Erasmus Pike

Image Courtesy of Photobucket

It was moonless night and the cold ocean was as glass; all appeared calm but from the east ,through the haze caused by the cold air, the ship appeared. It cut through the still water, parting it with ease. At the bow the lookout peered ahead. With the sea so still and with only the light of the stars overhead it was difficult to make out anything. There was no tell tale foam and spray, the ocean seemed empty . All would be utter silence if not for the sound of the bow cutting the seas, the throb of the coal fired engines in the bowels of the ship, and the faint sounds of music carried in the air.

The lookout shivered, as he imagined the great and the good enjoying the luxury of fine food and wine, while he was out in the cold. His breath made a cloud of steam in the night air, he looked at his watch, squinting to make out the position of the hands. 9.42PM; he sighed bitterly, he had hours of his watch yet to serve. By the time it would have ended the party would be over and the remains of the festivities would have been cleared away by the galley and serving staff.

Four days out of port and they were already over half way to their destination. This vessel was indeed a marvel of modern technology and an example of opulence. However in the back of his mind he still considered jumping ship when they made port, while his pockets were full of coin. It was then, breaking his contemplation, he felt the static charge the air behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he turned, looking to the point behind the anchor crane, between the capstans where the air throbbed green and golden lightning seemed to writhe around any object near to it. Was this St Elmo’s Fire? He had heard of the phenomenon from older sailors, but had discounted it as nonsense intended to impress the younger members of the crew. What had they said it was like? Like a green glow that clung to the masts and rigging. This was golden. He looked up at the forward mast and there was nothing. likewise nothing glowed around the four, tall tunnels which belched black smoke. Beyond the ball of static the electric lights from the inner decks shone. He wondered if anyone on the bridge was seeing what he was seeing. He reached for the telephone handset, but before he lifted it, with a hiss, the ball of static dissipated. He clenched his fists, to strengthen his resolve, and walked towards the capstans.

Plasma Ball -Painting by Dark-Stiks - deviantArt

The shadowed figure arose as if out of nowhere, tall and brooding. The figure seemed to be wearing a strange attire that was as shiny as a black mirror. The lookout could almost see himself in reflection; he gasped in horror and attempted to run past it the apparition. As he ran past, the black figure struck out its leg. The lookout tripped over it and fell towards the starboard side, tumbling over the edge into the dark. With a curse the black figure reached out its hands and tried to grab the lookout’s ankle, but the hem of the man’s trousers slid through grasping fingers The lookout’s head struck the side of the ship, rendering him unconscious as he tumbled into the cold black ocean with a splash to never be seen again, or so it appeared.

The black figure swore anew, there would be consequences to be borne, there always were. The figure looked down towards its forearm and tapped an invisible console. The figure looked up from the console in impatience; had the chameleon suit had enough exposure to create a disguise? The console answered with low beeps as the figure took on the appearance of the lookout.

Erasmus Pike breathed a sigh of relief. Time travelling manifestation was always a risky affair, even on land. Almost invisibly the ground level changes over the centuries. Tectonic events and landslides can change the geography instantly but the earth’s mass is always growing. It has been estimated that up to 300 metric tonnes of dust enters the atmosphere every day; spread globally of course this is as nothing but when backtracking hundreds, maybe thousands, of years its best to add this variation in the calculation. Cities are built on the remains of older cities or can just appear. Rome wasn’t built in a day of course, but it may as well have been. There were horror stories of time operatives manifesting half in, half out of building. Death wasn’t as instantaneous as would be expected. On the molecular level it is surprising about how much space can be found within a stone; certainly enough for a human body to materialise between the atomic bonds. The end can be quick as long as the cranium or vital organs are within the stone, otherwise….

Manifesting on a ship called for particular pinpoint accuracy, especially without drawing attention to the natives of the time zone; in this case the early Twentieth Century. He could quite easily have experienced the fate of the unfortunate lookout.

He wondered who the ill starred man had been. How would this play out in the future, now that it was denied the man’s descendants. Such were the hazards of time travel, he wondered why his supervisors took the risk, not that the future could get much worse of course since the collapse of human populations in the early 22nd Century. Perhaps their modus operandi was indeed to try and steer a different course for humanity as per what their synaptic propaganda instructed; however of late, Erasmus had developed doubts as to the legitimacy of this. Nothing seemed to improve, save for the power, prestige and position of the Red Shield organisation. He had been sent for direct cranial indoctrination prior to this mission, but doubts still clouded his subconscious. He should have reported the dreams, that he played out again and again in his sleep, to his supervisors but he had thought better of it. He activated his console on his forearm again, so far no warnings were flashing up about the future consequences. Poor man, he thought, a meaningless, inconsequent nobody that time forgot. Not even his accidental death at the hands of an invader from the future begat future ramifications, other than defining his all-to-brief existence. He had best continue with the mission, the assassination of the quarry. His target recognition inputs were active, he would instantly know the one he was after, just to find him; at least they were on a contained vessel in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, there was nowhere to run.

Standing here, mourning the death of a nobody wouldn’t get the job done, he set off towards the lit decks where the target would be. He passed emergency lifeboats and in the gloom he registered the name written on them. An uncomfortable feeling settled on him. Where had he heard that name before; SS Titanic?

Image Courtesy of ebay

The God Machine's report

Evolution Observation Platform Planet 3 (God Machine) – Planetary cycle 73,000000. Hybrid species 4 period.

Star status – G Type Main Sequence Plasma sphere – approx. half way thru active cycle.

Gravitational exertion – normal – Plant 3’s core remains hot, tectonic movement fluid.

Atmosphere stable and aerobic.

Surface liquid tidal range normal (see gravitational exertion grid)

Biodiversity levels falling in all ecological niches.

Pollutant levels increasing. Synthetic micro pollutants now present in many multi-cellular species in all environments. Radiation levels increasing, emanating from eastern seaboard of largest saline hydro reservoir due to tectonic reaction with species 4 energy production plant. Future marine multi species  threat - high

Quantum vibration status mainly dormant. Through use of nutritional and mass media environmental suppressors Species 4 remains responsive to the illusionary matrix. However glitches have appeared in the last 20,000 cycles threatening economic performance. Recent communication developments and cosmological investigation in Species 4 could offer a potential threat to usual conflict default protocols with the additional threat of pineal stimulation.  Societal breakdown, quantum hysteria and further matrix propaganda are currently being employed, however environmental threats and economic ennui are making Species 4 increasingly difficult to manipulate.

Hybrid Species 4 is now fully established as dominant life-form across all environments. Despite low quantum vibration levels Species 4 remains robust and adaptable. Species 4 is prone to aggression and self culls on a mass scale, however due to God Machine influence on female fertility population growth has been sustained. Synthetic micro pollutants (see above) may reverse this trend and cause a population collapse as planned.

 Mineral extraction at peak levels. Most available Yellow Transition Metal from the planetary crust has been accumulated by Species 4. Extra planetary mineral extraction could yet supply further yellow transition metal, however discovery of God Machine’s true status is a real possibility which, coupled with emergent quantum vibration, will destroy the illusionary matrix template.

Suggest harvest takes place within next 10000 cycles prior to permanent Species 4 colonies establishing on God Machine and beyond.

Species 4 genome may prove useful in other star systems after collection. However, suggest eradication of Species 4 on Planet 3 to prevent future retaliatory actions.

Time Sanitizers - A Mammoth Problem

“What do you mean; we’re stuck in a time loop? Surely it naturally goes entirely in one direction; onwards and upwards?”

“Yes so we thought; that was until we became a time travelling species.”

“Do you mean time anomalies; I thought we had been thorough in putting safeguards in place?”

“We thought we had, such as ensuring no one was allowed to leave advanced technology in past eras, and the mind scan on all those entering Chronological Windows; lest they plan on a vengeance crusade for past genocidal crimes. If only it really was as easy as going back and slaying the first slaver captain or killing a future dictator.We have learned that such deeds invariably create unforeseen consequences and overall distortions of the time lines, despite the time criminal having the best of intentions for humanity as a whole.”

 “You’re such a worrier, I’m sure we can fix this particular problem like we always do.  We move among past populations with as little interaction as possible and restore history. We are the Time Sanitizers – Making the Past Pristine – that’s our motto after all!”

“I know, I know but I’m unsure how we go about fixing this one.”

“Try me, what have you found?”

“Do you remember your history of the early C21st, especially the Russo-Japanese project in cloning mammoths?”

“Vaguely, and what a godsend it became, to think it was initially embarked upon purely out of curiosity at the time.”

“Yes that’s correct, Paleo-Archaeologists found intact Mammoth specimens encased in the Siberian permafrost and with Japanese cloning technology, the DNA was extracted and engineered into an Asiatic elephant; soon a whole extinct species began to reappear globally around zoos and safari parks.

“Yes and if I recall my history at the time, due to an accumulation of atmospheric particulate pollution there was a global dimming and planet-wide cooling, not to mention the near extinction of bees due to GMO insecticide carrying plants; humanity faced difficult times.”

“We did indeed, as the ice packs advanced and populations had to migrate towards the tropics, traditional domesticated species began to die out. The only species that thrived were the Neo-Mammoths. They soon became a prime food source, occupying vast swathes of what previously had been the temperate zones, and they still do. I can only hope that geneticists can solve the Trunk Rot disease problem that has arisen in the global population. If the mammoths die out again, where will that leave us?” 

“All rather worrying, but why should this concern us Time Sanitizers?”

“Well we have just discovered from the time travelling matrix that the militant Anti-Flesh League accessed the Balkan Chronological Window last night.”

“What did they do? Try and assassinate the inventor of spam or cornbeef perhaps?”

“You need to take this seriously! No they sent a small herd of mammoth back in time to the last glacial period – circa 12000 BCE - meaning to let them roam free, or so they thought.”

“So? A few near domesticated mammoth are released in the previous Ice Age. They are semi-tame and will be easy pickings for our ancestors.”

“This herd was carrying the Trunk Rot mutation in a dormant state and was under observation.”

“Damn those Anti-Flesh League hippies, the herd may cross breed and infect the whole ancient population. I see your sense of urgency. We must go and eliminate this herd; it’s certainly a job for us Time Sanitizers to Make the Past Pristine! I will bring the Chronological Window online; we will need Neolithic holographic clothing.”

“You don’t understand. The Anti-Flesh League miscalculated, they didn’t send the herd into the early Holocene, they sent them into the Pliocene instead.”

“Hang on; didn’t Mammoth first appear in that epoch?”

“Exactly.”

“What are you saying?!”

“That we are in a time loop. We can’t eliminate these mammoths as they are the precursors of the entire species. If we do we will alter the entire human history as, from the pictographs shown in cave paintings, our ancestors hunted them. Not to mention the cultural significance of these beasts, when their fossil remains were discovered.”

“Oh my god, so if I understand correctly; mammoths were resurrected from fossil remains of a creature sent into the past from the future? That can't be possible!”

“But it is; its a chicken/egg quandary. Who knows what ramifications this holds but we can expect some form of chronological consequence.”

“Well look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?”

“Yes, as in an archaeological mystery is solved. We now know why they died out. It wasn’t over-hunting or climate change, it was most probably trunk rot!”

Ac'Dorraedas

Ac’Dorraedas was a wood mage in a land that was his since the ice withdrew. His knowledge was legendary, his reputation grown since the long days past when he first stretched his limbs towards the skies. Around him younger voices spoke, seeking guidance as he once had.

He had learnt what he could from the elder ones, now long gone, who had once shared his grove.  But he still remembered their words, watch and listen, nourish and grow. And watch he had, even in sleep he had kept an eye open in the cold starlight. Then rising with the sun he dressed himself in clothes of green, performing the dance of the seasons, of life and death, until as night fell,  discarding his clothes, now soiled and ragged, he would fall again into sleep.

Oh those days of fire, full of vibrancy, of life accelerated, desire, hunger and creation. Ac’Dorraedas would weave his magic, his fingers clicking, his great arms swaying as he drank in the sun, faced the wind and felt the life giving rain. All manner of creatures sought his guidance, from the smallest to the largest, all were welcome, except one whose intentions were unclear.

Once it had been different he had been told, his kind's knowledge had been sought by them, his magic revered above all others. He was used to sacrifice of course. Between the wood mages and all others it had been understood, the giving of gifts, a payment required under thundering skies rent by lightning; blood spilled and flesh yielded as it had always been. He had understood the need. Revered his kind had been, their embrace required to protect the other's children from cradle, throughout their short lives and then returning to the earth. But things had changed, permission was no longer sought. Slowly at first and then quickening the grove had shrunk.

More voices seemed stilled and those remaining sought his magic, clinging to the folds in his ancient cloak and he sang lullabies to calm them. Fear not, we are ever here, our magic is strong, and yet he grew concerned and wove a spell of immortality and cast it about him around his feet.

During the long night he stirred and sleepily woke. The skies were wintry grey, no voices spoke to him, he sought them out reaching but nothing answered, all was dumb stone and baked clay or powdered rock set hard. The grove was silent; the grove had gone. He sensed the savage roaring sound, the acrid fumes and the teeth that cut deep, his story ended, Ac’Dorraedas fell and all seemed silent.

Death and life, the ebbing and flowing of tides, the turning of stars, a land eternal since the ice had receded. Come dawn as the light lengthened, the magic of old Ac’Dorraedas took root. Between the paving slabs the oak sapling pushed upward.

Apollo 18 - Part 5

“Get the hell away from me, leave me alone.” Commander Gordon shouted between sobs.
Outside the Lander, the creature that once was Gerald Carr hammered at the hatch. Gordon saw the latch move up and down, but due to the positive pressure inside the capsule, compared to the outside vacuum, it would be impossible for the thing to swing the hatch door inwards. Impossible for a human, anyway.
All around the Lander he now heard knocking and tearing as something tested the capsule. He heard a ripping sound as something tore at the amber coated foil that encased the descent section, felt the Lander judder as some unseen entity pounded at one of the legs. He wasn’t due to liaise with Vance in the orbiting CSM for approximately 15 hours, but would they have winkled him out by then? What if he entered a different orbit than Vance, would he have enough fuel in the retros to alter his orbit and dock? Once more he felt the Lander shudder and heard the screech of tortured metal. He looked out of the portal, beyond the foul animated remains of his dead comrade, something else moved within the cloud of dust that had followed him across the crater; something wholly alien like a huge crab with tentacles. If he didn’t launch now, he probably never would and everything, including Carr’s death would have been for nothing. Flicking switches he powered up the LSM and strapped himself in for take-off. The hammering on the hatch grew in intensity, he looked towards the portal, and there was Carr, his skeletal face staring at him from its empty sockets. Gordon extended his middle finger, flipping the bird at the monster, and hit the rocket switch. There was a roar and Gordon felt the acceleration as the Eagle left the moon. He half expected to be shot at once more, as they had been landing some six hours previously, but he smiled to himself as he realised the cloud of dust had covered his escape, in the weightlessness the camera from the rover floated past. Checking his trajectory and alignments he made slight alterations with the retros.

A sudden thought entered his head and he felt around for the bag attached to his utility belt, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it; inside was the data crystal he had found on the remains of the ancient Empress Pandora. Unstrapping himself from his chair he floated to the portal and looked down at the moon, already the Copernicus Crater was disappearing as his momentum took him away. Satisfied, he sought some much needed nourishment and water and secured himself once more to the chair. As he ate he pressed record on the bulky tape machine and related his report into the microphone.
“Eagle, this is Lightfoot. Dick come in.”
The voice from the Command Module crackled over the radio. Gordon blinked, realising he had fallen asleep. Setting the tape machine to one side he smiled as he replied.
“Lightfoot, this Eagle. Good to hear you Vance. I’m already in orbit. Turning on rendezvous beacon.”
The radio crackled white noise before Vance replied. “You said, I’m in orbit? Gerald?”
“He didn’t make it Vance…”
Once again there was a pause. “Understood. I see you, 12 km distant, approaching for docking. Let‘s get back home.”

Present Day NASA - Mars Science Laboratory

Curiosity Mission Coordinator Darren Brown turned off the playback machine, he looked solemnly at his superior, sat with him. Newly instated NASA Director Chuck Bolden looked perplexed and shell shocked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus Darren, and the President knew of this when he appointed me? I’ve never even heard of the Apollo 18 mission.”

“All Presidents since Nixon have known of the alien presence on the moon, but we have only known the true nature of the threat since President Reagan’s tenure in 1981.”

“I don’t understand, the recording?”

“The recording, videos and data crystal – all the data from when Dick Gordon opened Pandora’s box - were only brought to earth in 1981 when the Space Shuttle Columbia rendezvoused with CSM Lightfoot in 1981, on her maiden flight. The remains of Vance Brand and Dick Gordon were also recovered.”

“They didn’t make it?”

“No. CSM Lightfoot suffered a catastrophic accident whilst taking up geo orbit. It was tragic, they almost made it home; they were true heroes, not just for America but for all of humanity; their story, however, their sacrifice remains uncelebrated. The bodies of three homeless men of similar builds were released to the relatives of the astronauts; the official story was that all three died in an accidental capsule fire while training on earth.  The mission itself had been launched in secret and no knowledge of the true nature of their deaths was ever revealed. Back in the 70’s, prior to the internet, such a cover up was possible. As far as anyone knows, the Apollo mission was halted due to financial constraints after Apollo 17. Now however, in an age of free access to data and hackers we are facing a severe problem of controlling information. Not for nothing has the President gained executive powers to shut down the worldwide web if required. Obviously such an action would be the last resort; in the meantime we keep on questioning the mental state of sources revealing data.”

“What data, and what has this to do with the Curiosity mission?”

Brown stood up and poured two cups of water from the water cooler, passing one to the Director. He sighed before continuing. “We analysed the data crystal and other operatives confirmed the information that had been relayed to Gordon. Mars had indeed once been a home to humanity prior to a global nuclear bombardment by extra-terrestrial forces. We had to be sure. Viking orbital missions saw the Face on Mars but we managed to discredit whistle-blowers; it was merely shadows and the psychological phenomenon of Pareidolia.”

Bolden took a sip of water. “I take it we’ve found further evidence.”

“Indeed, we’ve found remains that are difficult to explain as natural geological features…”

“Such as?”

“Statues and wheels. The statues can be put down to Pareidolia, but the wheels, no. Meanwhile the orbiter has focused on the moon Phobus…”

“The monolith?”

“Exists, yes. Its a massive boulder, differing from the surrounding geology, some 238 m across.”

“We need the information written upon it. Are our planetary jailers still active?”

“We avoided the moon as we thought that was where their main observation post in the system is. The recent Chinese, Jade Rabbit, probe was destroyed soon after landing, although the authorities there said the probe was merely in a hibernation phase. We have tentatively warned them but they are intent on a home grown manned mission. I hate to think what the outcome may be…”

“Are our jailers elsewhere?”

“Yes, our recent Dawn mission photographed a base of some kind on Ceres, a large moon in the asteroid belt.”

“But are they on Mars?”

“The Curiosity Rover photographed this.” Brown said, handing a photograph to the Director.

“My God… the tentacled crab, as described by Gordon! I don’t know, I just can’t…”

“It’s a lot to take in Director, I know. If will you excuse me, I had better get back to sifting the newly arrived data.”

“Of course Darren, of course. Those poor men though, to have come so close to safety and die so close to home, its tragic. What was the nature of the accident they experienced?”

“It’s revealed on the recording from point 548, I warn you it’s not easy to listen to. I will speak with you soon Sir.”

Brown shut the door behind him while Bolden fast forwarded the digital counter to 548. Soon the long dead voices of Gordon and Brand, and the insistent beeping of alarms, filled the room.

“What was that explosion?”

“Oxygen levels are plummeting, what the hell happened?”

“We’re venting gas, the paneling outside has ruptured, hang on, what the hell?”

“What can you see? What is it? Life support is failing!”

“There’s something moving in the gas. Oh my God, its… its CARR…”

Apollo 18 - Part 4

The nightmare that once had been Gerald Carr shuffled forward, its gloved hands reaching out. Commander Gordon backed away from the animated corpse. He had seen Carr die with his own eyes, exposed to the cold and vacuum of space, beside him in the Lander. He could retreat no further as he felt the Lunar Rover against the back of his legs, his hand reached back to steady himself and found the handle of the spade in the tool compartment, he gripped it tightly. He swung it, hitting the dead astronaut in the side, tearing the fabric of the suit that barely contained the vacuum swollen flesh. The creature staggered and Gordon swung the spade again, in an upward motion this time, catching the rim of its open helmet, knocking the monstrosity backward in the low lunar gravity.

The force of the blow had an equal reaction on Gordon, forcing him backward he fell into the Rover. Instinctively, not waiting to swing his legs inside, he grabbed the joystick and pushed it forward. The rover trundled away gathering speed, pushing up clouds of dust that hung in the airless void before falling slowly back to the moon’s surface. Gordon didn’t look back, eager to put some distance between him and whatever had possessed Carr.

He pulled backward on the stick and the Rover slowed to a halt. Assessing the situation he checked battery power on the rover, it would be touch and go if it could get him back to the Lander, but looking at his oxygen gauge his recent exertions had used much of the precious gas up. He was a good distance away from the Lander which was hidden amid the hills and mounds of the southern part of the Copernicus Crater, beyond the ancient crashed craft. Fearfully he looked up then and looked at the northern edge across the smooth expanse. He felt terribly exposed to whatever had tried to destroy the Eagle as it had landed.

Under the rim of the crater were the structures, like buildings, he had seen, the dwellings of humanities' jailers. He could see clouds of dust beginning to curl from the surface in front of them. There are no winds on the moon. Whatever resided there was coming! He quickly sat in the Rover and strapped himself in. He threw the joystick forward and it picked up speed, as he swung it in an arc and headed south as fast as he could.

He turned the Rover camera to look behind, he needed to record and log as much data as he could. He felt his heart hammering and his breathing sounded laboured. He forced himself to breathe slow and steady; he had to conserve what oxygen he had. The aches, both in his body and stomach, reminded him how tired and hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten or drunk fluids for hours now; adrenaline alone had been keeping him going.

The site of the wrecked craft lay to the east of him and he turned the joystick to edge towards the area of hills, estimating where the Eagle was and avoiding the unnecessary use of battery power climbing and weaving among the valleys and mounds ,that had been the feature of his journey northward.  With 30% battery remaining he pushed the joystick left and headed into the undulating moonscape that concealed the lander. He looked left towards the north, the clouds of dust was halfway across the plain. His oxygen gauge showed he was down to 10%, soon he would begin recycling the CO2. He climbed a slope and in the distance he saw the glint of the amber foil that clad the descent section of the LSM. He felt a surge of hope as he strove to concentrate on navigating his way through the hills and valleys, but he felt so tired.

He had lost 2 hours in the crashed craft looking into the data crystal; he remembered the dream-like journey it took him on, from Earth’s orbit to Mars. Mars… and yet that ancient Mars was different, not a red desert, but green and blue with cities and pyramids. There was something else he recalled, from the edges of his mind, something on the Martian moon Phobus. It was a monolith and written upon it in hieroglyphs and symbols were star maps, a myriad web of wormholes linking the system of Sol with the stars beyond. That was it, the secret, the key to interstellar travel; the knowledge lost when humanity was bombarded back to the Stone Age long ago.

He felt a violent jolt and he opened his eyes. He had fallen into unconsciousness and crashed the Rover into a boulder. He unstrapped himself, he felt so tired. He yearned for cool air, if he opened his helmet just a little to... He blinked and looked at his oxygen gauge, it was in the red. He felt dizzy and nauseous. Up ahead was the Lander, there were two of them. He blinked again dispelling the blurred image. He realised he was experiencing CO2 poisoning. With one last effort, he fell out of the Rover, grabbing the onboard camera and stumbled towards the amber coloured oasis. The space between him and the Lander yawned wide, he willed himself onward as his head throbbed in pain.

Reached out his hand felt the smooth metal of the steps and he hauled himself up, his hand found the latch, through the blurred blindness and waves of nausea. Pushing it open he fell in and pushed it shut behind him. His weakening hand found the oxygen tap and turned it. A hissing sound began to build as the vacuum was filled. Unclasping the helmet he lay on the floor as he drank in the life giving oxygen. He gave a prayer of thanks but on the periphery of his hearing he heard the tapping of tiny objects peppering the hull of the lander. With an effort he hauled himself up to look through the viewport and with a shiver of fear realised the dust cloud was now wreathing all around. Emerging from the dust cloud, the husk of Carr dragged itself toward the steps.

To be continued

Apollo 18 - Part 3

In the silence of the airless moon all Commander Dick Gordon could hear was his own ragged breathing. Between each breath his visor would mist momentarily. The novelty of the low gravity had long passed, as he bounded across the barren wastes of the lunar landscape. He had already fallen over twice, the last time his visor had narrowly missed some jagged rocks. He had since endeavoured to take care; one crack or a tear in his suit and he would suffer the horrific fate that befell Carr, the pilot of the LSM. He had no choice but to keep following the tracks of the rover leading north away from his landing site and the crashed half buried ship.

   

He realised that he was panting. He had to control his breathing; he would be using his oxygen up too quickly, he glanced at his oxygen gauge, three hours’ worth remaining. He had contemplated returning to the wreck of the ship, but thought better of it. There had been a breathable atmosphere in the mausoleum chamber that he had triggered. Returning there it would be a refuge, then a prison, until eventually it would be a tomb and he would join the mysterious woman there in deathly repose. Despite his exertions he felt a shiver of fear run the length of his spine.

Who was that woman and why was she in a crashed craft on the moon? She was a terrestrial; she looked human in every way. At least he had the crystal with him. He had looked in it but for a moment and yet had spent two hours lost in the images it relayed into his brain. It was some form of data storage device that interfaced with the brain directly through his eyes. He had been immersed in its visions. But what it told him made no sense. Humanity had once been a race of star-farers in the distant past? Mars had once been green? It was impossible, all of it. Impossible? What of the woman? What of the ship? What of the unknown presence which had harassed previous Apollo missions and attempted to shoot down his own Eagle lander? The ones who had killed Carr? Now he knew why Vice President Ford had been so on edge prior to the pre-flight quarantine.

The tracks wound up a slope, obviously the rover had struggled for grip in the thick lunar dust. Now was a chance to make some progress, he bounded at the slope and took giant strides bouncing upward. He felt the sweat cling to his back as in pushed himself on, as the slope grew steeper. As he crested the ridge he was on all fours crawling up. Any semblance of self-control was lost as he climbed, sobbing and panic filled; he was never going to see the earth again, never feel the wind rain upon his face.

Just when he was at his lowest, hope returned anew, there was the rover parked on the summit, but also came a wave of fear as he saw who the driver was. Stood still, with his back to him, his sightless eyes looking northward, was Carr.

Gordon stood in fear and shock; he had decided to leave Carr on the moon, meaning to bury him on his return journey to the lander. Ideally he would have taken his dead comrade home but the body had swollen to twice its normal size when Carr had been killed by the vacuum. Gordon and his colleague, Vance, in the Command Module would never have been able to get him through the docking hatch joining the LSM and the CSM. He had put Carr’s helmet on and lowered the man’s glare visor to spare himself looking at the man’s ever staring eyes. Yet now he stood, facing the sun, his oxygen umbilicus hanging uselessly behind him, like some grotesque shop front dummy.

“Ger Gerald?” Gordon stuttered, half whispering into his mouthpiece.

Horribly, he heard the earphones crackle into life. “You were warned,” grated the voice similar to Gerald Carr’s yet not; speaking through swollen and frozen flesh. “Your race must pay the price, the debt is still unpaid.”

“The price?” Gordon asked. That which once was Carr stayed still, his back turned to him.

“Long ago you walked amid the stars, as gods you thought of yourselves, conquerors and overlords; humanities’ web trapped many. How the galaxy suffered under your tyranny, lifeforms and cultures eradicated as you sought to mold the galaxy to your image. The Great League was formed, the war was terrible. Countless numbers died as ships burnt around a myriad of stars. You were chased back to your home planets, yet still, in your arrogance, you refused to yield. Two planets were rendered uninhabitable, only at the last, your cities reduced to rubble, your race almost eradicated, did your empress accept terms. You were a handful, grubbing an existence out of the dirt; would be gods now brutish and bestial. Your Empress, Pandora, was permitted to seek exile beyond the edge of space, yet others in the League took exception and she was shot from the skies as she left your world, to crash on this rock. We have kept watch ever since, lest you dig yourselves from the dirt and look to the stars again. You should not have come here, you were warned.”

Carr turned then, his visor was open, the flesh of his face burnt by direct exposure to the sun, his mouth drawn exposing his teeth, his eyes boiled black; he advanced on Gordon, his hands reaching out.

To be continued...