MILDRATAWA Page 3

  It came to rest upon the fence, looking around for the slightest movement of any prey, but the Red-hooded Scarlet-crested Eagle was soon disappointed. It peered up to look towards the domes of steel, his head twitching; a sound was heard. An electric charge shot through the fence. The bird let out a piercing squawk and took off into flight once more, feathers falling to rest upon the foot of the fence just as a little billow of dust rose up from the horizon, where the road of the establishment disappeared from view.

  The dust cloud grew in dimension but lingered, no wind to carry it away. It was then that a pair of eyes squinted for some type of clarification as to the identification of the convoy that approached. The lone marine stood guard at the main entrance of the gigantic compound of dwellings, each of the seven buildings behind him capable of holding an aircraft carrier. His eyes fell upon the structures occasionally, nothing else in sight worth noting, except a barren wasteland of tumbleweed. Secrets lay invisible within the cloak of darkness of the metal shelters, shelters that during the day kept the enormous doors open in order to prevent the stifling heat from building beyond the point of bearable. It was quite an efficient blind force field; cost nothing to run and protected the outer door openings from spy satellites grasping an inside view of the naval toys within. How ironic he thought, the brilliant brightness of day was concealing the interior in darkness.

  And then in the distance the cloud of dust appeared to drift ever so slightly, though not due to wind, but to the fact that the road had a little bend in it. The lone marine gathered a mental picture as to the speed of the vehicles that approached, two hover jeeps to be precise, which he had clarified before taking his post by way of the Duty Officer. The practically silent running machines were riding above the ground, only a whispering (clapping) sound evident, the magnetic pulses of energy from beneath each of the craft forcing a change upon the atoms, forming the invisible cushion of force upon which they flew. Each vehicle was seemingly suspended in motion, barely a quarter metre above the dirt track and looking as if gliding upon a cushion of air. They slowed now and came to a controlled stop. Dave Bennett, one of the squad leaders handed his papers to the guard on duty. The marine read the order. A camera on a corner post – with laser attached – pivoted and focussed on the activity. The minutest change to the guard’s personal magnetic polarity would bring death to all of the strangers; the guard’s very thoughts were a weapon here.

  The papers were handed back. “All is in order Commander.” He pointed to one of the seven buildings. “You’ll find Captain Hammond over there, inside the hangar.”

  “Thank you.” Dave nodded in appreciation to the quick acceptance of his credentials and the driver of his hover jeep drove off slowly.

  They were soon at the entrance of the hanger and entered with caution, for the gleaming sun made it impossible to see within, even from here, at the entrance to the gaping mass. The shadow of the entrance crept over the hover jeeps as they made their way inside, they themselves now safe from detection of any spy satellites high above. Their eyes slowly adjusted to the light, becoming accustomed to the change.

  A lone 420 metre long submarine came into view as the approaching vehicles slowed to a crawl.

  Six men could be seen in each of the hover jeeps as they drove closer to the conning tower of the largest submersible ever built. Captain Norm Hammond watched on as his guests floated in. They slowly came to a stop opposite the gangplank, the special force soldiers hiding well their impressiveness of that which stood before them. It usually took a lot to impress these guys, but this; it was an unbelievable sight.

  Captain Hammond removed his headdress and wiped the sweat from his thick brow. He peered down upon the men from the conning tower of his boat. “Up here gentlemen, please. We’re running slightly behind schedule; so if you don’t mind.”

  The drivers turned their machines off and the jeeps sank to meet the metal grill structure of the dock. All twelve men jumped out and grabbed their kit bags from under the bonnet of their transporters.

  Dave Bennett looked over to his second in command Mark Gordon. “Well bugger me, if it isn’t all true. I’ve heard a lot about this Captain Bly.” He let out a deep laugh of unconcerned guilt. “Not even a word of welcome.”

  “Yeah.” Mark grinned. “Let’s not tell him of our joyous stay at the casino.”

  They continued on, to meet the captain in person, the thick rail of rope along their right assisting in their short walk along the gangway to the deck of the boat. “And don’t forget to pay your compliments to the vessel on your way up!”

  “Holy shit.” Dave turned to face the others as he moved. “You heard him men, don’t forget to salute the bitch.” Another burst of laughter. “And watch your step; he may have shit on the bloody gangplank, just to teach you silly arseholes a lesson in what respect is all about.”

  Dave gave out with one of the best salutes he believed was possible as he set foot onto the monstrous hulk and continued on towards the ladder of the conning tower, atop which the captain of the vessel, set in a thick beard, waited impatiently. He climbed the iron rungs and stepped casually over the small rim of the conning tower. Face to face with Hammond he held his hand out; it was accepted. “Pleased to be aboard, Captain.”

  “I wish I could say the same about having you.” His sarcasm fell like a lead weight. He found that he’d never had much time for landlubbers. Never in his entire career had he ever come across a pleasant or intellectual conversation with a maritime-grunt. His only daughter’s divorce from one also made matters worse. It seemed as though a maritime-grunt’s job was more important than family life, and going on missions was all that existed in a soldier’s life.

  “Yes; well. This is a business trip, Captain, and not a pleasure cruise.” He turned to the remainder of the two squads, each appearing one at a time, each lifting himself from the top rung. “I’d like to introduce you to my men. My second in command, Mark Gordon.”

  Each shook hands as they passed. “Morning Captain.”.

  “The navigation whiz, Brian Brett. Communications, George Patel. Weapons, Anthony Deering, and Sean Hobbs, our medical expert.” Dave looked into Hammond’s eyes and lifted his right hand with an extended palm in introduction to the other squad commander. “I’ll allow John Younge here to introduce you to his team.”

  “Captain; pleased to be aboard.” John took a step to the side to allow the men past. “Second in command, Neil Henshaw.”

  “Ah, Neil Henshaw; I know that name, don’t I?”

  “You do, Captain. I used to work in the sonar room, before I put in for a transfer.”

  “And how do you enjoy your newly acquired job, Mr Henshaw?” Hammond referred to the title due to the fact that he used to be an officer with great expectations for further promotion; it was a stab of sarcasm meets I-told-you-so. Neil’s ideas on comfort however had changed after many years under the ocean. Confined to just a few yards of space – especially on the older vessels – with little room to move around in, gave absolutely no job satisfaction. He relinquished his rank without second thought and chose the corps of infantry as his new profession. Only after a vigorous selection course was he selected as a maritime marine – the grunt was a by-product of jealousy more than anything else, defining a front line soldier. The by-product was soon accepted, as too were the disciplinary requirements of the service.

  “Far better company actually, sir.” Hammond’s eyes stung with the slap of unexpected bitterness.

  John continued with his introduction, not allowing Hammond the time to respond. “Brad Smith, navigation. Marcus Jon, communications. Julius Moda, weapons and Nakatumi Jassat, medical.”

  “Nakatumi Jassat.” The captain’s brain ticked over in search for thought, looking the man in the eye, trying heaven and earth to identify the distinct colouration around the iris of his pupils – none was seen. “That wouldn’t be a name from the planet Irshstup would it?”

  “It certainly would be, sir.”

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nbsp; “That’s funny; you don’t look like you’re from Irshstup.” He had failed to identify the other features of an Irshstuptian in the man’s face.

  “My father married an earth woman soon after he acquired citizenship of the planet. Life on Irshstup wasn’t exactly comfortable for the freehearted. I hope that isn’t going to impose a problem, Captain?”

  “Of course not, Jassat. But whilst you’re on my boat I suggest that you keep it to yourself. Some of my men are from Basbi Triad. Been under my command long before the peace negotiations. They may be upset by your presence; you understand of course.”

  John Younge prodded back in defence of his team member. “I suggest that you show us to our rooms, Captain, and if there is going to be a problem, it won’t be from your crew’s end of the rotting stick.”

  “I hope that’s not supposed to be a threat, Commander.”

  “Certainly not. Shall we go?”

  “I’ll have my cabin master show you to your quarters, after which he’ll bring you all to my quarters for the evening meal; at say, seventeen hundred hours. Try not to be late this time.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Good day.”

  The squads were soon introduced to their two cabins. Both rooms were joined by way of a double door. The mere size of the vessel was enough to boggle the mind. In each of the cabins hung a directory. A large plan view to each of the three floors of the boat had been illustrated to great detail. The top most of the floors made up most of the common work-space aboard the boat, the second sleeping and recreational features; ablutions, dining area, briefing rooms; and the bottom most; cargo, engine, torpedoes and the like.

  The squads spent most of the afternoon unpacking gear, checking their smaller equipment, or simply resting. It wasn’t strange to find that no one had anything nice to say in respect to Hammond.

  John turned to one of the men. “What did you say the name of this vessel was, Neil?”

  “The Nemo, and don’t ask. All I know is that it’s supposed to represent something new; something not tried before.”

  “Well, I guess it’s better than the Minneapolis or Milwaukee. I’d certainly like to meet with the people who name these goddamn things.”

  Dave stuck his head in from the adjoining room. “You’re not being unpatriotic towards your country are you, John Boy?” He exhaled a single breath of laughter. “You’re supposed to lead by example, what do you think we’re all going to think of you now?”

  “You know me better than that, Dave. How on earth could a man of my calibre ever be rude and crude towards the country I love?” He showed off his biceps, looking down at both. “I’m a living legend; a Mandingo.”

  “You mean that there is actually something in this life that you love?”

  “Sorry, wrong choice of words.” Laughter erupted once again.

  Jassat sat, shaking his head in shame. “Thank God the walls don’t have ears.”

  “And what if they did, you silly Irshstuptian?” John couldn’t help himself. A little name-calling was apparently good for the soul and never went too far. They both looked after their men as if they were their own brothers, and in some strange sense they were.

  “I went to Irshstup once, three years ago; just before joining the corps. It’s a lot different than Earth, in many ways. On Irshstup you never get jokes, everything is so serious; my father left because of the problems they were having on the planet. It was just before they made galactic peace with Basbi Triad. Now of course you can see that Basbi Triad has its own problems with civil war. Our planet Earth is heading the same way, along the great path of self-destruction – once again. The want for power and the name of absolute ruler is growing strong – but once again. That could never happen on Irshstup. I’m sure you’re all aware of their interplanetary police. Robots rule the skies and the surface. Anyone caught out on the streets after nightfall is immediately disintegrated. I think we should have the same here – don’t you?”

  “We’re all sorry, Jassat.” Dave motioned a glass of Russian vodka towards him. “We’re all aware though, that the quadrants of the galaxy need a good span of relenting peace.”

  “No; thank you.” The glass was withdrawn from offer. A knock on the door wasn’t too soon. Neil went to answer the well-timed interruption.

  The smartly groomed cabin master stood at the doorway. “Good afternoon, Commander.” He looked Dave Bennett in the eye, understanding as all did that although he wore the same rank as John Younge, that Dave had overall command. “The captain asked if you would like my assistance in showing you to his quarters for the evening meal?”

  “Yes, of course. Would you give us a minute please?”

  “Certainly.” The door was gently pushed closed.

  “Okay men, let’s get something straight before we impose on the captain’s invitation and company. Let’s have no arguments. As you well know, at this stage he’s aware of absolutely nothing of our mission parameters. He has been given coordinates and has allowed our larger equipment to be stowed on board without any fuss. Unless common sense warrants, allow myself or John Boy to answer all queries.” He realised that none of the speech was necessary, but assurance was always welcome; after all, they had been working together now for over two years. “Shall we go?” The silent answer was acknowledged. He opened the door to the waiting figure of the cabin master. “After you, please.”

  “This way.” The cabin master led the squads through the thin passageways of the Nemo to the captain’s quarters.

  They followed without a word. The walk was short. Dave entered the beautifully furnished room first. They shuffled in and sat down at a large dining table. There was certainly no boast as to the way that Hammond lived his life. Comfort was a capital word. For the second time in one day the marines had become impressed, but wisely enough hid this from the man at the head of the table.

  Dave was first to break the silence. “You certainly know how to live in comfort, Captain. This is a well decorated room you have, and may I say that the ship itself isn’t without its surprises.”

  “Your compliments have been noted, Commander Bennett, and it is a boat; not a ship. The government went to great expense on the Nemo. It’s not only the largest submarine in the world, but also the fastest. It’s capable of reaching depths never heard of before and has the best trained crew anyone could ask. No, Commander; no other vessel in the world can match her in performance. Let’s not go on though with unimportant matters. There’s more than enough time to become acquainted with her at a later date. Anyway, I suggest that before we get down to any business details that we enjoy the menu that my personal chef has prepared.”

  “An excellent idea, Captain, we’re all very hungry and look forward to the evening.”

  PLANET EARTH.

  TIBET.

  Brother Anthony knocked lightly on the huge oak doors to the chambers of the Scroll Master. The Scroll Master sat erect on a two hundred year old throne, legs crossed and with the wrists of each arm resting lightly on his knee joints, his index fingers pressed ever so lightly against his thumbs. He was wide eyed and in deep thought, his inner self letting itself go to the thoughts that rest on the far side of the entrance to his living quarters.

  A metre wide strip of green carpet lay out to his front; from the great door, up towards, and climbing the few steps to his throne. Candle stick holders stood at varying heights along the entirety of the worn carpet and in each of these stood a candle of plain simplicity, flames leaping up from the burning white waxes, shadows caressing the walls, ceiling and floor.

  He spoke with soft words, knowing that they wouldn’t carry themselves through the thickness of the hand carved doors. “Enter Brother Anthony.” The doors creaked open instantly. ‘Good, he is meditating freely.’

  The monk bowed his greetings to his master as he came to view and closed the great doors behind him. “Please; come closer and stand before me. There seems to be some important issues which have to be cleared up,” the master said.


  Anthony moved forward, slowly, without breaking his gentle steps, head half bowed. He stopped just short of his master, fingers interlocked.

  “Please, look up, my son. I wish to speak eye to eye. After all, you are one of my finest monks here in Ulugh Muz Tagh.” Anthony knew not to speak without first being spoken to. “You know why you are here, Anthony. I cannot say that I am at all pleased with your constant visits to Dacca. They do take so long.The months of liberty that you take should be better spent. There is so much more important work that needs to be carried out here.”

  “You are wise, Master, and you are more than correct, but—” He paused to correct himself from speaking.

  “You may speak your mind, Anthony. I will let you know when you have said too much.”

  “Yes, Master. I see your other one hundred disciples hard at work on the Scrolls and this is good. I can not help but think that I could be doing more good on top of that already being carried out. The Scrolls will be completed within twelve months if we continue at this rate, even sooner if the brothers were to increase their efforts. I see the need for a united world and galaxy. It is not beyond your knowledge to understand that I have mastered what I believe to be a more beneficial method of meditation. My thoughts are at one with creatures that possess a higher realm of maturity and intelligence than that of man. I can not see this as wasteful or wrong, Master.”

  “You are quite correct and free to think as you do, my son. It is not wasteful, but should be pursued after our task is completed.” The Scroll Master was preparing to say something. Anthony’s thoughts saw a lingering comment that would not be pleasing to the ear. “You must see things in the same light as myself and your brothers. We all have our ideas on pursuit for peace.” More prolonged silence. The great master was in deep thought. “This is the third time I have had to call you back, Anthony. I can not permit this to go on. My wish is that you should go back to work on the Great Scrolls of Prehistory. This is our task and has been for more than two centuries now. I forbid you to leave the confines of this monastery again, without first gaining approval. If you are seen to leave these great walls then you will never return. This is not my wish, but the law of the Tibetan monk. Do you understand the law young monk?”