Warblegrub and the Forbidden Planet Page 2

  The Colonel returned the salutes then directed their attention to the ship’s undercarriage.

  “Dear God,” groaned 395, “the long range transmitter’s under there!”

  The Sergeant looked horrified. “We won’t be able to contact the fleet, will we?”

  The Chief Engineer needed only a brief inspection. “No chance of taking off again,” he said grimly.

  “What are our options?” asked the Colonel, turning to 395.

  They waited impatiently while he considered the possibilities. “The Deep Space Com-Net should still be standing,” he concluded.

  “The what?”

  “The Deep Space Communication Network,” explained 395. “Part of the Planetary Defence Net.”

  The Colonel looked doubtful. “After fifty years?”

  395 nodded confidently. “The equipment’s kept in concrete bunkers, the transmitters are designed to withstand anything short of a nuclear attack and we can provide the power.”

  “You’ll be able to link up with it?” asked the Sergeant.

  “Our systems and programs are still compatible.”

  “And that’ll do the job?”

  “Any transmitter capable of deep-space signalling will do,” said 395. “As long as I can establish a channel to the fleet, I can guide them through hyperspace.”

  Alarmed by the mention of signals and fleets, Warblegrub stirred uneasily, attracting 395’s attention.

  “Apparently he’s a gardener,” said the Colonel.

  “A gardener!” 395 was intrigued. “May I question him?”

  “Check the maps first; find the nearest deep-space transmitter.”

  395 retrieved a tablet from his backpack and sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. Peering over his shoulder, Warblegrub saw a bird’s eye view of the highlands around them.

  From their current position, between two ridges of a star-shaped mountain, 395 scrolled south. The earthy colours of the highlands turned steadily greener until they came to the vast, dark labyrinth stretching along the coast.

  “It’s immense!” the Sergeant gasped. “How many people lived there?”

  “A few million maybe,” guessed 395.

  The Sergeant whistled. “More than are left alive in the whole Universe!”

  “There were cities bigger than this one….” 395 began.

  “Just locate the transmitters!” the Colonel interrupted impatiently.

  395 hurriedly entered the search data and a red dot appeared more than a hundred kilometres to the north, high in the mountains. “Planetary Defence Net,” he read the tag, “Deep Space Signalling Centre.”

  “It’s not there anymore,” said Warblegrub.

  The Colonel looked round sharply. “What’s happened to it?”

  “It’s been dismantled.”

  “Dismantled?”

  “Someone has to clean up after you lot,” replied Warblegrub.

  The Colonel looked unconvinced.

  “I’m not lying. We’re removing all trace of your species from this planet: all the radioactive waste, the billions of tons of plastics, chemicals…. everything eventually!”

  The Colonel held Warblegrub’s eye.

  “I don’t tell lies, Colonel. Well, not unless I really have to. These mountains have been cleansed, but you will find plenty of other places I haven’t got round to yet.”

  The Colonel turned to 395. “Do you believe him?”

  With a glance at Warblegrub, 395 nodded. “We certainly can’t afford to make such a gruelling journey and find nothing there.”

  “Other options?”

  395 re-entered the search data and they found themselves looking at a dot on a small archipelago of islands far to the south. “Is it still there?” he asked Warblegrub.

  “Haven’t touched it.”

  “And how do we get there?” asked the Sergeant.

  395 shrugged. “Must be a boat somewhere.”

  The Colonel set four soldiers to guard Warblegrub then put the rest of the company to work unloading the ship. When the Colonel was out of earshot, Warblegrub introduced himself to his guards: The responses from Privates 312, 749, 941 and 1642 were cold, but Private 1467, who was sitting nearby, seemed friendlier.

  Watched over in stony silence, Warblegrub studied the faces of the humans as they laboured. Despite their predicament, they were grimly determined and moved with speed and purpose. In contrast, the pilot who had captured him – Alex – was taking time to talk to one of her crewmates, steadying the young man’s frayed nerves with authority but also with compassion, displaying a very different style of leadership to the Colonel. Her smile and a friendly hand on her crewmate’s shoulder lifted his spirits, and she gave him the larger of her guns and some of her ammunition. Warblegrub was reminded how wonderful humans were at their best and what monsters they were at their worst.

  While the Sergeant called the roll, Warblegrub counted eighty soldiers in black jumpsuits and helmets, and twelve flight crew dressed in grey with black peaked caps. The whole company carried an arsenal of weapons and large packs of equipment, and they were all unusually strong and fit.

  “What are they doing here?” he muttered to himself. “There aren’t enough of them to take over the planet.”

  “Who are you talking to?” demanded Private 749.

  “Myself!” blurted Warblegrub. “Only one who’ll listen,” he added with a grin.

  Private 1467 giggled but the guards were not amused.

  “What’s your name?” Warblegrub asked her.

  “Private….”

  “Your real name!”

  749 shot her a warning look.

  “Private 1467,” she insisted curtly. But moments later, while 749 was conferring with the others, she leaned close to Warblegrub and whispered in his ear. “It’s Sarah.”

  When the roll had been called, the Colonel ordered a weapons and equipment check, and Warblegrub watched apprehensively as two of the biggest and strongest humans carried two huge guns to the edge of the clearing. Most of his guards watched in fascination, Private 312 most keenly of all.

  “We call those Redeemers,” she said with an ugly laugh.

  “And what exactly do they redeem?” asked Warblegrub, unenthusiastically.

  “Bullets, grenades, missiles, flamethrower,” she chuckled, “you name it – they spit it out!”

  “Even fires torpedoes underwater!” added 941.

  “Sounds splendid!”

  He watched in horror as each Redeemer fired a rocket into the undergrowth. The forest shook with the explosions, and a short burst of the flamethrowers set a whole swathe of trees alight. Sickened, Warblegrub remembered mankind’s endless wars that had plagued the planet then the galaxy, but he was pleased to see that Sarah took no pleasure in the display of weaponry.

  Having inspected the company, the Sergeant joined 395, who was studying maps in the database, comparing them to the recent satellite images.

  “Do you think this Warblegrub’s lying?” the Sergeant asked, with a glance at the prisoner sitting among his guards, seemingly untroubled by his confinement.

  “I don’t think so,” 395 began, but fell silent at the Colonel’s approach.

  “So what are our options, S.O.?”

  395 zoomed in on the city and pinpointed a rectangle of water on the coast, a dock that opened into a round bay. When he enlarged the dock, they could see long, cigar-shaped warships at anchor.

  “They seem to be in good condition,” the Colonel observed, noting the lifeboats, guns and missile launchers on deck.

  Warblegrub appeared at his shoulder, having slipped his guards. “They’ve been preserved intact,” he said.

  When they noticed the prisoner’s absence, the guards hurried over but the Colonel dismissed them with a curt wave and they waited nervously to one side.

  “Why preserve them?”

  “Because they’re nuclear powered and can’t be allowed to deteriorate before I can deal with them safely. As I said, Colonel, you left a lot of mess behind you and I don’t have much help!”

  “Then they’re ready to sail?”

  “I suppose so,” hedged Warblegrub.

  “What about that one?” The Colonel indicated a sleek black vessel, somewhat smaller than the others. “A submarine?”

  Warblegrub nodded again.

  “With nuclear warheads?”

  Warblegrub frowned. “You’re digging a hole for yourself and your people!”

  “Thank you for the advice,” replied the Colonel, “but we know what we’re doing.”

  “That’ll be a first!” muttered Warblegrub.

  Watching the soldiers prepare for the journey, Warblegrub grew increasingly anxious. Despite the threatened punishment for the offence they were committing, they were clearly dedicated to the mission. “Humans are never more dangerous than when they believe in something!” he reminded himself.

  With their broad-bladed machetes flashing in the moonlight, the vanguard cut a path through the undergrowth. The rest of the company followed with Warblegrub and his guards near the middle of the column, behind the Colonel and the Science Officer, and ahead of the grey-suited flight crew.

  As they climbed the hillside, 395 noted the thick moss and lichen covering the rocks and boulders, the varieties of fungi sprouting from the leaf mould and fallen branches, and the long stems of ivy that were clawing their way up into the forest canopy.

  “This is very old woodland, isn’t it?”

  “Some of the trees here are hundreds of years old,” replied Warblegrub. “It’s one of the few patches of forest to survive you humans.”

  “No fraternising, S.O.!” the Colonel interrupted.

  395 was about to remind him of a science officer’s duty to acquire knowledge but the Colonel’s expression warned him off.

  They marched on in silence, a long and arduous climb out of the valley, but even the flight crew were trained to the peak of fitness and the whole company moved swiftly and quietly. Warblegrub remembered that such efficiency was unusual for humans. But what troubled him most was that they used only numbers to address each other. Of old, soldiers had also called their comrades by their names. He glanced at the Science Officer and wondered what his name was.

  Emerging from the trees onto a barren ridge bathed in moonlight, they found the summit of the star-shaped mountain looming over them. Though they were to take the southernmost ridge and would avoid the peak, somehow it troubled them. The Colonel in particular stared at it for a long time and Warblegrub wondered if he could sense the hostile presence watching them from the high place.

  Alex noticed his expression. “What’s wrong?”

  Warblegrub shrugged innocently. “Everything’s splendid,” he replied, forcing a smile.

  Chapter Four

  “I’ve seen a gas giant with a thousand moons, a binary system whose twin stars circle each other like dancers, and a vast nebulae where stars are born, but…” 395’s voice failed him and tears welled in his eyes.

  “But nothing compares to sunrise on your home world,” Warblegrub agreed.

  “The birdsong…it’s incredible!”

  “It’s the Dawn Chorus – my feathered friends are welcoming the new day.”

  To the music of a great multitude of birds, the mountainous landscape began to emerge from the gloom and the sun’s first rays poured through a hollow in the distant hills. Warblegrub glanced round at the company; all were watching, their expressions blissful. He smiled to himself.

  “You must’ve seen it many times,” said 395.

  “More than you can possibly imagine!” replied Warblegrub. He looked at the soldier curiously. “What’s your name?”

  “395. Science Officer 395.”

  “Don’t you have a proper name?”

  “We swore an oath, to renounce our birth names and take new ones only when we had reclaimed our home world.”

  Warblegrub shook his head sadly. “You know you won’t be allowed to do that, don’t you?”

  395 looked round at his comrades ranged about the hilltop, watching the dawn as they breakfasted on their rations, then back at Warblegrub. “Who’s to stop us?”

  Warblegrub shrugged. With his thatch of hair, bushy beard and untidy apparel he was the soldiers’ complete opposite. In the morning light, 395 could see he was younger than he had first thought; his light brown skin was smooth and unblemished, save for a few tiny wrinkles around the eyes.

  “Who are you?”

  “Warblegrub’s the name.”

  “Strange name! What does it mean?”

  “It’s a word I invented. To warble is to sing like a bird, and grub sounds like digging in the dirt – and sometimes I sing while I'm digging!”

  “Good name for a gardener,” 395 concurred, “but what are you doing here?”

  “I told you – cleaning up after you lot.”

  “But who told you to clean up?”

  Warblegrub looked perplexed. “No one told me to; it had to be done.”

  While the next question was formulating in 395’s mind, Warblegrub went and sat among his guards again, who no more noticed his return than they had his departure, and 395 was summoned away before he could press him further.

  The Colonel was standing apart, once again staring intently at the mountain. While waiting for his orders, 395 gazed up at the summit where clouds were gathering and felt relieved they would soon be turning south. He was, however, troubled by the Colonel’s preoccupation.

  “What’s wrong, Sir?” he ventured.

  “Set up the radar, would you?” said the Colonel absently, his eyes still on the mountain.

  395 called the Sergeant over and he produced a small black tube from his backpack and placed it upright on the ground. Three legs sprang out from the base and a paper-thin dish unfurled from the top, the movement of which 395 controlled from the tablet.

  “What’s that?” Warblegrub asked Sarah, who had come to watch the proceedings.

  “Radar,” she explained, “finds things by bouncing radio waves off them.”

  “You mean echolocation, like a bat?”

  “The principle’s the same….” Sarah began, but 749 shook his head and she fell silent.

  The radar revealed an extraordinarily detailed image of the mountainside but they saw nothing more than boulders, stunted trees and bushes. Frustrated, the Colonel grunted irritably and stalked off. Having served with him longer than anyone else except the Sergeant, 395 was shaken; he had never seen him anxious, not even in the thick of battle with desperate odds against them.

  “He’s never failed us,” the Sergeant reminded him quietly.

  395’s eyes followed the Colonel as he toured the company, inspecting the soldiers and the flight crew.

  “I said he’s never failed us.”

  “I know,” replied 395.

  The Sergeant continued to watch the tablet but 395 was soon distracted by the view. Clouds had covered the sun and he could now make out an even greater expanse of the highlands. Mountainous ridges stretched in every direction and in the distance were even greater heights. But as enchanting as the landscape was, the sky was even more luminous and beautiful than legend had claimed.

  “Hard to believe it’s just chemistry,” said 395. “Oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, helium…carbon….”

  “That’s just the recipe!” Warblegrub laughed. Once again he had left his guards without their noticing.

  “How do you keep doing that?” 395 asked.

  “I’m not dangerous so they don’t feel the need to guard me.”

  “What…?”

  “Stop asking so many questions and admire the view,” Warblegrub advised. “Take it in with all your senses; smell the air, taste it!”

  395 drew a deep breath but was interrupted by the radar, which emitted a series of loud beeps.

  “Something’s moving up there!” warned the Sergeant.

  The Colonel hurried over, as did Warblegrub’s rather sheepish-looking guards.

  “Flock of birds?” the Colonel suggested.

  395 shook his head.

  The Colonel turned to Warblegrub. “What is it?”

  “Something you really don’t want to disturb.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Now tell me what it is!”

  “Why should I?” replied Warblegrub. “You’ve no authority over me. I’ll answer no more questions!” Resolutely folding his arms, he turned his back on them.

  “I don’t know who you are or what your game is,” the Colonel snarled, “but if you or anyone else thinks you can stop us.…”

  Warblegrub spun round and the guards raised their weapons. “Stop what, Colonel? What are you doing here?”

  395 expected the Colonel to strike Warblegrub but instead he dismissed him with a sneer and a wave of his hand and turned back to the mountain.

  Followed by his guards, Warblegrub went and sat apart, his heart heavy. He still had a fondness for humans, despite all the terrible things they had done. “He’ll lead them all to destruction!” he said to himself.

  “Did you say ‘destruction’?”

  The voice was a whisper on the breeze and only Warblegrub heard it. He glanced at the mountain and, close to the summit, saw a bright red light flash.

  “Too late,” he muttered.

  “What did you say?” asked Private 749.

  “Toilet,” replied Warblegrub hastily. “I need to go to the toilet.”

  Chapter Five

  395 removed the probe from its case and placed it carefully on top of a flat stone. Resembling a dragonfly, it had a longer body and more powerful wings than the one Warblegrub had destroyed, and the company watched in admiration as the Science Officer’s elegant creation rose to head height and hovered silently.

  “Impressive,” observed Warblegrub, wandering over with his guards in tow, “and so life-like!”

  “It’s camouflaged so as not to attract attention,” 395 replied.

  “That’s not mere camouflage.”