Millennia

By Ralph Lante

Michael Branson wakes up alone, on board a derelict spacecraft caught in the gravitational force of an unknown star. He has no idea what is going on and struggles to piece together the events that led to his predicament.

Michael is no hero and this mission was supposed to be a breeze. But from the information he gathers, it appears he is humanity’s last hope for freedom. The truth forces Michael to take on challenges well beyond his capabilities.

‘Millennia’ is a thought provoking story exploring twenty first century civilisation from the perspective of a superior alien race.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ralph Lante
• Release date: Dec 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9780980872804

Ralph Lante

I enjoy writing. I don’t do it all the time, but when I get inspiration it is an activity that brings me immense satisfaction. I enjoy writing comedy the most. I can hear the comical voices of the characters in my mind and hope that readers can recreate this experience in their own mind, when they read my words. Although I work in the field of mapping and GIS, I am also passionate about writing interesting and informative documentation, instructions and user manuals. This is where I have done most of my written work and, in many cases, have been paid for it. The works I publish have been sitting on my computer for years. Fortunately, the Internet provides an opportunity to distribute manuscripts to anyone who may be interested. I hope a few people will discover some gems in my work.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was bizarre.

Michael Branson was aware of himself, but totally deprived of sensory stimulation. It was a void, a world of total darkness and complete silence. Feeling numb and his mind empty, he struggled to understand the situation or recall what events might have led up to his predicament.

So strange!

Floating in an eerie vacuum, Michael felt at peace. Was this Nirvana? Had he somehow achieved peace of mind and entered a state of perfect meditation. While it was a fascinating notion, the sensation was becoming claustrophobic. Other thoughts interrupted his trance state. How long had he been this way? A few seconds, minutes, hours? Perhaps years? Time had no meaning.

An idea gripped him. Was this death? Would he spend eternity in a state of silent, wakeful, helplessness, with no chance to escape, to struggle, or even scream? An existence where his only reality was consciousness.

Michael opened his eyes. Lying on his back, he gazed across a smooth white ceiling at a small crystal chandelier. Its transparent beads reflected hundreds of small rainbow dots on the walls. He heard the sound of birds chirping, the hum of an air conditioner and the distant honking of traffic. He noticed the scent of freshly washed sheets. The experience had been nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, although it seemed more realistic than he cared to remember.

Bright yellow light filtering through a white velvet curtain indicated the sun had risen. As he regained a sense of normality, Michael threw back his soft feather quilt. Beside him, on an ornate wooden bedside table, a holographic alarm clock with floating green numbers told him it was 7:35. For a while he simply stared at the ghostly numbers, feeling safe and content, until his reason for being there, flashed in his mind. God, the day had arrived! Michael pressed both palms hard against his face. His appointment was for 9:00 that morning. As he closed his eyes, Michael returned to the void.

In the darkness he felt something. It was warm and gentle, like being partially submerged in a calm lake on a summer’s day. He was curious about its cause and enjoyed the floating sensation. Without warning, something seemed to pull him under. The pressure intensified and the water temperature dropped rapidly. He imagined his body being dragged deeper and deeper into an ice-cold ocean. Suspended in the grip of a crushing force, Michael struggled to understand his predicament. His brain felt dull and useless, its only function the registration of overwhelming pain. Unable to move or fight, his life was drifting away. He had been seized by a giant vice and his body would soon explode!

Michael threw open his eyes. His chest was tight, his heart pounding. Where am I? Anxiously reviewing the room, Michael tried to regain a sense of normality. He focussed on his surroundings, the beautifully decorated room, the soft lighting, plush carpets, expensive fittings and wood furnishings. He noticed the alarm clock, 7:49. It brought him back to reality.

The minutes were passing quickly, but Michael remembered his appointment was only a few minutes walk from the hotel. The nightmare was over, but as the reality of the day sunk in, his beautiful surroundings felt more like a gourmet meal served to a prisoner on death row. An agonising cramp struck deep in his stomach. He swallowed hard. It was an effort to find the courage to get out of bed.

Time had slipped to 7:55. I have to get up! Michael promised himself time to enjoy a coffee and read the paper. He was ordered not to eat, but they didn’t mention drinks. Michael grabbed a COM unit from the bedside table and pressed for room service. He ordered a cappuccino for 8:30. This would give him time to shower and dress.

Michael forced himself out of bed. As he stepped forward, his head was spinning. Recognising the symptoms as nothing more than stress, he sat back down and closed his eyes, pressing his fingers gently against the sides of his temples.

It was like a cold dagger plunged by an unseen assailant. Michael was shocked by a sudden sharp ache in his lower back. It was electric, penetrating his brain like a bolt of lightning. He wanted to escape, but his body was locked. The nightmare was back! He was blind and trapped inside a paralysed body. He felt a steel blade spike into his leg. Nerves propelled their agonising messages hard into his brain like the sharp blow of a professional boxer. Another ferocious jab penetrated his chest, followed by a fourth, tearing deep along his left shoulder.

Like a frenzied attack by a school of piranha, the pain escalated uncontrollably. His flesh was being ferociously ripped from the bone, he had no control, no chance to move. Was this the end? Would he soon die? This agonising death seemed to take its time and whoever was responsible for this inhuman torture, wanted him to endure it for as long as possible.

Michael jerked forward. His head was jelly. I fell asleep again! He couldn’t understand the terrible visions. Was this some sort of tropical virus? He pinched his cheeks to confirm he was awake. Not wanting to risk a repeat episode, he immediately jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. At the shower cubicle he pulled a lever and held his hand under the tap, waiting for the water to warm. He splashed cold water on his face.

As soon as the shower was ready, he leapt in. The hot water was refreshing as it washed over his body. Ripping open a small plastic sachet, he squirted shampoo in his hair and rubbed his fingers through his scalp. The shower made him feel alive and aware of the present moment. He was wide awake and convinced the nightmares would cease.

When Michael finished washing, he resisted turning off the water. Once he stepped out of the shower, he’d have to face the day. Just thinking about it made him shudder.

Mr. Branson!

Michael heard a tiny voice above the din of the water spilling over the tiles. He turned off the tap to the sound of persistent knocking. He reached over and opened the bathroom door. Hang on! he shouted, I’m coming.

The knocking stopped.

Michael grabbed a thick white bathrobe lying on top of the cistern. He recalled the long bath he’d enjoyed the previous night.

Room service! a female voice called from behind the door.

Wait! he cried, quickly tying a knot in his robe as he stepped out of the bathroom. He opened the door to a shy, young coloured woman holding a metal tray. She smiled but avoided looking him in the eye.

Your coffee and paper, sir.

As he took the tray, he briefly checked her out. She was considerably shorter than he, dressed in a neat grey and white uniform and had a cute, small face.

Anything else? she asked, looking at an imaginary spot on the carpet.

Anything else? He hadn’t been with a woman in almost a year. On any other day he might have twisted her words with some comical remark. Today he felt anaesthetised. No, thanks, he smiled.

The woman left. Michael’s gaze followed her down the corridor until she vanished behind a corner. He closed the door, enjoying the aroma of the coffee as he placed the tray on a small rectangular table. He pulled up a chair. Michael lifted the cup under his nose, allowing steam to waft past his nostrils and inhaled a deep breath of the fresh brew. Michael took a gentle sip. As soon as the coffee made contact with his tongue, he pulled a face and spat it out. What on Earth have they served me! Michael slammed the cup on the tray, spilling coffee on the carpet, then raced to call room service. As he waited for an answer, he noticed a small cardboard box on the bedside table. I wonder? He put down the COM unit.

He’d been given a tablet to take last night. Could that have affected my senses? He grabbed the box to read the fine print. The second warning was ‘Taste may be adversely affected for twenty four hours after consuming medication.’

Damn it! he shouted. They’d taken away the last treat he’d promised himself. Michael returned to the table, angrily grabbed the paper and tossed it in the bin. He didn’t really care about the news; it would be the same old pessimistic bullshit! It was just something to do while he enjoyed his coffee. Depressed and feeling cheated, he sat on the bed, wishing he was somewhere else. Everything is going wrong! Michael cupped his hands over his face. He found himself in hell.

God! I’m on fire!

Every nerve on his skin was discharging electrical impulses of fiery agony deep into his brain. The electricity blazing through his body was so intense, it felt as if he were being fried from the inside. His bones were red-hot metal. Michael made a futile attempt to open his eyes, move his arms, legs, anything. He had no muscle control. Frozen like a robot devoid of power, someone or something was torturing him. In a whirl of pain and confusion, he became aware of bitter, acidic fluid in his mouth. It seemed to dribble over his lips. The vile, cold, sticky fluid was oozing from his throat. It occurred to him his chest was paralysed.

I’m not breathing!

Michael was horrified at the notion and struggled for air, but it was useless. His body was locked. His chest refused to expand. Anxiety and panic overwhelmed him. LET ME DIE! Let it be over. The words repeated through his head like a machine gun.

Michael awoke and grabbed his throat with both hands, desperately struggling to inhale. Gasping for air, he clumsily fell to the floor. Where were these dreadful visions coming from?

After a few moments lying on the thick carpet, his breathing returned to normal. Michael took a slow, deep breath, allowing clean air to fill his lungs. Relieved to be alive, he got up. His bathrobe had fallen open. Beads of perspiration covered his skin. His hands were shaking and a vile taste lingered on his tongue. Was the dream somehow real? He recalled the coffee he’d sipped earlier. Michael rushed to the bathroom to rinse his mouth and brush his teeth.

Feeling settled, he plugged in an electric razor and watched his face in the mirror as he shaved. He thought he still looked young, but noticed fine wrinkles creeping from the corners of his blue eyes. A lack of sleep was obvious from the dark shadows in his eye sockets. His hair was still full and black, but signs of grey were beginning to show around the ears. Michael had a slightly bent nose that always bothered him. He promised to get it fixed when he got back. His skin looked pale. He needed to get out more, spend less time facing computers and television sets. Why can’t they invent a computer screen that tans as you work? He chuckled to himself. He once enjoyed walking and should do it again.

Michael caught sight of a small scar at the left side of his temple, a constant reminder of an incident that would probably haunt him for life. He put down the razor and rubbed his finger over the small elongated protrusion. It could easily be removed with plastic surgery, but for people who knew him, the sudden disappearance of the scar would only raise questions. They would assume he was trying to hide from his past, to wipe away the shame. Leaving the scar as it was somehow signalled he was facing his responsibilities.

Michael sighed as he combed his freshly cut hair. He would have to leave soon. He put on a white shirt that felt tight around his neck, then knotted a black tie. His dark green military uniform was hanging beside him. He put it on.

Standing before the mirror he observed a smartly dressed thirty-seven-year-old soldier. Inside, he felt like a five-year-old kid on the first day of school.

Michael packed his toiletries into a small travelling case. He took a final look round to make sure he’d not forgotten anything. He glanced at the clock. 9:01. He was already late.

Michael hurried down a flight of stairs and deposited a plastic card with the hotel clerk.

Checking out, sir? he was asked by a young olive-skinned man, eager to please.

Yeah, thanks. I’m in a hurry!

The clerk scanned the card and checked the computer. Everything for your room has been taken care of. I hope we can see you next time.

Sure.

The cramp in his stomach intensified. Michael wished it was he behind the desk, watching the clerk leave.

Chapter 2

Stepping out from air-conditioning, the heat and humidity instantly covered his body with a thin film of moisture. Michael paused outside the hotel, staring into empty space. He experienced an overwhelming emotion of altered reality. It was like paramnesia or Déjà vu, somehow nothing seemed real. He looked around, wondering what to do. He felt his heartbeat increase as he thought about his pending appointment. He felt uncomfortable and wanted to escape. But running away would be more of the same; unemployment, no woman in his life, no money, no future. And added to that, he would be hunted by the military police. Was that what he really wanted?

No!

He made up his mind. This time he wasn’t going to hide, hoping his problems would disappear. Michael turned and walked with determination along the street. It felt like a march to the gallows, but with renewed resolution, he decided he would carry out his assignment with confidence and courage.

It was a busy Tuesday morning and well dressed men and women of mixed colour were rushing past on their way to work. He continued along the footpath, the beads of perspiration grew and dropped from Michael’s forehead. He wondered if it were caused by the humidity or nervousness. At this time of the year the air was thick with moisture and he had read in a tourist guide that the first thunderstorms of the season would soon roll in. He wished he’d be around to see them. It was his first visit to Macapa.

Michael looked up into the morning sky, hoping to see one of these great thunderheads forming. Between two large, white, billowing clouds he noticed a pale three-quarter Moon. As soon as his eyes fixed on the small crescent, floating high over his head, Michael felt an unexpected wave of nausea convulse through his body. He became light-headed and lost his balance. He leaned back against a shop window and put a hand up to his face. He’d seen the Moon a million times before. It was always something anonymous, distant and uninteresting. Today it seemed to beckon him, ominous and unavoidable, like a mysterious light at the end of a long dark tunnel. Michael looked down at the pavement. What am I doing with my life! He wanted to continue walking, but his stomach was churning, his legs too weak to carry him.

A few people passing by looked at him with disgust. To them he was a young man, dressed in uniform, but hopelessly drunk and struggling to stand. The nausea increased until he vomited. It was dry. Nothing was ejected except the bitter taste of bile. He wished he could spit it out, but too many people were watching. Overcome by dizziness, he collapsed to the ground.

Michael felt intense cold. He imagined he was submerged deep under icy seas, the sub zero liquid gnawing mercilessly at his naked skin. The pressure of deep water was crushing his body. It was happening again!

His mind screamed to swim to the surface, but he was immobile, his body like a frozen block of ice. Struggling from a lack of oxygen, he couldn't understand why he was still alive. Enduring the severe cold and agonising chest pains, he would soon be crushed to death.

He realised there was something in his mouth. A stick or pipe that seemed to go deep inside his throat. He felt an urge to gag or cough, but movement was impossible. A thought... The tube, I’m being resuscitated! At that moment he could open his left eye. His eyeball motioned erratically. His vision was blurry. He saw no movement, no people. Where was the street, all the people going to work? He saw only darkness and a strange flashing light. He sensed the pain was subsiding. Or was his body shutting down? Next would be loss of consciousness, then death. Michael wondered if he were tied down somewhere. A laboratory rat destined for a series of cruel experiments.

He felt warm air blowing softly over his face. The crushing pain was easing but there was no relief from the cold. Although he was still incapable of moving his limbs, he perceived something. He realised he was shivering, it was the first sign he might be regaining movement.

Without warning, he felt warm fluid being sucked from his lungs. He waited a few agonising moments, expecting asphyxiation, when suddenly hot air was pumped into his aching lungs. As he felt his chest cavity being expanded by the pressure, the tube was violently yanked out of his throat.

Michael realised he could move his chest and took his first frantic breath of what felt like putrid hot air. The loud, uncontrolled wheeze vibrated through his bones but failed to quench his desperate need for oxygen. He took another gasp and another. He was terrified. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might break through his ribs. Michael’s body convulsed in its incessant demand for air. Unable to control his bodily spasms, his head was thrown hard against a solid surface. Intense cold continued to gnaw relentlessly at his skin, causing Michael's chattering teeth to bite down on his tongue. Cold blood ran over his lips.

The palpations intensified to the point he feared he was having a heart attack. In a terrifying act of hysteria, he lunged forward with clenched fists, pounding so hard against a barrier, he thought he would shatter the bones in his hand.

Something gave way…

Michael fell forward, his head striking a hard surface. He gashed his chin. Lying motionless on the ground, blood oozed from his face. He had no idea what was going on. Nothing made sense.

Michael sensed was a curious tapping sensation on his shoulder. A soft voice said, Are you okay, Soldier?

He opened his eyes to the smiling face of an elderly man. He was dressed in bone coloured trousers and a red shirt. Michael nodded and looked around, embarrassed to be lying on the pavement. The stranger took Michael’s hand and helped him up.

Thanks, Michael said, brushing dirt off his uniform.

What happened? the man asked.

Michael shrugged. How could he explain? Don’t know, he replied. He thanked the man a second time, assuring him he was okay. Feeling dazed, Michael pushed himself to continue. He put one foot forward, then the next. He kept his eyes down and thought about what he would do when he got back. Buy a house, a car. Perhaps go on a long holiday or open a computer shop like he’d always dreamed. By then, he would have all the cash he needed. Just complete the mission… It’s so simple! There’s nothing to worry about... Like a mantra, he repeated the words in his mind as he picked up pace.

A young man with torn denim jeans and a dirty orange tee-shirt noticed Michael’s odd pace and blank expression. In childishly drawn red letters, he was holding a sign that read, 'The End is Nigh, Donate NOW to Prevent Rising Sea Levels.' He stepped in front of Michael.

Hey, soldier, you wanna make a donation, man?

What? Lost in his thoughts, Michael was surprised by the voice.

Donate some cash to prevent rising sea levels. They reckon we’ll get an extra six centimetres in the next ten years.

Michael was brought back to reality. Oh, for Christ’s sake!

Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out some loose notes. It looked like about fifty dollars. Here, I don’t need this.

Hey, thanks, the man said, as he hastily took the cash.

Michael gave the man a more careful glance. He was a scruffy and wore no identifying badge. Say, how’s this money going to be used anyway? he asked suspiciously.

Probably have a few drinks with my friends.

So you think that’ll prevent rising sea levels! Michael replied angrily.

I promise you, none of us are gonna piss in the ocean! the man answered with a cheeky smile.

Rolling his eyes, Michael hurried off. At least the distraction had given him something else to think about.

Minutes later he was at an anonymous white building. In an inconspicuous position near the front door was a sign in a thick black font; ‘Global Defence Building 3’.

This is it! Michael stood silently, glaring at the double doors as though they were the jaws of a ravenous lion.

With trepidation, Michael walked carefully up three steps, pushed on a glass panel and entered a modern, air conditioned foyer. An attractive receptionist with reflective pink lipstick sat behind a polished wooden desk and smiled. Good morning, sir, she said in a bubbly, but artificial voice.

Hi, I’m Michael Branson. I have an appointment at 9:00. He peered over the shiny counter to see if his name was on a form or sheet.

The receptionist struck a few keys on her computer and a smile beamed from her face. Take the middle elevator, Mr. Branson.

Thanks.

As if waiting for him, the door to the elevator was already open. He stepped inside and it immediately closed. Looking at the buttons numbered one to six, he realised the girl didn’t tell him which floor he needed. He was about to press the ‘door open’ button, when the elevator started moving downward. Odd! There were no buttons indicating the elevator could go down. A long time ago he’d learned there was nothing surprising about security, so he thought nothing more of it.

Moments later, the door opened. He recognised the man who stood there to greet him. It was Major Langer, the senior officer who ran the training course. He was bright and cheerful, with piercing green eyes. His age was visible by the wrinkles in his freckled skin. It was the face of a man who lived with a lot of stress.

Hello, Michael, great to see you made it. I was starting to get worried.

Good morning, Major. Sorry, I was held up by the desk clerk at the hotel. He kept insisting I had to pay!

Was everything all right?

Yes, fine. They found the booking.

I’m going to ring them later. We always use that hotel. They should know better.

Err, well, it was actually my fault. I think he got my name wrong.

I know you boys are a bit nervous, the Major replied warmly, it’s understandable.

Am I the first? Michael said, changing the subject.

No, Colonel Andrew arrived about twenty minutes ago. Captain Ward has been here for over an hour.

Hmm, late as always! Michael reprimanded himself as the Major led him to his office. Sir, is there a bathroom I can use?

You’re not feeling sick, are you, soldier! the large old man grunted.

No, I just want to freshen up. It’s quite warm and sticky outside. In his mind Michael felt dizzy. It was likely the Major was right. He was ready to vomit.

Out the room and second door to your left.

Thanks.

Oh, Branson, don’t try to escape! the Major said with a smirk on his face.

No, I won’t, sir, Michael replied with a wry smile, then quickly left for the bathroom.

Looking at himself in brightly lighted mirror, Michael thought he looked terrible, worse than back at the hotel. He washed his face with cold water and rinsed his mouth. He dried himself on a paper towel, then just waited. He didn’t want to return to the office too quickly, so he decided to rest for a while on a plastic chair in the bathroom.

Michael found himself face down on a hard surface. Unbelievable, it was the nightmare again!

His body was shaking uncontrollably from cold, but his face and chest felt warm where they made contact with the floor. His heart was pounding, but with regular beats. That was a relief.

Lifting himself over on one side, he turned his head slowly to look around. It was dark, the only illumination coming from a sluggish, flashing red light on one side of the room. Michael touched his forehead and felt a swelling. If it was a dream, the wound certainly felt real. He tasted blood oozing from his lip.

The floor felt nice. It was hard, but warm, and he was still cold to the core of his body. All he could think about was the warmth radiating from the floor. He struggled to turn himself over so he could warm his spine, then wrapped his arms tightly around his naked body to keep his chest warm. Lying on his back in the dim flashing light, he could see a low ceiling with metallic pipes and wires neatly running left and right along a meshed framework. He was in a factory or some place of work.

With his vision still blurry, he gazed back from where he had fallen. It looked like a human-sized capsule. Water droplets clung to the side of the plastic door, which was wide open. Inside wires and tubes hung lifelessly along the side. He noticed two other similar capsules with doors closed. He moved his head to one side. He saw what looked like suits hanging behind a glass door. In the corner of his eye he noticed a white glow. Michael turned his head slightly but found it hard to focus on the brighter object. He felt incredibly tired.

Michael, how are you... You look pale my friend! Colonel John Andrew’s abrupt voice startled Michael. He looked around, relieved to be back in the bathroom.

Hi, Colonel. So finally, the big day! he said, rising quickly from the chair.

Yeah, I’ll be glad when it’s all over, but I’m absolutely sure everything will be fine, the Colonel said with an assuring slap on the back.

With all the training we went through, we’re certainly prepared, but I kind of wish I was sitting on a beach right now.

Don’t worry. Time will pass so quickly, soon you will be.

Michael pretended to smile. He left the bathroom and returned to Major Langer’s office. His legs were wobbly, he needed to sit down again. As he entered, both the Major and Captain Ward were engaged in a conversation. The Major noticed Michael as he walked in.

We’re just discussing who should go first.

Already! I thought...

Major Langer interrupted, The Captain’s awaiting an important call, so we decided to give you the privilege.

Me! Michael fumbled, trying to hide his shock.

Well, the medical team’s ready and they’ve just asked for the first candidate.

But… Michael hesitated, Aren’t we going to have a mission briefing, then perhaps have lunch or something?

The Major got up from his chair and put his hand on Michael's shoulder, Come on old boy, we had our final briefings the other day. You’re not supposed to eat before the mission. You know your stomach won’t need food for a while.

Michael swallowed. I guess I should just get it over and done with.

That’s the right attitude, man! The Major smiled.

Michael wiped his hand anxiously across his forehead. Alright, sir. I’ll volunteer to go first?

Well, that’s good, Branson. Saves me giving you an order!

A young nurse entered the office, Major, have you decided who will be first?

The two men looked at Michael.

After a few seconds of silence, he gulped. Me!

He closed his eyes as he pictured the ordeal before him.

Chapter 3

Michael was sweating profusely, his arms and legs throbbing with pain. He was completely naked, lying on his back on a hard hot surface in a puddle of perspiration. Michael recalled the intense cold he experienced earlier, now he was scorching! He fought his aching muscles and pushed himself up to study his surroundings.

In the dim light he saw he was in a circular, metallic room about five meters across. On one side was what looked like a computer work-station with three chairs fixed to the floor. Looking around, he saw three fold-away beds, a fold away table, three capsules with small glass windows, including the one with the open door he had been in. Next was what might be a food preparation area, a number of storage units, a glass door with thick white suits hanging inside, some equipment that looked like a fold away bathroom facility and an exit chamber. Small round windows circled the room, but each was closed with a metal covering. Michael somehow recognised the objects, but had no idea where he was, or why he was there.

Please respond with a voice command or select okay on the console keyboard.

He heard a mechanical male voice from nowhere. Michael remained seated on the floor, looking round the darkened room wondering where the voice had come from. The only illumination was from a flashing red warning light mounted on the wall above the computer console. Michael wiped perspiration off his face. He wished this repetitive nightmare would stop.

When he opened his eyes again he saw a young nurse staring intently at him.

"Well! What are