MILDRATAWA Read online

  “So you left?”

  “I did, but not before meeting the monk I told you about. Five days before departing he was sent to encourage me into keeping my vows, although as a lay disciple I was entitled to have my old life back with very little fuss or badgering. He taught me a lot, even how to meditate with more feeling, a little different to what the others had taught. During those five days I questioned him on the new method of meditation to which he was seeking. He refused to say anything except that he had almost reached the pinnacle to that which he was trying to achieve. It was said that he would be able to communicate with other intelligent life forms; be able to feel their innermost being.

  “Two years ago, whilst in Dacca and working for the council, I met with some monks who claimed that he had succeeded. That’s about it really.”

  “And what of the Scrolls?”

  “They should be near completion now. Whatever that holds is anyone’s guess. Ninety percent of the world has never heard of them, another nine point nine percent believe they’re nothing more than simple words scribed on coarse paper; no different than the Dead Sea Chests really, except they were a fraud seen from a hundred metres. At least these Great Scrolls of Prehistory have some proof in their text.”

  “But you saw them.”

  “A most magnificent library indeed. The size of such a text is unbelievable.” Doug looked down at his half-empty glass and back to his friend. “I still have a lot of appreciation for those philosophers of the world. That’s all they are really. But I’m certainly of that small percentage which considers the Scrolls as original and true.”

  “You know, I think I’m just about ready for another. All of this listening has made me thirsty. How about you get your holy backside up to the bar.”

  “A top suggestion, top suggestion.”

  PLANET BASBI TRIAD.

  PLANET SURFACE

  The planet Basbi Triad was a unique planet, although a comparison to the satellite of Earth could be seen. The moon only ever showed one side of its surface to the earth; Basbi Triad only ever showed one face towards its heavenly bright star Quaker. The bright side of the planet had a consistent temperature of 45 degrees, the dark side a constant minus 65.

  The two landscapes could easily be depicted from this. The Brightside had moving mounds of sand; a varying sea that moved ever so slowly; a permanent map of this region was out of the question – Cities and towns being simple coordinates on a map’s surface. Sandstorms would pick themselves up, as though delivered from the core of the planet itself. Freakish winds were capable of blistering a man’s skin to mutation and consequential, brutal death.

  One of the harshest of death penalties for crimes committed against the House of Suudeem, the centre of all commune, and, the centre of the Brightside, was to be tied to a stake 40 metres above the sand’s level – zero metres – on the plains of Wuarra. Here the worst of storms would come, the most vigorous and most frequent. The sands would come, thrashing particles of death, digging deep into the flesh of the convicted. If it was a fast moving storm then the guilty could be thankful for a quick death; a slow moving storm could take hours to kill, usually with the victim falling unconscious before his skin was pelted from his flesh. There was no pity for such a villain, and only the worst of characters were given such punishment.

  Buildings were built of this world’s strongest stone, and walls of phenomenal height surrounded cities and towns. Dwellings far from the centre of any city – and small villages – were built on platforms, the platforms themselves anchored by adjustable legs so as to prevent any one dwelling from drowning in the sand of the ever-changing dunes.

  The Darkside had its problems too. Blizzards were frequent and just as harsh, with cultivation and farming becoming impossible. Mountains of rock were strewn out as far as the eye could see, and amongst these could be spotted large fortresses of fortitude. The fortresses – a brilliant spectacle to any newcomer if the planet’s moon should happen to be out – stood out in flamboyant serenity and abundance along the great ridges of rock; all of which were occupied.

  Little life was ever seen outside, being or beast. The only sign of intelligent life was that of the Parene, floating security spheres of metallic black. Their patterns of patrol along the snow-bound lands were dictated by the on-board computer link with the main garrison, a stronghold of one thousand men, who waited patiently to be called to duty. A Parene sphere would go to automotive control on sensing intruders and each had the ability to destroy any large spaceship that trespass the border between atmosphere and space.

  The equerry to House of Suudeem was Brigadier Muat Shrinpooh, who once had a strong relationship with the head of the House of Suudeem – a man called Muutampai. Muat became estranged to his people of the Brightside and known as Prince Muat Shrinpooh – a self appointed title of rank. He had received such alienation by threatening the very existence of the House of Suudeem, before fleeing to the Darkside Basbi Triad.

  The people of the Darkside Basbi Triad, two years earlier, had insisted that they have more representation in the House of Suudeem. The House consisted of 45 seats, 39 of which were controlled by the Brightside. They didn’t receive the representation, so civil war had broken out, slowly accelerating into a curdling blood bath of revenge built upon revenge.

  A well kept secret was the war; kept from the remainder of the galaxy, no single quadrant growing wise to the goings on. To hide such ravages a plague was invented. All that the outside knew was that the planet was under quarantine, but the Mildratawa soon saw beyond the veil of self-imposed restrictions.

  The resources of the planet Basbi Triad were equally spread. The Brightside controlled the minerals and the Darkside had access to all of the planet’s fuels and gases. Interplanetary travel was impossible unless both the Bright and the Dark could come to an agreement and combine all mined minerals and fuels from beneath the planet’s surface.

  It was on the surface where the raging battle was fought, in the midst of the never changing dusk and dawn. Only on lucky occasion were the Darkside capable of penetrating deep into the Brightside’s borders, over the Twilight Zone. As the temperature rose during the move from night into day so did their thirst for water.

  Troops from the Darkside would shed their clothing faster than they could advance when a break in the defences of the Brightside was secured. Thousands upon thousands of Darkside warriors would leave a trail of clothes behind them as they penetrated the warming regions of the Brightside. Their machinery, aircraft and other battle vehicles were most impressive but incapable of operating in both of the extreme temperatures, the Darkside had fallen short of producing a fuel capable of operating in both hot and cold climates.

  The Brightside had to counter every assault by foot, their vehicles of destruction incapable of consuming minerals for operation. But the forces of the Brightside were accustomed to the heat, and counter attack was their most favourite of pastimes. It wasn’t hard to understand how a stalemate had existed for so long. Something had to be done.

  PLANET EARTH.

  SPACE.

  On board the wedge-shaped spaceship Ziggurat, sat a pasha to the soon to be Emperor El Pasadora. If all went well then El Pasadora would become a controlling power in the galaxy. The Ziggurat was waiting for a message from the domed enclosure over Nicaragua, a message from El Pasadora himself. It sat motionless in space, undetected by radar system of Earth or neighbouring quadrant, the cloaking device of the ship rendering it invisible.

  The pasha was known as Pasnadinko, he was captain of the ship and a very harsh man who saw no limits to his capabilities.

  “Communications,” he yelled and turned to face the man who sat patiently at the keyboard of flickering lights. The deep cuts in Pasnadinko’s skin showed him to be an aging relic of war and a veteran of numerous battles. He never took anything lightly. The deep frowning brows and clenched fists showed the built up aggravation, aggravation and hatred towards anything, and anyone, that was – or believe
d in – the Mildratawa. He had the deepest of thoughts on waging war and the wiliness to conquer any land, no matter how strong or strange. To conquer and wipe out until all that remained were a few parasites for which to clean up the stinking corpses of the estranged enemy that he would tear from limb to limb. No-matter which planet they came from.

  “Yes, sir.” The communicator maintained his vigil on the screens to his front, fingers poised over the keyboard in preparation for the commands he was going to receive from Pasnadinko.

  “Prepare for the incoming message, twenty seconds communicator.” Pasnadinko thought to himself: ‘At last. The message I’ve been waiting for, a command to provoke, to kill anything, all things foreign. All likeness of life will soon be in my palm. Shall I do more than I am willed?’

  “Yes, sir.” The communicator knew what he had to do.

  The cloaking device had to be de-activated to receive the inbound code. Pasnadinko placed his hands behind his back as he paced the floor. ‘If all goes to plan then I shouldn’t have to be exposed for any more than fifteen seconds.’ “Ten seconds communicator. Five, four, three, two, one, activate code-net comm, deploy sound-wave ten.”

  “Code-net comm activated and sound-wave ten deployed, sir.”

  Sound-wave ten fragmented out to the sides of the Ziggurat in all directions; electromagnetic impulses of sound sent to confuse any image seeking satellite or spy craft; to conceal the ship whilst decloaked and vulnerable, defenceless beyond thought. This was the condition the Ziggurat had to be placed into in order to receive any inbound message.

  Code-net comm, was the systematic evaluation and decoding of this inbound pulse gun message. The ship’s antenna was poised, waiting to catch the scrambled code for immediate decipher. All of this was the communicator’s responsibility and carried out at Pasnadinko’s request.

  The pasha waited as patiently as possible, counting the seconds as they passed, fingers still intertwined behind his back as the time slowly ticked away.

  The schedule on Earth was also a timely affair. All was maintained though and the main control centre in Nicaragua became quiet. Forty men and women sat at different instrument panels in readiness to deliver the coded message to the Ziggurat.

  A voice broke over the speaker system, a high official to El Pasadora. “Ready for firing of pulse-gun code in fifteen seconds. Prepare to deactivate dome surface on my command.”

  Silence fell again and fingers readied themselves upon the keyboards, on the Ziggurat and on the surface of the planet Earth, in space and beneath the dome that shielded Nicaragua.

  “Deactivate; now, fire pulse-gun code. Five, four, three, two, one, reactivate.” A two metre square portion of dome – specifically designed for communication purposes only – had been opened to the outside galaxy and then resealed. Only seconds had ticked by. The pulse-gun had fired its shot through the deactivated shield and a relay back to the main control centre informed them of its success. “Pulse-gun successful and received.”

  Back on the Ziggurat the communicator turned with a smile. “Message decoded and ready, sir.”

  The pasha, on the other hand, never smiled, and even now with the news he was expecting he still didn’t allow the cold barrier of his stare down. “Link up to the ship’s COM and broadcast the message communicator.”

  The communicator flicked a switch. “All hands, all hands; incoming message.” The computer set to work and transformed the gibberish pulses of code: “To the crew of the Ziggurat. Well done. Your work to date has impressed the soon to be Emperor El Pasadora. The following mission orders are vital to our success in controlling the galaxy as we know it. You are to proceed to Basbi Triad where our allies the Darkside await our assistance. On entering the space zone you are to bombard, by ion canon, and put to waste the House of Suudeem. Your second target is Sector Three on the east front; Brightside’s defences only. From there the Darkside will crush the enemy and take control of the Brightside’s minerals. Thanks to your efforts on the previous mission the Darkside now have the fuel to deal with the extreme temperatures on the planet’s surface. Ensure your bombardment is accurate. Keep communications open with the allies and monitor everything. Once the success signal has been sent you will report to Prince Shrinpooh on the Darkside and have him executed. Make it look like the work of Muutampai’s First Regiment, the Reingistassi. Once this has been done you will take control of the Darkside’s main fortress. Ionise all remaining sights within the Brightside that harbour enemy forces. Journey to the Brightside and excrete all minerals possible and ready them for evacuation. Report to me in ten days. Your success will be written in history.”

  “End of message, sir.”

  “Good. Navigator, turn one eighty, go to parsec twenty by point two, heading 1, 1, 9, 3, 0, 4. Deactivate cloak and reactivate on arrival. Questions?”

  “None, sir.” The navigator went immediately to work. The space where the Ziggurat had been now glittered a tinge of red. The colour began to fold within itself before finally dissipating to a black mass of invisible space.

  PLANET BASBI TRIAD.

  BRIGHTSIDE.

  Bob Neil sat with the representatives of the House of Suudeem. The on-going fight to bring peace to Basbi Triad was a never-ending saga of great importance.

  The dilemma was that no one side was right or wrong, although it was those of the Darkside who had initiated the war by provoking hostilities against those of the Bright. The six seats originally held by the Darkside’s determined people were now held by other members; those of the Mildratawa; Earth, Zirclon, Glaucuna, Erulstina, Equatia and Verton – four of which belonged to the same sector of space.

  It was the equerry Muat Shrinpooh whom had started the hostilities. A conflict of political importance, for the Darkside – with its climatic conditioning – had little to offer its people. Little work existed – except for the mining of fuels and gases. But it was the exportation and main use of these materials that was of such importance. Why was no recognition given to the Darkside? Why was it that they were so poor?

  Little representation in the House of Suudeem basically meant little chance of wealth and stability. Wealth was important; it meant space travel; the power to go anywhere in the galaxy. Shrinpooh didn’t mix words. It simply wasn’t right.

  A lack of representation meant a bias towards them. An unfair justice system by which they disliked and just couldn’t allow. Taxes on the Darkside were forced upon the people; taxes of such large amounts that living was no longer an enjoyment.

  They cut back on the mining and excreting of all fuels and gases that used to be taken from their land for exportation from the Brightside’s spaceports. The fuels were now put to good use, for the more important standards of living, such as warmth and the running of machines that turned snow into potable water.

  The House of Suudeem disliked this greatly. They had lost so much financial stability through the lack of exports, money that was needed. The Brightside had said that it would import a cheaper fuel for the use in the Darkside’s machinery – a fuel incapable however of running any type of military vehicle – for a price, a price that would give little relief to the taxes imposed. If Basbi Triad wanted to become a planet of power, and a bargaining tool for the much needed medical supplies that were only assessable through other planet systems, then the development of the Communist regime must take precedence and be successful in all arenas.

  It wasn’t surprising then to see why Brigadier Shrinpooh had declared himself the head of a new governing power, and with the title to match – that of Prince Muat Shrinpooh.

  The hostilities had begun.

  The House of Suudeem now stood in conference, the representatives of other concerned quadrants to the Mildratawa present. Each had their own ideas for the containment of peace, except the Vertons. Verton’s representation gave them exclusive rights to produce mineral ore from the planet’s surface – if peace reigned. This was a verbal agreement and nothing more.

  The Equation sto
od and addressed the floor: “Once again I remind the council that my absence over the next few weeks is indeed unfortunate, but also unavoidable. The Federation of my quadrant requires my political presence for such rising matters of concern. I don’t wish to sound degrading towards neither the House of Suudeem, nor the people of Basbi triad, but our meeting here has gone on for far too long. No idea seems to be correct; no actions towards peace have been successful. I will not be a hindrance during my absence, this I know as fact. I shall return in a few weeks.” He stepped from his seat and bowed twice to the floor before retiring. Silence fell as he departed.

  The Verton stood. “Why should the burden of peace be on us alone. This is a Mildratawa project?”

  The main head to House of Suudeem stood. “We have all been here for two weeks now, and it would appear, have tried everything possible to bring peace. We originally kept our troubles from neighbouring powers and the Mildratawa because we were somewhat embarrassed by our predicament. The burden of peace doesn’t necessarily have to fall into the hands of the Mildratawa. As all representatives here at the moment arrived on their own accord it is feasible to suggest that they care for our needs and wish to help in every way possible.

  “The Equatian has an important meeting to attend. If you wish to leave as he has then that is up to you. His honour is not at stake. His presence at such a critical time will be surely missed but shouldn’t affect our judgements as such. If he says he will return

  then I believe that he will. All we can do is continue with our work.

  “Now, we have a rendezvous with some of my planet scientists in Sector Eleven, to the west. They have apparently come across a combination of chemicals that could put a stop to the war. We’ll take the normal precaution and travel in separate space buses. The drivers have been given coordinates and await us at this very minute.” He lifted his right hand and waved it gently across his body towards the door, holding it there. “Shall we go, gentlemen?”