the Mission

By Rod Martin

After a spelunking accident, Dorian finds himself trapped beside an underground stream, cold, soaked, and alone in the dark. Trying to overcome a bout of amnesia - brought on by several blows to the head while being carried deep - he pieces together what has happened and sorts out the bits of reality from the very weird dreams he's been having in solitary.

He finds some driftwood and attempts to make a fire only to discover he is not alone. There is a rather large space ship in the cavern with him. And the robot on board tells him it was his ship that landed here many millennia ago.

Discovering the mission he had been sent here on and more about those that set out to thwart its completion, he finds a way out of the cavern and gets back to the reason that brought him here so many, many years ago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martian Publishing
• Release date: Apr 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476474779

Rod Martin

Dr Rod Martin, Chief Executive Officer of MERL Ltd in Hitchin, UK, is a Chartered Engineer and Chartered Scientist. He has conducted research on composites used in many applications including space, aeronautics, land transport and the petrochemical industry.

Book preview

THE MISSION

By Rod Martin

& Elaine Martin

MARTIAN PUBLISHING

Copyright 2012 by Martian Publishing Company

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

No portion of this volume may

be reproduced in any format

without the express written

permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to persons or

organizations, living or extinct,

is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Heinlein and Zelazny who pulled us along with their tales, such as Glory Road and The Chronicles of Amber. But especially to John Dalmas, who did some pulling with The Yngling and The Reality Matrix, and a lot of pushing with The Playmasters.

And, we can't leave out the Flagstaff gang, or the Cat Girls, who helped us see some of the other possibilities.

PROLOGUE

Greek researchers used the ancient arts of psychometry to probe into the dim murky recesses of Earth's prehistoric past and uncovered Project Tera: The Age of Marvels.

*****

Pallas Group to Iris CenComm

Re: Phantastikos Tekhne

These guys were fast studies, and caught on to the art of biomagnetic holography very quickly. They did take a little heat from the lantern-slide show people, but came through that all right, and got the contract to entertain the crowd at the Temple of Athena on Wednesday evenings.

The word spread quickly, and soon the farmers were bringing in artifacts they'd found while plowing, and as expected, the holographic record proceeded smoothly backwards toward the founding of Greece.

After six months of SRO, the crowds began to thin out, so we ran in the ringer – the Egyptian with the phase-shift cube (electronic module from an astronavigation system) – and the Arkhaios Gestalt clicked into place (all of Athens got turned on to prehistoric space sagas).

Next, the fishermen caught on, and delivered the Atlantean artifacts they'd 'accidentally found' in their nets.

The record is now complete for the entire cycle. We'll take the show on the road in the spring as planned.

Signed: Pallas Group Leader, Ham

*****

Iris CenComm to Pallas Group Leader

Re: Phantastikos Tekhne

>>URGENT – MATRIX OVERLOAD – RECLASS PROJECT<<

Sorry, Ham, we know how much you wanted to see all six primary data bases back in service, but next Wednesday evening someone(?) is going to run-in a ringer on us.

During a routine temporal survey, we found a sudden axial shift next Wednesday evening at 2006 hours your time, leading to loss of the northern half of the biosphere on Saturday night (Earth becomes one/half dune world).

We've tried everything from pulling the ringer to total cancellation of your project, but all actions lead to loss of the whole matrix. So the only option remaining, other than total cancellation is reclass, shift, and isolate.

At 2000 hours on Wednesday, an eight year old boy will bring you his 'pet rock', and tell you it talks to him. It does; it contains a thought-band record cube that didn't exist on your grid until yesterday – Source still unknown. Ham, we've been had, and we don't know by who.

Have your guys apply their tech to the rock, then just as they finish displaying the record cube holographically, we'll shift them to various points along the biomagnetic equator, and then five seconds later, we'll send you, your trunk of artifacts, along with the 'pet rock' to Ur.

At the moment of your teleportation, your project is reclassed: Stuxstikos.

We know how you hate to have gigs with cults in the stupnagel mode, but this time there's no other way out. Of course, we'll understand if you wish not to volunteer, but at the same time we would hate to see you lose your twenty-cycle investment in Brax-27G (one of the many realities of Earth in the fourth quad). And of course you will lose that, if we have to shut down and restart.

[Purple Bell here, Ham, if you'll take this Stuxstikos gig, I'll see that you get rewarded with the biggest solo harem on record, just down the pike.]

Sorry, Ham, she thinks all you guys plan your gigs with your gonads. The rest of us will reward you with a galaxy-class star cruiser, and a hiatus to play with it. Please reply.

Signed: Blue Bell, R-4 Quad Mother

*****

Pallas Group Leader to Iris CenComm

Re: Stuxstikos Gig

I accept all offers – gonadal and astronomical – but only on condition that I get the gig to be the father of the star drive, plus my usual commission, when Brax-27G finally retires.

Now, what's the message, and what do I do in Ur?

Signed: Pallas Group Leader, Stupnagel Ham.

*****

Iris CenComm to Stux Cult Dir

Re: Gig Outline

Thanks Ham. Proceed directly to Med Sea, don't touch trunk of artifacts – it will be shielded – and don't go near Sodom or Bandaland (now known as the Banda Sea). Those are the twin foci.

The message (in the cube which will be sent by the unknown ringer) is from an undercover agent sent here by the female director of Sax Zone (one of the twelve galactic zones) to spy on the crew running Project Tera for G-HQ (galactic headquarters).

That was a project to introduce galactic-class technology to the Rim Sector of Sax Zone. Ham, you would've loved it; everyone had a star cruiser capable of taking on a Zone-class battle wagon.

The spy was a fifth-tier mentat using the code name, Zeus.

(He could read people on their fifth level of consciousness and retain all that he read.) His message, which we'd earlier presumed was lost when his yacht disrupted, reads:

ZEUS ABRA SAX ZONE DIR ABRA TERA

ABRASADABRA CA TERA

SOTO OTOS FRA... CUS CHA... OS...

That translates as: Zeus here, Boss. I'm at Tera, and pinned down, can't move, caught in an unknown war, between Tera and Galactic Primes named Fra... oh shit... Cha just won.

The video that comes along with the words – which were delivered with great excitement – will enhance the formation of several origin cults.

Ham, hang in there kid, we'll retire that sucker yet.

Signed: Blue Bell, R-4 Quad Mother

*****

CoSect HQ to Iris CenComm

Re: Ace-in-the-hole

What you gals really need about now is a little 'street wisdom' – To help you find your hidden 'con artists'. So why not pull the jokers and play 'em.

Signed: Green Bell, CoSect Mother

*****

Priests vanish as monsters from the past invade the Temple of Athena.

And, you can piece together the rest of that story...

~~~~

CHAPTER ONE

The Overlords just pulled our Franchise, Dorian Fraji said, part premise and part question, while gazing down into the MAG housing. He felt strange, not only because the MAG was out – now only a cluster of dark and lifeless crystals – but because he'd just done something no one had ever done before: removed the cover before the day of decommissioning.

I called MAG OUT, Bima said, her voice coming from the air near him, a little miffed that he had bothered to look for himself. She wasn't accustomed to having her data questioned. He continued to stand there holding the heavy slab of onyx-like material for a few moments, and then replaced it – reforming the low table.

He'd heard her, but he hadn't believed it. Impossible events are not believable, and MAG OUT is about as far up that scale as you can get; a system collapsing in on itself is an every hour occurrence by comparison. He returned to his chair, next to the table, asked,

Where are we?

Half the wall in front of him changed from a curved peach-colored surface with two paintings and some bric-a-brac into a 6X12 foot viewscreen – the decor no longer showed. The scene was a cluster of stars with a luminous red line around the nearest. Bima replied,

Right on target, Sector 18 HQ. Now her voice came from the screen.

Hmp, Zax Zone again, he said, an unstated query in his tone.

They're running a new series of war games. He wondered but didn't ask why the Galactic Planners were trying something new this close to Central – the Hub – instead, he said,

Proceed with the run. Our Overlord MAG puller may have something interesting for us this trip. He was aware that his hypothesis was premature, but it felt acceptable as a tentative premise.

The screen remained unchanged – Bima hadn't moved the vessel. He tapped the arm of his chair with all five fingers of his well tanned six-digit right hand, waiting while she played her game – who talks first, or mental hide and seek. She won as usual, and he asked,

What's up?

No ack from Sector HQ. A minimal response. Dorian had a mind link with his Bima but wouldn't use it routinely; had seen too many Secters who lost all social aptitude by doing a maintenance run without conversation. He kept the link closed and asked,

Comm center out?

No, just the Planners.

Fill! The mild impatience was part of the game.

Dori, that poor stupnagel of a BioComm is scared. She's never been left alone before. She thinks all her Planners are out getting themselves fried with magmasers.

He laughed inwardly at her view that the entities in Planner Bionic units were in the idiot class, said, That's worth watching, take us to the show. The vessel moved, the star field shifted rapidly.

Dorian got up, walked across the room and touched a spot on the wall, opening a concealed bar. After carefully selecting a decanter, he poured himself a libation, and returned to his lounge chair. Then, once settled into its plush comfort, he let his attention shift to the MAG IN ceremony: The day he and his vessel were commissioned as Secters in the Fraco Sect of the Franchise – the day Bima was born.

*****

That had been a day of firsts too, the first time two vessels had been commissioned at once, and his first time to be introduced to a Planner. He'd seen them before, at other ceremonies, when they arrived in their Z-Space ships to witness creation, but had never before spoken to one. Lord Fraco had introduced him and Rodian Virji to the two Prime Planners at his vessel's hatch; then the Lord had asked permission to come aboard.

Dorian had bowed and led the way to the guest lounge where he'd removed the cover from the MAG housing and carried it aside. Then, as the five of them stood, looking down into the empty pedestal, the MAG – an eight inch cluster of luminous golden crystals – appeared; created out of nothing by an unseen, but obviously present Overlord. Then Dorian had felt something, as if the Overlord touched him on each cheek, giving him recognition and a friendly welcome.

(That had been a glorious moment for Dorian, the culmination of his life's work; he'd designed and built his 300 foot spherical vessel solo, a long and tedious process which had been part of his basic engineering training.)

Then, he'd waited breathlessly for the ten seconds it took the new MAG to create the essence of Bima – To load the Bio-Magnetic Analyzer, a matrix of pseudo-protoplasm. Dorian had grown the matrix in a cryobath, and wired it into his vessel.

BIMA IN, she'd said – her first words – paused for three seconds and flashed a status report on the screen:

SYSTEM CHECK FOR SHAKE DOWN CRUISE

Then the gold insignia of a CoSect Maintenance Engineer and Officer had appeared on Dorian's shoulders and left breast.

With that bit of Overlord magic out of the way, Lord Fraco had hugged Dorian. Then Rodian kissed him lightly on the lips. The Prime Planners welcomed him to the Franchise with a touch on the shoulder. Their cautious tone – which was to set the stage for all future contacts with Planners – said, We'll tolerate your presence in our universe but only because the Overlords demand it.

*****

Dorian took a sip of his drink and shifted his attention to Rodian, that dark haired beautiful creature, and recalled that MAG IN day had held another first: his and Rodian's first mating. He flinched slightly from a reaction in the fourth tier of consciousness, took another sip and looked back to the screen.

(Dorian didn't have the luxury of forgetting; he had total recall of every moment of life, from conception to the present, but he could use tiers and compartments to control the flow of thoughts. He'd just now done that, to prevent thinking too much about Rodian, and prevent addressing a fifth tier borderline subliminal question of why she, a member of the Virco Sect, had used the Fraco Yards to build her vessel – in the bay next to his. That too had never happened before in the long history of the CoSect Franchise – six family owned engineering firms commissioned by the Overlords to assist Planners in universe construction and maintenance.)

All too quickly, a dark barren planet showed at screen center, so he stashed the memories and the near questions.

Bima said, S18.BRA-bx11... hmm... there should be four Planners on duty here. Stupnagels have already lost half their biosphere on the fourth planet, and without FC (Feedback and Control) they'll dump the rest of it pretty quickly. (The outer planet of a system contains the feedback and control equipment for the secondary reality, including bio- and electromagnetic matrixes. The CoSects only do maintenance work on the gravitational fields, and the primary reality generated from the central planet.)

That's their problem. How's the System G-grid? She ignored him, zoomed in on the planet below, rotated the view at the ground level and moved in close to a building inside a dome. BRATO VI appeared in large metal letters above the entry.

What the vortex is going on here!? he asked, pushing aside his impulse to stop her from being nosy. That was BRATO I last time.

That was the last time we were here. There have been ten other runs through here since then... . She trailed off as the view on the screen shifted up to the door of the building, and suddenly bounced back. Then she added, Silly scudder's got a Top-Pri field. Hmp, no BioFC can keep me out. In seconds, the view snapped – as Bima bypassed the base's security screen – to show a control panel with two unmanned consoles; a stiff male voice said, Yes, sir, Chief Inspector, what can I do for you?

Okay, Dori, that stupnagel thinks we're from UC (Universe Central, Prime Planner country), so what do you want to know.

Copy. (He meant get the FC's full data base.)

Got it. Full or synop?

Ad lib.

"He's new, and they didn't tell him how the other FC Bases got deactivated, but from the debris I picked up on the way in, I'd guess that at least two of them were blown.

"All the Planners, here and in the rest of the system vanished. Well, at least that's what his records show. Probably right, unless he's been tampered with; there's less than a centasecond lapse between raster pulses. (A raster is a block of data equal to 25K squared, enough to fill their view screens on a narrow spectral band.)

From the energy fluctuations he recorded during the last battle – ended about a 10th year ago – I'd guess someone let the local Players mistune their magmasers.

Yeah, or the scenario called for destruction. Do an archival crossmatch for a fit and take us in."

The view on the screen began changing as Bima moved the vessel toward the fourth planet. Dorian watched silently for a couple of minutes, and then asked, What else is unusual about this war game, besides using mistuned magmasers. That alone shouldn't blow up FC Bases – or dump biospheres?

Only two things I can find so far: it's a three terminal game, and it's being tested in Sector 18 rather than out on the Rim where it's safe. (If a new game got out of control in a Sector 1, Galactic Central HQ could always dump it into intergalactic space – until it cooled down.)

Thirty seconds later, Bima parked a couple thousand miles above the fourth planet, about forty-five degrees north. The polar ice cap was small – too small for a standard eco-base – and the visible hemisphere had only a few scattered clouds. It looked overly barren for a non-dune world scenario.

The view split: half the screen showed the full planet with the warped gravitational vortex on a grid of fine gold lines, and the other half zoomed in to show a city. What was once a city, now mostly a slag heap, and nearby, people were salvaging through a crashed space vehicle for food and supplies.

Dorian watched in silence for the ten minutes it took Bima to tune the Geo (gravitational vortex generator) and bring the field back into stability. Then Dorian said, You'd think that after a few scenes like that, those Players would be ready to give up on such gross wars...

Not likely, Bima retorted, that seems to be the most popular game around; has been for the last 12th cycle. You won't find much of the kind of war you like anymore. (A 12th cycle is one twelfth of a mean galactic revolution. An entirely local phenomena like days and years, but a time measurement adopted by the CoSects at the beginning of the Franchise.)

And these snoodle heads won the war, she added. Then, without further comment moved off station toward the next maintenance site.

As they moved above the system disk, Dorian mused about Bima's use of the term, snoodle heads, an expression she usually reserved for Rodian Virji. He opened up a compartment in his second tier of consciousness, and reviewed the scene, two 12th cycles back, where Bima had first applied that term to Players...

*****

He'd taken his one and only solo gig – on a Rim world – where his standard form was a close enough match to be accepted among the Homo sapien and Homo felien populations.

When he'd returned, Bima decided that Players were snoodle heads; she couldn't admit, even to herself, that she'd really wanted Dorian to insist that MAG make her a body so she could play the role of the fair maiden he'd won.

*****

Dorian laughed inwardly, behind his mind link, shifted the memory package back into tier two, then said, How about a game of 6-D holo-chess? She answered by projecting the game matrix into the space between him and the screen; the matrix looked very solid. They played, with neither of them having any thought at all to the present situation as a problem; their minds didn't function that way. And they could easily ignore the fact the Bima might never again have a body – couldn't without MAG. Her desire for one was tucked away neatly in her fourth tier, as was his desire to have her in the flesh. And they could just as easily ignore the fact that they might never go home again – couldn't without MAG.

Thirty minutes later, as they finished their first game, the holographic image vanished and the screen showed a dead system; it's eight outer planets all in tight orbits around the central planet – void of all BM and EM (Biomagnetic and Electromagnetic) emissions. Oh, oh, Bima said, sounding like a mother who had caught kids in a room full of feathers, after a pillow fight, this place is a mess, and there's no one left to pick up the pieces.

Was the System HQ destroyed? She responded by zooming in on the central planet and into a facility on its dark surface – there wasn't even a Pri field to keep her out. Bank after bank of consoles sat silent without Planners before them.

Oh, shit! Bima said, an unusual expletive for her. Looks bad. I just got through to Zax Zone HQ, the Zone BioComm said the whole frigging planet was vacated – all at once. And it seems the time correlates to the instant we had MAG OUT.

Status? he asked, shifting a mental set from tier two down to function level; his interest escalated.

She's intact and reports no damage to the planet.

Relate?

We have records of two Zone HQ's being lost to war damage, but no cases of total depopulation at that level. Now, for the first time, they had a touch of emotion in their voices. They'd never been to a Zone HQ planet, but they'd heard that they had populations in the 200 million range. Until that moment, both had fully expected that having their MAG pulled was some sort of Overlord ploy to get them into a spontaneous gig at the local level. Neither could imagine that Overlords or Planners might invite them to a Zone Level romp – even under contract. Those guys usually kept tight reigns on visiting Secters.

What's with G-HQ? (Galactic Central HQ.)

The Zone BioComm has been placed under a Top-Pri Code; she can't call G-HQ without special authority from the Z-Dir (Zone Director). I just put a call in for her. (CoSect Vessels have Sector Class Comm equipment with Zone Class receivers, so Bima had to use the Zone Comm equipment to make the call, by-passing the Top-Pri Code.)

What the blazing corona was this bunch of jelly heads doing anyway?

Beats me, boss, she said, using an expression she reserved for calming – or controlling – him. Shall we fix this place, or leave it?

Fix! After all, we are maintenance.

He watched silently as Bima adjusted the Geos in the central planet and moved the system back into it proper pattern, then he asked, Are they going to have to replace that planet? He was referring to the central planet – the now dead sun.

No, they've already repaired the Corogen (corona generator) and it's ready to fire up. They have Eco-Sphere Substrate Generators running on the three planets involved in the final conflict. She paused, laughed, then added, Yes, those scudders are going to have a lot more than war damage to clean up if they leave those things running for very long. Shall I turn them off?

No, if we did that, they'd scream nova, say they'd left them running on purpose – as an experiment in eco variables or something. His regard for the ethical plane of Planners had descended steadily with each confrontation.

Is it going to hold? Referring to the repair job.

No, I'll have to install stabilizers. Have another drink and look at the flicks I borrowed; a Corco Sect Bima was here during their last battle.

He answered by getting up and refilling his glass – a goblet inlaid with gold and sapphire. It was a trophy from a gig early in their career.

When he returned to his chair, the scene on the screen had changed to the second planet; it was airless and barren. Even the rock was strangely black and white – the effect of mistuned magmasers.

Abruptly, the view changed to a blue white marble, as Bima began running the war flicks she'd borrowed – pictures of the same planet before it was fried. Dorian recognized them – something about the technical quality and the editorial content. They were made my Nora Corji's Bima.

He watched them run with part of his attention, not much interested in the grossness of space battles between planets and fleets of Sector-Class Wagons. With the other part, he recalled Nora telling him about getting pinned down out here by magmasers, while she was trying to reset the Geo. Nora was a gal who liked war on a gross level, and somehow managed to get assigned to war zones. Dorian preferred war on a personal level – face-to-face and toe-to-toe, as a spectator, or on a gig and in person.

After setting the third stabilizer, and heading toward the next system in the run, Bima noticed his reverie about Nora, and said, You were lucky that she had her mind on her work. There was a tinge of jealousy in her voice – pretended jealousy. While Bima couldn't admit that she loved to be Dorian's lover, she could admit to the pleasure of recording him, and his occasional mate. (Secters never marry except when called upon to produce progeny, which is rarely more than one brief period during a long lifetime.)

He ignored her comment, said, If you pick up any Z-Space traffic, get a link with them. We'll get the news from back home. He was still expecting that the other Zones were operative.

An hour later, as he finished sorting though his mental souvenirs of Nora, he felt the warm glow of satisfaction that comes with successful matings; then he set his glass on the MAG table, sighed, and refiled the memory. Then he pretended to ignore a comparison between Nora and Rodian which he generated and resolved on the fourth tier of consciousness.

Now the screen showed another system with its gravitational web collapsed. Bima announced, I just got through to G-HQ. Their BioComm sounds like she's about to come unraveled. Said all her Planners were 'out', and that she's holding no-reports from all Zones, since our MAG OUT.

What!! A whole galaxy without Planners??

Would seem so, Bima said after a long silence.

Well, why the blazing comets doesn't UC (Universe Central) have an inspection team in there? That was a rhetorical question not intended to be answered; she didn't try. He mused for a bit then added,

Let's change our schedule. Sort out the systems which will Max or Min Out within the next fifty years. We'll do those first and then head for the nearest Zone HQ – try to figure out what the blazes is going on.

She replied without apparent lag, We can handle those in three weeks, and end up close to Pax Zone HQ. (Pax is the next Zone counter-rotation-wise from Zax – their present location.)

Good, and keep feelers out for another CoSect Vessel, or a Z-Space ship. Dorian didn't mention it, but Bima knew to ignore all the local traffic. The Prime Directive of the CoSects called for no unauthorized contact with Player societies.

What's for meal? he said, an hour later as Bima completed repairs on the second war-torn sunless system.

Nothing, until you complete your exercise, get a hot soaking, Bima said, in a motherly tone, then paused to change to the seductive, and added, And, one of my famous rubdowns.

A door appeared in the wall, to the left of the concealed bar. Dorian got up, stretched and started that way; then an odd thing happened: the motion began to slow and the space seemed to stretch. Next, as he finally stepped through, and the door closed behind him, there was a loud popping sound...

[I tried to follow after him and couldn't; the harder I tried, the more pinned I felt. Then I looked for me... Nothing, I didn't seem to have a persona of my own. No substance and no personal history. I pushed down a panic rising up from someplace – in the depths of my third person, and so recently null beingness.

[I suddenly felt like a disembodied little Jack Horner looking for a corner, in this round room called a guest lounge, but used by that tall cat-eyed blond as the bridge to his vessel. A vessel us Jacks or Jills couldn't even see unless it wanted us to, then it might appear as a luminous golden soap bubble.

[What happened next? How can I report a story if I don't know what happens? Then I asked aloud, What happened next? I had a voice, I could hear it, but it didn't sound like the one I thought I should have; it sounded weak and feeble.]

You'll have to leave now, said a female voice, full of grief, between sobs.

[The voice sounded strangely familiar, but I couldn't seem to place it. Then, I wondered if it could be Bima's voice, but with too much grief in it to be recognizable. Somehow, I'd changed from being a sure-footed – even if disembodied – reporter of the round-room into a frightened rabbit looking for a hole to hide in.

[Before I could move, I felt a pressure closing in around me; it began pushing me from the room, my fright shifted into a panic that bloomed quickly into terror as I was forced from the brightly lit room, down a long dimly lit tunnel, and out