Warblegrub and the Forbidden Planet (9 page)

It was at the climax of the greatest war that had yet engulfed mankind and both he and Warblegrub had watched in astonishment as tens of thousands of humans and countless other living creatures, had been vaporised in an instant. When the shockwave of the nuclear blast had passed and while the fireball raged above the tortured earth, he had begged Warblegrub to let him destroy mankind once and for all. Warblegrub had thought about it long and hard but in the end had shaken his head.
“They have been given freewill and they must be masters of their own fate,”
had been his reply.

The rising moon appeared from behind one of the tallest skyscrapers and for a moment all was as clear as daylight. Fardelbear paused on the parapet of an office block, some thirty stories up and looked down at the humans scurrying along the road to the port.

“But these are mine!” he growled.

Glowing eerily in the moonlight, a gull passed overhead, flew on down the road and vanished into the gloom. Its lonely cry came back to them, melancholy and haunting. Standing on the roof of a van as she waited for rest of the company to catch up, Sarah closed her eyes, felt the wind on her face and breathed deeply, tasting the salty sea air.

Their boots drowned out the first clap of thunder but the sky blackened over in seconds and they were blinded by a flash of lightning. A long, rolling peal of thunder shook the air and sent them diving for cover. Then a great surge of lightning rippled across the sky, wrapped whirling tentacles around masts and aerials, ran down the skyscrapers in flickering torrents and illuminated Fardelbear, just ahead, sitting on the roof of a bus.

As before, their weapons were useless and his glowing red eyes gazed leisurely about, oblivious to bullets and missiles, but when he moved he was as swift as the lightning. Launching himself from the bus, he charged straight through the company like a bowling ball. In their terror, the soldiers sprayed bullets after him and killed two of their comrades, and before he could return, they broke and fled, heedless of order, the Colonel cursing them as he followed.

*

Waking to the sound of thunder, Alex remembered the river booming through the canyon and wondered if she had fallen in. There was a blanket draped over her but her jumpsuit was dry. With a start, she remembered Fardelbear grabbing her. She sat up but it was too dark to see anything.

The thunder came again but it was growing fainter. Moonlight shone through venetian blinds and she saw a room lined with shelves, and full of cabinets and stands crammed with what appeared to be jumble and bric-a-brac. As the moonlight grew stronger, the jumble was revealed as an enormous collection of carelessly stacked ornaments and artefacts.

She got up, but as she draped the heavily striped blanket over the couch on which she had been sleeping, she encountered a large head with fearsome jaws and glaring eyes. When she hurled the thing away, it came to rest with a long tail stretched out towards her and she recognised the skin of a spectacular animal. A small paper tag covered in elegant handwriting was tied to the tail with string.

‘Bengal Tiger, shot by Robert, Baron Clive of Plassey (used as a fireside rug), circa 1758 CE.’

She put the rug back on the couch then, making out a door a few metres away, picked a path through the jumble and found a light switch on the wall.

For a moment she could only gape at the glittering treasure trove suddenly revealed but when she dimmed the light, she saw faces in gold and silver all around her – animal and human, demonic and godlike – staring at her from plinths, shelves and cabinets. An extraordinary variety of statues, busts, ornamental weapons, decorative cups, plates and bowls filled a long room, neither end of which could be seen through the chaos.

Completely dazzled, she stumbled over a low plinth but managed to catch the bowl resting on it before it fell. When she held it up to the light, she saw the faces of gods on the outside, while humans, animals and mythical creatures decorated the inside. A small card in the bottom of the bowl read,
‘Gundestrup Cauldron, silver-plated copper, Celtic, Second Century CE.’

As she wandered among the treasures, Alex felt the rough wood and stone of ancient gods and the cold, smooth marbles and metals of the gods that came after. She studied the intricate carvings and decorations and gazed into the wells of colour in a thousand gleaming jewels until her head began to spin. Returning to the couch, she saw a coffee table and a few unremarkable leather armchairs nearby. There were several books in a variety of languages and a half-f mug of cold coffee on the table. Her sidearm in its holster was on a chair, her pack and helmet on the floor beside it.

Finding the chairs as comfortable as they looked, Alex sat down and began to relax. She noticed a large hardback book titled ‘
Antiques Guide, 238th Edition’
, its cover illustrated with a photograph of a varnished wooden carriage clock. The clock face was marked in archaic numerals and gold vines wound round the elegant dial. She found it both enchanting and ridiculous, and wondered why anyone would choose to decorate a clock.

The pages of furniture, vases, clocks, and all manner of glass and china ornaments, with the accompanying descriptions, occupied her attention for a while but when she put the book back she noticed a slimmer volume that had been hidden beneath it. Two words were written in gold on its plain grey cover:
‘Hamlet’
and
‘Shakespeare’
. Opening at a page marked with a black leather bookmark, she saw the text was in verse and in the form of a play. The language was very old-fashioned and there was a phrase underlined in red ink halfway down the page;
‘who would fardels bear’
.

“Who would fardels bear?” she mulled the strange words. There was a handwritten note in the margin:
‘fardel = (archaic use) a bundle or burden; ‘to bear’ = to carry’

“Fardelbear,” she said aloud and frowned. “To carry a burden….”

Reading a little more, she heard the playwright speak of the hardships of life, the fear of death and how these burdens make people weak and cowardly. Feeling sad and thoughtful, she put the book down again, next to an electronic reader that lit up as soon as she touched it. The language menu offered a wide selection, alien and human, and she chose her native tongue. The title page appeared; ‘
Universal Encyclopaedia, Volume 567 Hol- to Huz-’
and she selected the most recently researched topic.

‘Human. Aka: Homo Sapiens, mankind, humankind, human being, the Human Race, Earthling, ‘the hairless ape’, ‘bloody humans’.'

'1. Appearance and Habits: a bipedal simian species, originally from Earth (Restricted Planet 2243), they surpass even their near cousin, the chimpanzee, in violence and aggression. Far more technologically proficient than other simians, they have a particular talent for ballistics. Together with their ability to form quite complex organisations (see Sub-section 5. ‘Organisation’), this makes them an extremely dangerous species which has already devastated several planets of outstanding natural beauty, including their own.'

'Anyone encountering humans outside a designated ‘Human Settlement Camp’ should avoid contact and notify the proper authorities immediately (see ‘Journal of Intergalactic Law’, Case File 5,440,345,893-C). Humans reading this article outside a designated settlement camp should report to the proper authorities immediately (see ‘Journal of Intergalactic Law’, Appendix 13,745 ‘Control and Eradication of Pestilent Species’).’

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Alex scrolled on down.

‘Sub-section 5. Organisation: As individuals or in small groups humans are mostly harmless but the species is capable of collaborating in much larger and more damaging units (see Appendix 1a. ‘Tribes’, b. ‘Empires’, c. ‘Nations’, d. ‘Corporations’, e. ‘Religions’) formed for the purpose of exploiting resources, hunting for food, oppressing and exploiting other species and oppressing and exploiting each other (see Special Study Sections; ‘The First Roman Empire’, ‘The Third German Reich’, ‘The Kola-Dizney-Mak Corporation’).’

She put the book down and picked up the Antiques Guide again.

*

As swiftly as it had started, the rain ceased. The storm passed away and moonlight came streaming through the ragged clouds. A marble statue, still largely free of ivy, marked the end of the long road – an old man riding two harnessed dolphins. In one hand he gripped the reins and in the other he held a trident pointing towards the sea.

The soldiers passed the old man by, jumped down from the end of the line of vehicles and plunged into a sea of scrub grass and brambles. The loading bays of red-brick warehouses stood open before them but their way was barred by a thick hedge, several metres high. First to reach it, Peter hacked through the foliage with his machete and exposed a wire fence which bowed under the weight as he and his comrades scrambled over. Coming up behind them, 395 and Sergeant 236 urged them on, and at the sound of gunfire, they glanced back and saw Fardelbear pouncing cat-like on another victim. Just ahead, Private 856 stumbled but the Sergeant caught his arm and they hurried inside the nearest warehouse.

Moonlight shimmered in pools of rainwater, spiders’ webs sparkled like diamond nets and the tall, roofless chamber echoed with their pounding feet as they hurdled fallen beams, crates and drums. At the back of the loading bay they entered a short passage which ended in a locked door. When they heard Fardelbear’s drumming feet behind them, they broke the door down and stumbled out into an alley between the rows of warehouses. Several other survivors emerged from neighbouring buildings and the company regrouped in a loading bay in the next row. Immediately the Sergeant saw who was missing.

“Where’s the Colonel?” She was met with blank faces and quickly tried the radio. “Are you receiving me, Colonel?”

“Receiving you….”

The Colonel’s voice was drowned out by gunfire, and flames flickered inside the warehouse they had just left. An explosion hurled a shower of debris into the alley and through the swirling dust and smoke they saw Private 207 and the Colonel stagger through the door, just as Fardelbear sprang out after them. A burst from 207’s Redeemer hurled the monster back and he crashed into a wall, which collapsed on top of him. Bellowing with rage, he struggled to shake off the huge pile of bricks and girders, and the Colonel and 207 hastily re-joined the company.

The next row of warehouses proved to be the last and they found themselves at the perimeter of the naval base. Beyond the fence was a moonlit wasteland of tarmac and concrete, thinly covered with weeds and brambles, then long lines of workshops, and beyond those were rusted cranes and the silent grey warships at anchor.

Hearing a growl behind them, Peter and the Sergeant snatched grenades from their belts and held them ready, and when gleaming red eyes appeared in the passage behind them, they hurled one after another, bringing the building crashing down on top of Fardelbear.

*

Lifeless eyes gazed up at Warblegrub and he recognised the look of someone whose last sight had been Fardelbear. His tag read
Pt 1993
and Warblegrub wondered what his name had been. Looking round, he saw cars and buildings riddled with bullet holes and another corpse draped over the roof of a van a little further on –
Pt 932
– another dead face, pale in the moonlight. He closed his eyes and reached out with his thoughts but there was no sign of the humans nearby. Fardelbear’s brooding presence, however, was ahead.

Warblegrub hurried past the old man and his dolphins, and followed the trail of destruction through the warehouses, across the wasteland to the harbour, where the warships lay at anchor. Water lapped gently against their hulls and the reflections were almost perfect, but he saw immediately that a submarine was missing. Then he saw Fardelbear, standing at the harbour mouth, gazing into the distance.

“So you’ve let them escape!” he said when Warblegrub joined him.

Warblegrub nodded.

“And you’ve let them get their hands on nuclear weapons!”

Warblegrub nodded again.

“Lost sight of the big picture, didn’t you?”

Once again, Warblegrub nodded.

“Why?”

“Because I care about the little picture,” he replied irritably. “It’s the little things that matter to me – like whether someone
deserves
to die or not!”