them had eaten since leaving the hotel. Beside her, Zotz’s stomach had decided it was an opportune moment to start rumbling audibly.

  “Good,” said Hanuman, smiling properly for the first time. “Ganesa’s cooking up one of her specials and it’s been a while since we’ve had guests.”

  “You’re very kind,” said Ostara meekly.

  “It’s more an invitation to an informal interrogation,” he said solemnly and tapped his pistol. “I do hope you’re not spies. It would be such a shame to shoot you.”

  *

  Ganesa was waiting for them at a cabin on the edge of the forest clearing, well away from the strange plantation. The ten-metre hut was a camouflaged pre-fabricated habitation module as used by the military when establishing temporary command bases in the field. This one had home-made curtains at the windows and other homely attempts to soften the hard lines of the utilitarian metal shell, though none succeeded quite as well as the pleasant aroma of cooking that greeted Hanuman, Ostara, Ravana and Zotz as they drew near.

  It was a warm night and Ganesa had set up a table and chairs beneath the canopy overhanging the front of the cabin. A large pot of stew sat in the middle of the table and when Ravana saw the five dishes and associated tableware laid out for them she realised Hanuman had deliberately set out to find them. Ganesa herself was already seated at the table, visible in the pale illumination spilling from the open cabin door. As they approached, she looked up and gave a friendly wave.

  “Our stowaways had broken into the compound,” Hanuman told her with a wry grin. “I thought I’d better bring them back here before they caused any more trouble.”

  Ganesa looked impressed. “I’ve never been inside. What did you find?”

  “Alien eggs,” stated Zotz. He did not mention the grey face. “A big nest of them.”

  “Is that what they harvest in there?” she remarked. “Well, I can’t promise you egg, but there’s plenty of stew if you’re hungry. Please, take a seat, all of you.”

  Ravana and Zotz were ravenous and eagerly helped themselves to a large bowlful each, almost forgetting that Ostara, Hanuman and Ganesa were waiting to follow suit. Ravana ate hungrily, amazed by the stew’s rich flavours.

  “This tastes wonderful!” Ostara told Ganesa, after finally getting to the pot. “You must give me the settings for this.”

  Ganesa smiled. “We have no food molecularisor here. When you rely on zero-gravity rations as much as we do it becomes a pleasu
re to cook something the old-fashioned way.”

  “You didn’t use a ’risor?” Ostara looked astounded.

  Hanuman retrieved a bottle of liquor from inside the cabin and poured a generous measure for Ostara, Ganesa and himself. Ostara politely declined, for she had found upon the table a pot of wonder in the shape of freshly-brewed Yuanshi tea. Hanuman offered the glass instead to Ravana, who cautiously sipped at the clear sweet beverage and instantly felt a warm buzz from the alcohol within. Her father permitted her to drink wine sometimes but she had never tasted anything like this.

  “A local speciality,” Hanuman told her with a grin. “The fruit of the deggdra.”

  “Dead Horse Gin!” exclaimed Ravana, recognising the ingredient as being that of her father’s favourite tipple. “Aren’t deggdra berries poisonous?”

  “I wouldn’t eat them raw,” Hanuman advised.

  “Can I have some?” asked Zotz, eyeing the bottle hopefully.

  “You’re too young,” Ostara told him.

  Ganesa pushed aside her empty bowl and reached for her own glass.

  “We should acquaint ourselves properly,” she said. “If Hanuman hasn’t told you already, I am Ganesa, co-pilot of the Sun Wukong. Hanuman and I are what you might call independent traders, as far as that is possible in this star system. I’m curious why you three chose to flee Hemakuta by hiding aboard our ship. Are you on the run?”

  “We’re trying to get to Ayodhya,” Ostara told her. “I’m Ostara, head of security on the Dandridge Cole and this is Ravana and her friend Zotz. Ravana’s father has been arrested and his ship hijacked, all thanks to a slimy, double-crossing acquaintance of ours!”