Warblegrub and the Forbidden Planet (16 page)

*

The sunlight was blinding but when he shaded his eyes, 395 almost passed out. All that separated him from the beach hundreds of metres below was a thin wire mesh. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs that zigzagged up the cliff face, on the platform he had pointed out to Private 2116. The view through the mesh was dizzying enough but the structure was alarmingly rusty and the whole staircase was shaking with the Colonel’s footsteps. A seagull whipped past and soared away into the sky. Looking up, all 395 could see was the next flight of rusty stairs, a few metres of dark stone cliff and a cloudless patch of blue. Heart pounding, he began to climb.

The steps were as steep as those inside the mountain and by the time 395 made it to the first landing, the Colonel had reached a rock ledge several flights above. Summoning his last reserves of strength, 395 followed, but on the next section the rattling and shaking grew even worse. He had almost reached the safety of the ledge above when there was a loud crack and the staircase dropped a metre or so, yanked its bolts from the cliff, and fell.

Chapter Sixteen

Sitting bound and gagged in the corner of a cramped storeroom, held captive under Peter’s supervision, Privates 2116 and 1642 watched anxiously as Warblegrub’s expression changed. He appeared to be suffering a stomach cramp, his features screwing up tighter and tighter until a look of relief appeared on his face and several bullets fell from under his coat.

He glared at the captives. “They hurt, you know!”

The captives looked down at their feet.

“Don’t you realise I’m trying to save you?” He turned to Peter in disgust. “I don’t suppose they’ve repented, have they?”

Peter shook his head, wincing as he did so.

Warblegrub examined the ribs he had broken in the sunken city. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he apologized.

“You can’t break a soldier’s loyalty so easily,” Peter warned, wincing again as Warblegrub prodded him in the ribs. “Our oaths bind us and we are trained not to question orders.”

Warblegrub snorted. “That’s exactly the kind of nonsense that has made your species pariahs across the Universe! Right is right, wrong is wrong, and no oath can change that!”

He gave the ribs another experimental prod, grunted with satisfaction when the patient winced again then placed a hand on the bruised area. Almost immediately, Peter felt a warm sensation that intensified around the broken ribs.

“It feels better already!” he exclaimed when the healing hands were removed.

“Just be as careful with them as you can.” Warblegrub advised then looked the captives over and frowned. “We’ll have to take them with us.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to try and rescue some more of your friends…whether they like it or not!”

Warblegrub and Peter untied the prisoners and drove them back through the bell-shaped chamber, up the ladder and into the topmost tunnels, where they were left once more, bound and gagged. When Warblegrub could see the light of the company’s torches, they stopped and he began to concentrate intently. His skin blushed and bruised, then he slowly blended with the shadows until even his clothing became invisible.

Peter was astonished. “How on Earth did you do that?”

“I tell your brain it can’t see me,” said Warblegrub’s disembodied voice.

“How can you tell my brain it can’t see you?”

“I’m very persuasive.”

“But how?”

“Most of the time, you humans haven’t got a clue what your brains are really doing,” Warblegrub explained. “Tricking you is much easier than actually becoming invisible.”

“But I know you’re there!”

“
You
are particularly susceptible to persuasion.” And with that he was gone.

When the soft padding of his footsteps had died away, Peter made contact with the company on the com-link. As he approached, he raised his hands as ordered, and while submitting to Private 312’s inspection, glanced round in vain for any sign of Warblegrub.

Satisfied he was the genuine article, 312 lowered her weapon. “What happened to you?”

“I was rescued,” said Peter, lowering his hands. “Where are the Colonel and the Sergeant?”

“The Colonel’s gone to send the signal,” 207 replied. “I’m Sergeant now, and what do you mean, you were rescued?”

“Where’s Sergeant 236?”

The others glanced round but she was nowhere to be seen.

“She must’ve gone after the Colonel,” said 312.

Peter started towards the door but 207 blocked his way. “Our orders are to hold the enemy here!”

Peter loosened his sidearm in its holster. “I’m countermanding that order!”

207 raised the Redeemer but Warblegrub appeared beside him and tore the weapon from his hands. Then shots rang out from several guns almost simultaneously: Private 941 shot Warblegrub, to no effect, and was in turn shot by Peter. Then Peter went down, shot in the back by Private 312. Swinging the Redeemer in a wide arc, Warblegrub stunned 312 with a blow to her helmet, and Private 856 jabbed his gun into 207’s back and ordered him to relinquish his sidearm.

Kneeling beside Peter, Warblegrub examined the smoking hole in his body armour. As he probed the wound, Peter screamed in pain and 207, who had yet to hand over his sidearm, deftly spun the gun on his forefinger and shot the distracted 856, killing him instantly. Springing up, Warblegrub turned on 207, whose last sight was of a creature that bore a striking resemblance to Fardelbear, its jaws opening wide. Backing away, the others watched in horror and amazement as the Warblegrub-monster returned to normal – almost. He wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth on his sleeve, flashed them an apologetic grin then knelt beside 856.

When he found no pulse, Warblegrub returned to the barely conscious Peter and tended his wound. Once he had drawn the bullet out, stemmed the flow of blood and closed the wound by laying on his hands, he turned to Private 312, cowering against the tunnel wall.

“Keep him warm!” he ordered

Too terrified to speak, she nodded.

“You’ll find two more of your friends back down the tunnel – untie them and all of you get as far away from here as you can, to the furthest tip of the island!”

She nodded again.

His eyes blazed with fire. “Disobey,” he growled, and she saw the monster again, “and you will suffer a fate far worse than your Sergeant!”

*

Within very few moves black and white were locking horns, and pawns and royal pieces merged into a confused mêlée. First to fall was an unguarded white pawn. Kali touched her queen and it turned into a miniature Fardelbear, who bounded forward and tore the pawn – now a soldier in familiar helmet and jumpsuit – into pieces. His prey devoured, Fardelbear belched loudly then turned back into a queen. Trying to put the image from her mind, Alex considered her response.

Kali’s move had been the first stage in a dangerous attack, threatening her knight and her castle (the Science Officer and Private 585). Alex was forced to save the castle and Fardelbear bounded forward again and dispatched the screaming Science Officer.

“There’s harmony in death, don’t you think?” said Kali. “When the cobra strikes or the falcon dives, the world turns – their prey dies so they and their young live.”

The violence on the board and the talk of death was hardly helping her concentration but even though she was more terrified than she had ever been before, Alex had played enough chess to know that if she simply responded to her opponent’s moves she would lose. Moving her second castle (Private 207) right down the flank, she checked Kali’s king.

Kali was surprised and seemed impressed. “Of course,” she continued, barely missing a beat, “all creatures are pawns to me.”

“Even Shmi?”

Kali nodded.

“What about Warblegrub?”

Realising who she must mean, Kali smiled. “Even he!”

“Are you
Death?
” Alex’s voice quavered.

Kali shook her head and the skeleton earrings danced a horrible jig. “I have many faces,” she said and looked down at the chessboard. “Death is but one of them.”

“Will you kill me if I lose?”

“No.” Kali glanced up from under her matted fringe. “But I might just kill you on a whim.”

Alex studied the chessboard intently and Kali laughed.

“Now I know why he misses you!” she chuckled.

“He?”

“The Preserver – the one you know as Warblegrub.”

“The Preserver,”
repeated Alex, liking the sound. Then she wondered about Fardelbear. “And your husband, what’s he called?”

“He’s the Destroyer.”

“Sounds about right!”

“Between them they hold the balance,” said Kali.

“Balance?”

She rolled her eyes. “Everything that exists must be in balance,” she explained. “Living and dying, coming and going, taking and giving back; it’s how Life is maintained, and why you humans are such a damn nuisance!”

“So why does he miss us?”

“You make him laugh.” She moved a knight to protect the king then moved her Queen to attack.

“You can’t take two moves!” Alex protested.

“Who’s going to stop me?” Kali asked, genuinely surprised.

*

The sound of the stairs crashing on the beach far below echoed round the bay and the gulls driven from their ledges screeched wildly. 395 fought the urge to look down and wedged his toes into a crack in the rock. Letting go of the ledge with one hand, he let his cumbersome rifle fall, ran his hand along until he found a better hold then clung there, trying to steady his racing heart. But his strength was failing. He reached for the next ledge and felt desperately for purchase. Then a hand grabbed his forearm and he was hauled onto a shelf covered in guano, broken egg shells and empty nests.

The Colonel was off again before 395 could catch his breath. With his back to the cliff wall, he edged along as quickly as he was able and was relieved to find the next flight of stairs more securely fixed. Driven by the rush of adrenalin from his brush with death, he soon caught up with the Colonel. At the top of the stairs they entered a rocky gully, which climbed steeply to the summit. As they turned a bend, they looked up to see the enormous deep-space transmitter looming over them, pointing towards the sky like an upturned umbrella, the wind moaning through its rusty frame.

While the Colonel widened a breach in the wire fence surrounding the compound, 395 admired the view. Shading his eyes, he looked round at the archipelago of emerald islands, imagining himself living in a little shack on the edge of golden sands, catching fish and combing the beach, then he noticed that the smoke rising from the volcano was thicker and darker. Furthermore, there was an ominous-looking bank of cloud on the horizon.

“Come on!” urged the Colonel from the other side of the fence.

“Transmitter’s intact,” observed 395, as they jogged towards a little cluster of concrete buildings beneath the huge dish.

“Sturdy!” the Colonel agreed.

“Fifty years up here without a maintenance crew – it would have to be!”

At the door of the nearest building, 395 stopped and rummaged in his pack. “The dish’ll be rusted stiff,” he said, handing the Colonel a tube of gel, “but this stuff’ll move it. While you do that, I’ll enslave the operating system, program the co-ordinates and Bob’s your uncle!”

The Colonel was perplexed. “Who’s Bob?”

“Just an old expression, Sir.” 395 offered the Colonel a salute.

The Colonel studied the tube in his hands and frowned. “Seriously!”

“It’ll work,” 395 assured him and the Colonel returned the salute.

As he watched him climb the superstructure cradling the dish, 395 realised they were on the verge of completing the mission and his heart began to race again. Hurrying inside the building, he found banks of antique-looking consoles, computer screens and stools around the walls. He removed his helmet, retrieved a power pack and a variety of adaptors from his pack and selected the appropriate devices. Enslaving the transmitter proved as easy as he had predicted and when it was fully under 395’s control, he detached the com-link from the rim of his helmet, placed it on the console and opened up a channel to the Colonel.