The Missionary

By Mick Dawson

In the 2130s, the world is densely populated. Countries are desperate for room to expand. Global war erupts, not with nuclear warheads. IKX-7 gas is used, instantly killing on contact. The purpose; so that invading countries can move in without re-building. Unfortunately, it was only tested in lab conditions. When collected in the atmosphere IKX-7 had a completely different effect. Any two plants or animals nearest to each other merged together, forming an all new species. Then real carnage began, reducing the human population to less than three percent.
One Christian boy fifteen years old leaves a bunker, entering a world he no longer recognises. Led by God, and trained by a female manine, (Teyata - a merge mutation of man and cat) he adapts to the new world fast.

Six hundred years later, construction worker (Ian Wilkinson) unearths Brad's remains. The skeleton is wearing weapons of Brad's making, including grenades. Most unusual, is the finding of a pair of video receptor goggles, documenting his life.

His remains are handed over to the Canberra natural museum. There an archaeologist, (Lisa Gudgeon) watches Brad's life unfold via her holographic projector. She becomes engrossed with the youth, following his life until he dies at the age of fifty-eight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mick Dawson
• Release date: Mar 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311333438

Book preview

THE MISSIONARY

By Mick Dawson

Smashwords Edition | Copyright 2015 Mick Dawson

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Ian Wilkinson leaned on the chain link fence, waiting to start the day’s work. His head had a shock of grey hair, bordering on white. With ocean blue eyes on his broad unshaven face, he looked his fifty five years. At the same time, he had a wide, athletic frame few men in their prime could rival, earning him the name, Silverback.

Out of boredom, he read the sign on the fence again, Deklin constructions, new medical units to open on 4th of April, 2716.

Earth moving machinery had cleared the old factory units and graded the concrete base away. It left behind a tan layer of soil; ready to lay the foundations. Just before finishing work yesterday, the drill encountered rock mixed with broken concrete. He had worked mines all over the country and knew how to make controlled detonations. Today, he would have to blast away the obstruction to properly lay the foundations.

His attention shifted to the concrete highway, rising as a ribbon above the ground, and leading a route into Canberra. Predawn traffic flowed densely. He could relate to the drivers of the older and sometimes battered vehicles. Cities seemed the same to him anywhere in the world. These people represented the true workers. Half of them had bad backs and rough hands from heavy labour. Others worked as cleaners or sanitation. All had one thing in common; working the longest hours in the hardest jobs for the least pay.

In another half hour, the traffic would thin out and disappear as quickly as it came. Two to three hours later, more would flow. Prestigious cars imported from Europe would run the same route, going to the same city. New cars with drivers wearing suits or women in dresses more suited for a nightclub than the office would sit in air conditioned comfort, enjoying hour long lunches in restaurants. They returned to large houses, wondering where to spend their two day weekends with pay packets anywhere up to four times larger than their labourer counterparts.

Headlights illumined the chain link fence. The boss’ car came to a stop. Deklin always arrived first, partly out of worrying about getting the job completed on time, and also because he had the keys. He got out of his car. Wearing the thick padded jacket made him look as if he had an average frame. As the sun warmed the day later, he would strip it off, revealing his gaunt body. At the same time, he’d remove his black beanie, exposing his severely balding scalp; both traits, Ian attributed to worry.

Deklin nodded in greeting as other the rest of the work crew’s cars braked. He placed a key in the massive padlock and turned. With a click, the thick chain fell away as a car door opened. Ian dragged aside one of the gates as Peter; a huge young Maori, dragged aside the other. Peter had a smile permanently welded to his face, always putting Ian in a better mood.

He stepped aside as the workers’ cars rolled within the gates. Stars almost died in the morning sky as plant operators checked oil levels and other mechanical attributes before climbing inside the cabins. Peter led three other labourers over to the tool shed and took out shovels and mattocks. They stood aside in waiting for the machinery to loosen the soil before clearing away debris.

Deklin whistled and gestured.

The driver within the cab of a green machine nodded. It rumbled forward to a predetermined spot where Ian had stopped work the day before. Nearly forty years old, the ancient behemoth displayed veins of orange, rusted into the cracks of its paint. Older in technology, the machine started and ran on diesel as did the other earth-working machines. The workers thought Deklin bought the ancient machines out of thriftiness. Ian knew better. True enough, his employer had to save money. He had a struggling family business barely surviving from job to job but Deklin had a philosophy.

The more sophisticated the machinery is; the more can go wrong with it.

Ian knew the wisdom of his words long before he met him. In mines all over the country, modern machinery had more working parts and intricate electronic systems making for more breakdowns. Deklin’s ancient relics, although slower, proved more reliable. In the long run, they got more work done as they worked uninterrupted.

The green drill; for lack of a better name, poised its down turned thick bar over the cleared ground. It lacked the spiralled head of drilling equipment of bygone centuries; merely a featureless bar. Everyone watched the large red power gem on its side. The first rays of dawn crept over the neighbouring hills. Absorbing the sunlight, the red gem flickered before staying fully illuminated. Its slightly pointed tip pounded the ground; a mighty thump, but doing little to penetrate.

Ian felt a tickling sensation under the soles of his feet as the drill worked. It sent a shock wave beneath the earth, allowing the drill bar to sink a few inches into the soil. A series of shocks at regular intervals sent it lower each time, eventually reaching a measured line up the bar.

Deklin waved.

Nodding from inside the cabin of the vehicle, the operator halted any further progress.

Alright, Ian, you’re up now, said Deklin.

Ian nodded and slipped the strap of his leather satchel over his neck. He made his way over to the excavated spot. Lowering himself, he leant on his side and reached down the newly made hole. Its sides scored his thick forearm. His fingers found the bottom at the extremity of his reach. He had to claw at the base a few times to clear away any loose soil before setting the charge.

In the base of the satchel lay a collection of metal tubes fifteen centimetres long and two fingers in girth. He took out one and studied it in the palm of his hand. These powerful seismic charges never ceased to amaze him. As an avid lover of history and tried to research who actually invented them. No one could name the inventor although historians agreed they originated somewhere in Australia.

What’s wrong?! demanded Deklin.

Nothing!

He held the canister aloft. Like the drilling vehicle, its red gem flickered, then fully illumined. With his fingers on top, he twisted, setting off the fuse. A low hum emanated in his hearing and gradually built in pitch before he dropped the canister within the hole. Workers fearfully looked on as he walked away. Experience taught him he had nothing to worry about. Thirty seconds later, the hum would crescendo into a powerful, controlled explosion.

His studies into the past revealed the methods of explosive excavation. In the 1900s and at the turn of the new millennium, men set off crude materials such as dynamite. History documented cases of deafening explosions. Geysers of earth erupted and showered down, sometimes even killing workers in the process.

A dull thud emanated beneath the earth. The ground rippled, spreading from the core like rings in a pond. Earth-moving machines rocked on their chassis.

Deklin threw his cigarette aside.

Alright, let’s get to it.

The men began to move off when the ground shifted. Soil around the excavated hole slowly angled down, broadening as it collapsed, forming a massive sink hole. Ian protectively thrust his arms across his fellow workers to stop them advancing. Amidst the forming dust cloud, he heard a thundering crash, echoing somewhere beneath him.

Stay where you are! Deklin said.

They waited for the dust to settle. The last of the cloud dissipated within an opening, thirty feet wide.

Oh great! Deklin said, then glared. I knew I should have looked at the plans myself.

You wouldn’t know how to read them, said Ian.

At least I wouldn’t have missed a major… He looked over the edge. What is it; a water pipeline?

Deklin… I checked the plans thoroughly. There’s nothing on them. This shouldn’t be here.

Well then you missed something.

Do you want me to rip the plans off the wall and show them to you?!

The two men glared at each other. Ian would not tolerate this contempt of his ability from the likes of Deklin. He couldn’t be more than thirty. As far as Ian was concerned, Deklin was born five minutes ago. Ian on the other hand, had set detonations in mines across the country for the past thirty years. Thus he had earned his place in life; Deklin was yet to.

The other men watched warily. All had all witnessed Ian’s temper. His strength and sheer tenacity, along with his club like fists ensured the victory in any violent confrontation.

Deklin’s eyes flickered aside. He threw his hands over his face to hide his anguish, then pulled them away.

This’ll ruin me; do you know that? I’ll have to fix this mess now. How am I going to pay for it? Not to mention, when I do, it’ll put us way behind schedule. I’ll end up building these units for nothing!

Deklin tightened his lips, about to make an angered retort.

It might not be as bad as you think; boss, Peter said softly.

Ohhh what?!! yelped Deklin.

No, he might be right, said Ian. Canberra’s about 900 years old. A lot of it’s rebuilt on top of the older city. This hole we’re looking at might have nothing to do with modern day council. We should have a look to find out.

Deklin looked thoughtful, then nodded.

Ok then; who’s going down there?

I’ll do it. It’s my mess, said Ian.

Alright, get the crane over here.

A man in his forties with pointed sideburns jogged to the yellow vehicle. He opened the driver’s door as a second man climbed into the rear cab.

Ian slipped on rough leather gloves and waited by the side of the hole. The solar powered engine roared on starting, then the machine chugged as close to the edge as possible. It’s boomed swivelled with the administrations of the operator. The hook swung toward Ian, then slowed to a stop within arm’s reach, lowering to ankle height. Gripping the cable, he stepped into the crux of the hook.

Deklin halted beside him. He held a lantern up to the sun and waited for the power gem to illuminate.

That should be good for four hours, he said.

He handed the lantern to Ian as Deklin gestured down. The cable unwound, taking Ian into the cavernous darkness. Depressing the lantern’s switch, bathed the expanse in bluish white light. It spread further than he imagined, finding brickwork and a huge central mound of dirt. In the midst of the mound, he saw curved surfaces, pale grey in colour. It wouldn’t suit his purpose to alight on top of the mound as he’d have to reach the cavern floor to properly investigate.

He pointed. Take me over there!

Deklin relayed orders. Ian’s view hovered over the mound, then moved in the desired direction. His change in perspective gave him an overall glimpse of huge concrete pipes, three in all, meeting in the middle.

It looks like a t-juncture for storm water pipes! he cried, his voice sounding hollow.

The ground sloped away from one of the pipes, making for a smaller basin between the clay and the pipe wall.

Take me down there!

The hook lowered. He stepped off onto sloshy ground.

That’s enough! he called out as the hook nestled onto the damp floor.

The light from the lantern illumined the small expanse well. It had little to draw his attention except for a yellow and black portable road side barrier. Bringing his lantern closer, he inspected the small orange hazard light. In itself, it looked unremarkable. Roadside workers today still used them. He merely wondered how long men had used these. It could have been used on any modern roadside with no one being any the wiser that it might have been…

A couple of centuries old?

He wanted to take the hazard light with him as a souvenir. Unfortunately, the lens lay broken in the mud. The light itself seemed damaged as if struck by something, possibly vandals.

Have you found anything?! Deklin’s voice boomed down.

Ian looked up at the ring of heads.

Not yet! I think this place is old, but we’d better be sure! I saw the mound slope away on the other side of the pipes. If the tunnel collapse hasn’t blocked off the pipe entrances, I’ll be able to work out what they were used for!

Alright! said Deklin, then gestured again.

Ian waited until the hook rose just above the ground before stepping into the crux. With a rev of the crane’s engine, the hook rose swiftly and angled across the mound into a larger expanse. Light filled the open ground as he descended. Something pale showed in the central pipe’s open mouth. Ian took a solemn breath as he saw in a skeleton. Three times he had worked on collapsed tunnels. He could think of no worse death. Alone in the dark, miners must have cried out for help. Eventually they must have whimpered into silence, becoming hungrier and colder, then gibbered dementedly before breathing their last. They always died before workers could retrieve them.

Owners of the mines had no sympathy. Miners would watch the covered bodies taken away under police escort. They had a moment in silence to mourn, before getting back to work. Any less would eat into the owners’ multi-million dollar profits.

There’s someone down here!

Dead?! Deklin called down.

Yeah!

Ian alighted on the muddy floor and trudged to the spot. The skeleton clearly had a broken femur, making escape impossible. It wore a leather harness crossed over at the shoulders, badly rotted and covered in a film of green-black mould. A series of sheathes ran down its chest with knife handles protruding. He took hold of one and attempted to pull it free. The knife resisted. Exerting more effort, the knife came free. Its blade broke length ways, entirely rusted.

He tossed the broken weapon aside. It splashed in the mud as his gaze travelled further down the harness. It looked an Elaborate design; one piece, with large holsters for the thighs. By their shape, they looked suited for, Hatchets?

Top and bottom of the harness joined at the waist in a broad belt. Along its front, it had a series of empty loops. Possibly made for ammunition, yet they looked too big for even shotgun shells. Not far from the body, he detected a rusted metal tube, the same length and girth as his seismic charges. He picked it up, marvelling at its condition. A film of rust covered its entire surface. Still, it had not eaten through. Slowly, he turned the tube between thumb and forefinger. A lump met with his touch on the underside. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of a red power gem.

He clutched the canister to his chest.

The place is live!

Heads above him pulled away from the edge of the crater. Ian breathed easier, grateful that the sun’s rays hadn’t as yet entered the open rim. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped the explosive device within. Then he placed the rolled up garment beside the skeleton.

It’s alright; I’ve contained it!

Deklin peered over the edge first.

Get out of there!

Yeah, I will!

Ian took a step toward the hook. He trod on something solid, disturbing it in the mud. Nudging it with his boot unearthed an object. At first he feared he might have trodden on a mine, but the object had a strap. His fingers curled around the strap and pulled. It snapped as he lifted, heavily laden with mud. As it fell from his grasp he realised he had picked up a pair of goggles.

They could be welder’s goggles.

He immediately dismissed the thought. They seemed much heavier, even bulkier. Reaching for the goggles again, he turned them over. Sludge within spilled onto the mud.

Why did they seem so familiar?

Waving the lantern, he located a puddle under the curve of the pipe wall. Dunking the goggles in the water, he scooped his fingers inside, washing out the muddy residue. The last of the water poured out, splashing by his feet. Under the light, he studied the goggles.

What have you got? Deklin called down.

His voice barely registered in Ian’s mind, as if he had heard him in a dream.

Ian?!

Ian held a pair of video receptor goggles. He knew people still made these today. Only a lighter, slim-lined version, used mainly to document events such as weddings. Its weight and bulkiness suggested its age as possibly… 600 years old?

He had only seen goggles of this vintage in books.

It’s not possible, he whispered.

But Ian had the proof in his trembling hands. He, a mere labourer, held pair of video receptor goggles, centuries old.

***

Lisa Gudgeon received an early morning phone call. Her employer, Professor Hunter, called. He asked if she was going to work today?

Not that she minded him calling, just that it seemed unusual. She hadn’t missed a day of work in the last twenty years. Professor Hunter wouldn’t even make an explanation. His tone suggested barely contained excitement. No pressure, but then, he had no need. Lisa’s world consisted entirely of her job.

She got up, performed a half hour of calisthenics, then showered and dressed. Her grooming never went beyond tying back her raven black hair anymore. Her skin looked smooth, more suiting a thirty year old. She had a strong nose, and deep brown eyes. Pulling on her faded blue jeans, she buttoned up her chequered shirt.

Before her husband abandoned her, she took more pride in her appearance. With David gone; it didn’t matter anymore.

Buttoning up her shirt she fumed at how it bulged in the front. Men whispered as she passed in the museum halls. When male colleagues sat at the cafeteria tables she could overhear them. Dozens made advances in the years after the divorce. Some asked her out. She rejected them all. Eventually, work colleagues gave up trying. Whispers continued, now on a more negative note. Men and women called her lesbian or words far worse. All said in mocking or bitter tones. None of it mattered anymore; not that she could have stopped the rumours. What people didn’t know about her, they would merely fabricate.

She took up her wallet; another reason to fuel her colleagues’ gossip. A wallet fitted nicely in her jeans pocket, making it unnecessary to carry a handbag.

Sirens wailed down the street and grew in volume. Instead of diminishing as they passed, the sirens continued in close proximity. Seconds later, she heard a knock. She trotted up the hallway and opened the door. A policeman and police woman in uniform stood in the doorway. Beyond them, a police car with siren flashing waited in the driveway. Lisa could see more police vehicles parked on the street.

Lisa Gudgeon? asked the policewoman.

Yes. What is all this?

The policewoman laughed.

We thought you might have known. Didn’t the museum tell you anything?

Not really.

You mean you didn’t see the news last night either?

No, I only read books or listen to music. What’s all this about?

It seems the media knows more than you. All I can tell you is that there’s been an unusual find here in Canberra.

What find?

A human skeleton. I only know it’s not a murder; at least we can’t charge anyone. Forensics says its hundreds of years old. We’re here to escort you to work; crowd control. We’ll wait until you’re ready to go.

Lisa sighed. I was about to leave anyway.

Stepping outside, she closed the door. She made her way to her black hatchback. Cars started and blue lights turned.

Would you mind if I rode with you, Professor Gudgeon? asked the policewoman.

No, she said opening her car door.

The policewoman sat in the passenger seat and pointed.

A few of the bikes will take the lead. Wait until two cars pull in behind them, then follow.

Ok.

Lisa started the car and waited until the vehicles assembled. She coasted out of the driveway. Once she joined the cavalcade, she felt very self conscious. The policewoman made uninspiring attempts at small talk. Lisa responded with brief answers.

Twenty minutes later, she entered the inner city suburbs. The reason for her escort became apparent. Crowds lined the streets, intermingled with news vans. She recognised the logos of the local stations. Further along, she drove, seeing vans and cameras with logos written in foreign script.

A helicopter beat the air, angling low overhead. Its cameraman aimed his camera at her through her windshield. Lettering on the side of the aircraft appeared Russian. An authoritative voice on megaphone ordered the helicopter away.

The policewoman turned her head and smiled.

It looks like the eyes of the world are on you.

Ahead, the crowds became denser, even packing the road. Policemen at the sides pushed people back. The cavalcade crawled through the progressing gap. Lisa saw the dome of the museum. Its crown showed between the trees on the side of the street. She rounded the corner. More people were held back either side of the broad entrance steps.

Professor Hunter stood at the foot of the stairs. He peered down his snout. The manog lacked the facial muscles of human beings. A practiced study of his eyes revealed his feelings. His large brown orbs displayed a certain brightness, equivalent to a smile. Ever dressed immaculately in a suit, his overly broad shoulders drooped into heavy limbs. Shaggy brown hair carpeted the rear of his hands. His black nails, he kept short, in order not to intimidate human beings; something to do with his faith. He claimed to be a Christian, often telling her of his beliefs.

Lisa parked the car. A wave of people led by reporters converged on her. Stepping between them, the police woman ordered them back.

Lisa; this way! called Professor Hunter.

With pointed ears and long snout, the huge head protruding from his suit resembled that of a German Shepherd. Centuries ago, men killed manogs on sight. They mistook them for legendary beings known as werewolves. To a point, men did have something to fear. Evidence of gnawed and bitten through human bones suggested they once ate men. Not now though. Merge mutations and human beings shared the same communities all around the world.

Lisa hugged Professor Hunter tightly. He draped his arm around her back. With little effort, he could crush a human being. Malice didn’t seem to exist in him, leaving Lisa with nothing to fear. In fact, she felt the opposite in his presence, protected, even loved? He had been more than her employer. She thought of Professor Hunter as a mentor, friend, and father.

Pulling away, she beamed brightly. It had nothing to do with the media furore. She merely relished another day in the presence of her father.

They turned for the stairs.

A female manine bounded from the shoulders of a man. Her elongated hind feet projected her into the police cleared area. She straightened her skirt and matching jacket. Half turning, she cast a glance at a cameraman standing at the barrier. The manine had the body of any desirable human female. She had finer features, envied by fashion models. A fine film of bone coloured hair covered any areas of her exposed flesh. Essentially, she looked more woman than cat, except for her feet and tail.

Lisa could never understand a lot of men’s infatuation with these creatures. Many of them sought out the affections of manines. In the end, she put it down to a fantasy with fey creatures.

Smoothing back her blond hair, the reporter angled her microphone.

Miss Gudgeon…

Professor Hunter growled, snapping his jaws within inches of the reporter’s face. She gaped, pulling back with reflexes only possible for a manine. Police grabbed hold of her arms and led her away.

Professor Hunter stared down his snout. His eyes took on a mournful quality. Lisa gripped his arms fondly.

It’s alright, she said.

We’d better get inside, away from this, said Professor Hunter.

They walked up the museum entrance steps and passed through the sliding doors. Ken, the security officer, stood by the