MILDRATAWA Read online

  “Of course, a splendid idea.”

  The sun slowly disappeared as they made their way to Narayanganj. The brilliance of the oranges, purples, reds, and blues, not missed by the singing creatures of the beach and rock cavities around. Seals now joined in on the retreat into night, heading off towards other secure grounds, and sea turtles approached to lay their eggs in the sandbars around. The tide sank slowly as the moon rose from beyond the horizon, bringing with it more breath-taking beauty and the end to another day.

  PLANET EARTH.

  AMERICA STATE.

  Doug could recall how tired he had been the night before; so very tired. He remembered how he had become concerned about the meeting in the morning and how he should get some sleep; and as he put his head down a little smile formed upon his mouth, the first pictures of a dream forming in his head. But that was last night, and today Doug was refreshed and walked with purpose, to the meeting that had been called. The Chambers of Peace sat in the Great Halls of the United Planets’ Council for Unity – Mildratawa – in the city of New York. The building was low set and spread over an area of 360,000 square metres. The Chambers of Peace were also known as Compos Mentis – of sound mind.

  Doug McIlwraith approached the entrance to the Chambers of Peace within the unique building of white; a building surrounded by columns of marble, each of which extended upwards to support many architecture’s dream of sculptured features. Calligraphic words of historical worth, and gargoyles as tall as Doug’s own physique and muscular build, adorned the building. Unmistaken by the two guards fatigued in palace dress, Doug approached with no pretence as to who he was. His chest was puffed out and shoulders pulled back, he walked without a hunch and his eyes remained ever fixed on his destination. He plainly saw both guards as they stood attentive either side of the great double door that gave way, firstly into the lounge, and then the forum of Compos Mentis, rifles slung over their left shoulders; but as with the soldiers his attention remained focussed – elsewhere. He’d not be caught staring them down by any means, even if he did find it difficult to acknowledge, with the most marginal of respect, a simple sentry. And as the ground between himself and the doors diminished he couldn’t help but notice that the arm flashes on each of the sentries on duty indicated, not only the rank of corporal, but more surprisingly, and without a doubt, that each was of his own regiment of old. But even more so, each wore medals of distinguished service. He’d served with these men, but still not a word was uttered; though a small smile of greeting did appear on his face of steel.

  The guards too watched his approach without making direct eye contact. They remembered clearly the great warrior and battalion leader, but remained quiet and said nothing of their reflections upon his outstanding abilities and leadership skills. The guards opened the tall doors as the 42-year-old walked up. He nodded politely to the men that once served in his battalion during outer planet exploration and walked unprepared into the conversing crowd beyond. The doors closed behind him. “Did you see that?” asked one soldier of the next.

  “Without a mistake; The Great McIlwraith.”

  The decibels created by the crowd were quite a shock. At least 120 delegates were present so far, of which there were more than a hundred from neighbouring planet systems. Most had a human appearance, for all planets of the Mildratawa had been colonised by man; few were ugly to the eye – due solely to parsec mutation. They stood in conversation and helped themselves to the buffet that had been prepared. Two long rows, tables overflowing with all delicacies, some very appetising to the earth palate, but with many distasteful and catering for those of other worlds. The array was astonishing and fragrances mostly exciting.

  Doug peered down at his watch and realised that it was nearly time for the move into the forum, seats with computer consoles set in a semicircle – an amphitheatre of tiers to look down upon the stage with good vantage for all provided. He was glad he’d taken time out for something more refreshing and simple to eat at the Café Début.

  Doug looked around, scanning the room, ignoring most he saw until his eyes came to rest upon a friend of his, a representative of Earth, Jools de Cane. His thick red hair was in need of a trim.

  Doug approached with a wide smile and extended both hands. They shook wildly with Jools slapping his friend on the shoulder. Jools shook his head in friendship. “Doug; how the hell are you, old friend? You look absolutely tremendous. You’ve obviously been working on that stomach of yours since we last bumped into each other.”

  “I couldn’t be better, couldn’t be better.” The friendly grip was released. He slapped his belly with an open palm in consideration. “I notice too that you could do with a good haircut. You’d not pass inspection in my battalion.”

  Jools’ right hand slipped up and over the waves of hair to which he was so fond, “Sorry pal, no one’s getting these curls.”

  But Doug was always quick to the point and was never stifled by small talk, and so he quickly cut to the chase, which was all that was required in any given situation. He managed a quick but kind smile, “So tell me, what’s this meeting all about? They’ve told me absolutely nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t have a clue, but it must be something serious; all nations are here; well, except the Basbi Triads. Apparently they’re involved in a civil war.”

  “Yes, I heard. I believe Bob Neil went as Earth’s delegate, a well-chosen man for a harsh climate.” Doug always had something nice to say about the more original of peacekeepers.

  “Yes indeed. So tell me, how’s Naomi?”

  Doug was being side-channelled into small talk again. “As beautiful as ever and still complaining about the rule of only one child per female. John turns six in another three weeks and our newest member, a genetically altered old English sheep dog, has just finished with pinching my slippers.”

  “Well, good on John, six you say. I wonder if—” The conversation was cut short as the loud speaker system broke into the thick atmosphere of chatter and friendship.

  “Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, but the Coordinator would like everyone to move in now. All the seating arrangements are as per previous meetings, and if this is your first then you will find a layout of the seating arrangements on the board to the entrance of Compos Mentis. The meeting will commence in ten minutes; thank you.” A slight crackle broke the now silent room, bringing an end to the broadcast.

  The crowd steadily commenced with the move in. “What were you about to say dear Jools?”

  “I was just about to ask if I had an invite to John’s birthday?”

  “You have at that, dear Jools, you have at that.” Doug turned towards the entrance. “Shall we?”

  “Indeed we shall; and by the way, you’re seated beside me. Just let me do the escorting this time.”

  Doug smiled at the comment. It was years before, many in fact: A Verton war upon the Mildratawa had taken a heavy toll. All populace, of all planetary systems, were hit hard due to the war machine that strangled its hold on all QEM-gates. It was at the QEM-gate fork between Irshstup, Verton and Equatia, that Jools’ expedition had been saved by Doug’s very own Battalion and escorted to the safety of planet Stia of quadrant three. It was here that a special friendship between warrior and poet had been forged.

  Every intelligent form of galactic life moved and sat at their designated points without fuss or confusion. The coordinator brought the Council into session on seeing everyone seated. “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen.” Silence again ruled the atmosphere. “We are here today on an errand of great importance.” The stature of the man in control was unmistakable; all understood the words that escaped his lips over speakers, and the importance of his job was only undermined by those – from nearby planets – who knew no better. The coordinator sat to the rear of the stage, upon the High chair facing the tiers, observing all. He spoke into a microphone. “My first guest speaker is one that many of you know, Decara Simbati from the planet Zirclon.”

  Silence remained abundant
as Decara approached the floor. The dais that he approached was set on a slight angle between the front most tier and the coordinator, in order for any speaker to view the High chair. Two such daises exist, one a mirror of the other. He looked up at the coordinator seated high in the chair, “Thank you, Mr Chairman, and good afternoon ladies and gentlemen.” He scratched his protruding cone-shaped chin, pulled some papers from his briefcase and laid these onto the angled top of the dais. Decara remained standing; no seating provided the guest speaker. The long brown animal-fur robe that he wore reached to the mosaic of floorboards, and was held in place by the skin of a Hallop snake, a venomous reptile from his homeland, a hand-crafted belt of a myriad colours; it gave Decara a look to be admired by all, being both elegant and stylish. “I have in front of me a Hansard, delivered to me from my chambers of intelligence on my home planet. It brings with it disturbing news. I’ll ask you now to refrain from asking any questions until I’ve completed my presentation.

  “Firstly I would like to explain that the reason for the papers being placed into my hands was not in any way done so in order to deceive, but as many of you know, the Zirclon people are somewhat afraid to become too trusting in the people of the Mildratawa. I on the other hand have great faith in the United Planets’ Council for Unity.” Decara could never forget how the years past had created much friction between the quadrants, for the Mildratawa failed to bring proper sanctions to bear upon the planet Verton some ten years before, for the war crimes they had been found guilty of: A failure to deal with the very fabric of criminology against humanity.

  “It is well known throughout the universe that my people are hard workers and that they live to work, this is why so many of them choose to work on the planet Earth. There is a place here on Earth known as Nicaragua. Work here has been found to be more than plentiful and has remained that way for many years now. But all good things must come to an end; in this case however… well, let me continue. This work has unfortunately already come to a stop and they seem to have reached their goal. This information comes to me via a spy whom was planted into this community on the request from the great Council itself. As we had over two thousand workers there, along with many thousands of others from different quadrants, it seemed plausible that he could go undetected amongst the many clusters of human life, whom were taken in by the ruler of the land due to lapse in complacency and lack of security. The information sought was gained.

  “There was great fear that the leader of Nicaragua – El Pasadora – was questing to build some type of force field; this force field was to be three hundred kilometres in diameter and one hundred and fifty kilometres in height. The penetration of such a field was originally unknown. The reason for building such a force field could not be explained, and as it did not go against any sanctions of the planet Earth, there was no reason to force upon him an injunction. He refused the entry of any officials and in his own words many months ago said, ‘quarantine must be stringent if my people are to live in peace and comfort’.”

  My spy has since brought to my attention something horrifying, which brings me now to my next point. I will now read to you the Hansard that I‘ve been handed, by this citizen of Zirclon, whose name will remain silent. It brings with it what we feared, and to most of you, something incomprehensible.”

  He read: “ ‘To the leader of my planet, Decara Simbati. I have found that for which I have been sent. This scum of Earth is of the worst kind. A field will soon be erected, one that can not be penetrated, not even with the best of weapons, nuclear or laser. Man will be disintegrated on passing through, weapons and aircraft will implode on contact. I have infiltrated the centre computer and found the reason for such a field. They wish to direct, by chemical bombardment, an array of missiles into the atmosphere—’ ”

  An outburst of anger and astonishment brought the brief to a temporary close, most of the interruption coming from the first quadrant – the officials of Earth, Erulstina and Glaucuna. The coordinator pounded his fist upon his high desk, “There will be abstinence of voice! Please!” and the murmurs of the forum soon came under control. “Gentlemen! Ladies! This is outrageous!” He took control of his now restless composure. “How can any business come to a conclusion if you insist on acting like wild animals?” his comparison being somewhat exaggerated but nevertheless, true. Outbreaks of this kind were very seldom seen amongst such high-ranking intelligent leaders of nations. “Please, those standing shall sit down, let us resume with the meeting.” He waited a short minute for complete silence. “My apologies, Decara; please continue.”

  “Thank you, Mr Chairman. Now where – ah yes. ‘This is possible through the field due to the roof of the dome and a control mechanism by which they possess. This mechanism controls but four thousand square metres of field, just enough to allow the deliverance of their life threatening cargo.

  “ ‘These weapons will destroy the ozone, and the earth as we know it will cease to exist within eighteen months. The process will be irreversible after the sixth month’.” The onlookers fidgeted with only murmurs of astonishment breaking once sealed lips.

  Decara continued to read. “ ‘It has been leaked to me that the six million lives within the field will remain unaffected. In due time they will be capable of interplanetary violence and in complete control of a new ozone for which only their scientists understand. My only wish now is to return, yours faithfully—’ and that gentlemen is all I have for you.” Decara returned his documents to the briefcase as he continued. “I cannot help with any questions not relating to what I have just read.” He looked around at the horror stricken faces. “I have no more information to give you. I will say one thing though. My people were released and returned back to Zirclon by one of the largest space buses ever seen, and where such was manufactured or purchased is unknown; so they do possess the means for extensive space travel. I thank you for your attentiveness.” No one questioned as Decara looked over the forum before returning to his seat.

  “Thank you for your presentation, Mr Decara Simbati.” The coordinator looked around at his audience. “I will now impose on General Carramar Good, for some important details.”

  The general approached the centre stage. He walked steadily with the aid of the cane that he clenched in his left hand, crippling affects inflicted via unpleasant injury, sustained during ground battle on the planet Verton ten years earlier – the bite of the infamous balai timit. His decorations rest in abundance down the left side of his uniform, along with the lanyard of unmistakable identity, fading of colour but maintaining its mystique and honour.

  He spoke: “Ladies, Gentlemen, I have a report which has been handed to me by our top scientist.” He placed his golden spectacles on, a gift from his last official combat division. He delved into his briefcase and opened the report. “It is completely feasible for all life to be sustained beneath the field. It has forests for oxygen, fields for crops, and Lake Nicaragua for fresh water supply: Which we believe is drawn from the ocean prior to desalination and the salt used by the citizens. Oxygen is thought to be trapped within the dome. It is also feasible that not even rain can penetrate the field from the side of the steep angled sphere.” He peered out over the top of his spectacles. “Life as we know it will cease.” Another murmur came over the forum. “The dome has been activated.” The onlookers erupted once again in shouts of panic and a mutual sudden-felt fear.

  A voice rose over the noise. “What do we do then, General?”

  All eyes were again upon Carramar. “My intelligence has revealed that there are a number of small underwater channels which flow from the Pacific Ocean and into Lake Nicaragua. I have at present informed a group of highly sophisticated soldiers to try and enter the dome via one of the largest channels known and to return with any information that they can gather. Are there any further questions?”

  “What do you suggest we do, General?” A voice from the crowd needed no more prompting.

  “Another meeting will be held in five days. Unti
l then I suggest you take the time to see the sights of New York; there is nothing more that can be done; but above all, please, try and relax yourselves as best as possible.” Another outburst erupted.

  The coordinator brought the onlookers to order. “Please, please, I know you are all filled with anxiety, but please, you know all that we do. Be patient and hold your ideas and thoughts, control yourselves. All matters between now and our next meeting will be taken care of in the usual manner. Please ensure that your paperwork is filled out correctly. All those visitors whom arrived late please report to the central counter in the main complex for allocation to rooms, and please, keep everything that you heard today as confidential as possible. The last thing we need is panic. I now declare the meeting closed. Good day to you all.”

  It now took time for the members of the Mildratawa to disperse, most lingering around to talk with their own kind, and those of neighbouring systems. So many avenues were open to counteract the threat, but would any one of these bring solace.

  Time slowly passed and the large amphitheatre doors were finally bolted shut as outside the sun sank behind the horizon and cloud filled the darkening sky.

  PLANET EARTH.

  MEXICO.

  The shipyards of Acapulco stood silent, far from the outcrying slums of the overcrowded city. A twenty-foot electric fence surrounded the entire yard. Large domes of solid steel housed all types of vessels, most of which belonged, firstly to the Mildratawa, but foremost, to the Navy. Here the shields of principle could be seen reflecting glints of light from the warming sun as it beat down without remorse, the temperature soaring. A cloudy haze grew thick along the horizon as far as the eye could see and the ground itself was scorching. A breeze at ground level was – for all practical purposes – non-existent, but higher up a prevailing wind was consistent and unyielding. The sky itself was mostly empty, free of cloud, fly and locust, though a single scrounger of the grasslands could be seen. It hovered effortlessly before swooping down to be amongst the surrounds of desert foliage. It whipped the air with its six-foot span, brown feathers on wings of fortitude, hunting for a meal in order to feed its young.