An Audience with Q’theletockus
1.
“I SIMPLY do not have a definitive answer, Miss Somerset,” Lieutenant Bedford said, which were the exact words Annabelle had expected to hear. “I can only assume it was a case of mountain sickness.”
Annabelle frowned. This was a phrase new to her. “Mountain sickness?”
“An analogy, for clearly we have climbed no mountains this day. Mountain sickness refers to the effects of breathing the rarefied air of great heights, although in this case I am referring to the unusual atmosphere content on these sub-lunar caverns. That, coupled with the limited supply of air remaining in my atmosphere suit, well…”
“It all conspired to bring out the wild man in you?” Annabelle offered, unable to keep a smile from her lips.
Bedford’s own smile was returned grimly. There was something of the Chiricahua about him, although he clearly had no Indian ancestry, and Annabelle was not entirely sure if she liked it or not. “I have no other reason that makes any kind of sense,” he said.
“Nor I. However it does not explain my extreme reaction, Lieutenant. I had ample supply of oxygen; I did not need to rely on residual traces within an atmosphere suit. As for the rarefied air of these caverns…I have been on Luna for some time, and I had not reacted in such a way until earlier.” Annabelle shrugged. “It is a mystery. As is the disappearance of Mister Stevenson.”
“Yes, I will confess that is something I cannot explain. I did not take him for a deserter.”
Annabelle shook her head. “He had no time to desert. He simply vanished.”
“That is quite impossible. I have seen many strange things since joining the Navy, but nothing that has given me a belief in magic. Since people do not simply vanish, he must have run away.” Bedford looked sideways with a sigh. Clearly he did not believe this of Stevenson either. “Perhaps your Selenite friends can explain things to us? They are native to this place after all.”
“They are drones, Lieutenant; they have no capacity for speech. However, their queen…”
“Clearly does. But where is she?”
They had been led to the Selenite village, a series of connected spherical caverns, and once in the first cavern they had been instructed by the queen to wait. This Bedford and Annabelle did, while Platt and Miller were requested to follow two Selenites to the food stores. Bedford gave them leave, and the two men followed the Selenites, who scaled the wall to a small hole which led to a hive. The Selenites had no trouble climbing the wall, their tarsal claws perfectly suited to the task. Miller and Platt had a bit more trouble, but soon found a way with Miller using his hands to lift Platt and then Platt pulling Miller up to him. The queen had watched this and made a shrill, unearthly sound, before she departed down a small slope which, Annabelle pointed out, led to a further hive and probably a nursery. She also felt pretty sure that the sound the queen had made was laughter.
The two of them had been alone for a good twenty minutes now, guarded by four Selenites; two by the main entrance of the cavern, and one each protecting the small entrances to the upper and lower hives. Clearly they were not that trusted yet, although they had not relieved the humans of their weapons. Perhaps word of Annabelle had spread throughout Luna? Annabelle thought this distinctly possible, since the Selenites were able to communicate with each other over great distances in various, inaudible ways.
“Perhaps she is deliberating?” Annabelle said. “If I am known, then you can be sure the Russians are equally known. The queen has already helped us once; perhaps she is now weighing up the pros and cons of helping us once again. This is, after all, a big decision.”
“That’s as may be, Miss Somerset, but aiding us in rescuing your uncle and putting paid to the Russians can only be good for her. After all, did you not say that her own people are held captive by the Russians, too?”
“Not necessarily, Lieutenant.” Bedford looked at her, confused. Annabelle continued. “There are many Selenite colonies throughout Luna, some have queens, others are led by retainers of knowledge, while others are mutually co-dependent on each other. There is nothing to say that the Selenites enslaved by Tereshkov are a part of this colony.”
“Nonetheless, Miss Somerset, they are Selenites.”
Annabelle was surprised by Lieutenant Bedford’s apparent naivety in this matter. He was a good deal older than her, and clearly had a distinguished career in the British Navy. He surely must have seen plenty in his time. Even Annabelle, with only nineteen years, had seen enough to know that one did not necessarily help another simply because they were of the same species. She thought back to her parents and the Chiricahua Apaches, and shook her head. She opened her mouth to draw Bedford’s attention to this, but sound from the entrance to the upper hive distracted her.
Platt and Miller had returned, carrying in their hands grey fungus. At the sight of it, Annabelle let out a groan. Bedford looked at her enquiringly, and she forced a smile. “Dinner is served, Lieutenant.”
“Capital!” Bedford said and got to his feet and clambered across the cavern to give Platt a hand down.
Annabelle did not wish to contradict him, he seemed so happy at the prospect of trying the lunar fungus. Perhaps he liked the taste of sour milk.
2.
“LUNAR BATS?”
Now Bedford had heard it all. He had tried some strange things that were considered food, but bats had never been on any menu he had sampled.
“According to my uncle, when burned to a crisp they taste like pork,” Miss Annabelle said. “Which, I think it is fair to say, is better than sour milk.”
“She has a point there, sir,” Platt interjected with a laugh.
Bedford ignored Platt’s lack of decorum for the moment. It did not seem to matter a great deal, since the four of them were sitting in a cave, with giant ants nearby, and just for now rank was unimportant. Soon they would be heading into the heart of the Russian camp, and it was good that his men, all two of them, understood that their commanding officer respected them. Even Miller. Discipline was one thing, but respect counted for a lot more when entering behind enemy lines. His methods may have been different to those of Captain Folkard, but they at least agreed on having the respect of the men under their command. Besides which, they had lost several men already and were thus even more dependent on each other for their continued safety.
“She has at that,” Bedford said, chewing once more on the crunchy fungus. “Still, it will do in a pinch and I have tasted much worse.”
Miller, who had tried very little of the fungus, was looking around the small cavern at the Selenites as they went about their business. They were scuttling from one hive to the next, occasionally looking at the humans. None of them moved in for any closer inspection, but that they were curious was obvious. “Sir, are we really going to get help from these ants?”
“Well, that is the rub, Mister Miller. What do you think, Miss Annabelle?”
This was the compromise. She had insisted on being called Annabelle, but as there was absolutely no likelihood of that happening Bedford had decided he could bend as far as “Miss Annabelle”; considering her age he did not think that breeched propriety too much.
“I do not know for certain,” she said, “but like I said before the Selenites are not fighters. However I have discovered that when threatened they are fiercely protective of their colonies.”
“Then, perhaps we can…”
Bedford was interrupted by the arrival of a small group of Selenites. At their head was a copper-coloured one, slightly bigger than the rest. Miss Annabelle scrambled to her feet in the most un-ladylike manner Bedford had ever seen. He covered his mouth with his hand and smiled. If only women were allowed to serve in the Navy.
“K’chuk! It is good to…” Miss Annabelle stopped inches away from the Selenite, a frown creasing her brow. “You are not K’chuk.”
“I K’ovib. I bring you to Q’theletockus. Follow.” K’ovib turned and walked the way he came. The other Selenites remained, waiting for the humans to follow.
“A problem, Miss Annabelle?” Bedford asked once he had joined her.
“Possibly. K’ovib is a retainer of knowledge, an enhanced Selenite, a sort of elder of the colonies. K’chuk led me to believe that a colony is run by either a queen or a retainer, not both.”
Bedford pursed his lips together. “Clearly something has changed, then.”
3.
FOLKARD’S TEAM came to an abrupt halt. They had ventured deeper into the tunnels, led by K’chuk. Nathanial had, through conversing with K’chuk, been able to ascertain that Selenites communicated by the use of pheromones, among other things. The slaves were aware of K’chuk’s approach and had already begun to make plans on revolting against their Russian masters. First though, Folkard, Nathanial and K’chuk would have to cross into the Russian camp. To that end they had followed the rumbling sound of a machine. Folkard felt certain he knew what it was.
Now they stood at the mouth of another cavern, flat against the tunnel wall. Nathanial could feel the vibration of the machine against his back. K’chuk made to move into the cavern but Folkard reached forward and grasped one of the Selenites fore-legs.
“K’chuk, no!” he said with a hiss of breath. “We must do this with stealth. If the Russians are alerted to our arrival, your people will be in danger.”
K’chuk lowered his head and pulled back against the wall. “Selenites in danger now.”
“Yes, but still they live. Let us keep it that way.”
The rumbling ceased presently, and Folkard peered around the corner. “Excellent. Professor, K’chuk, please remain here. I will signal you momentarily.” With that Folkard slung his carbine over his shoulder and snuck around the corner.
Nathanial edged past K’chuk to see what Folkard was doing.
In the next cavern stood a large, fearsome looking vehicle. Nathanial had not seen its like before, although he was put in mind of a locomotive engine, albeit one without a chimney. Black smoke emerged from a small pipe at the rear, situated above the door which was, even now, being lowered. Constructed with panels of steel, the vehicle stood on four large iron wheels, with an elongated drill head attached to the front.
A Russian soldier, dressed in the uniform of the Russian Imperial Army, emerged from the rear of the vehicle, unaware of Folkard who was crouched by the side of the machine. By the time he became aware it was too late. Folkard moved swiftly, bringing the butt of his carbine smashing down on the back of the Russian’s head. Folkard grabbed the Russian under the arms and gently lowered him to the dusty floor.
“Spokoinoi nochi, sladkih snov,” Folkard said quietly.
He glanced over at Nathanial, and was about to say something but before he could a second Russian, this time unseen by Folkard, had emerged from the drilling vehicle and had drawn his own gun. This he aimed directly at Folkard.
“Ne tak tiho kak ty dumal, Britanskaya shval!”
Once again Nathanial wished he had a weapon. The Russian had his back to Nathanial, and so Nathanial quietly stepped into the cavern with the intention of catching the Russian unaware. He was no expert at fisticuffs, but he would give it his all if he could catch Folkard’s would-be killer unawares…
A rusty blur of colour whizzed past him.
It took Nathanial a few moments to realise what it was, and by then K’chuk had already sprung on to the back of the Russian. The man staggered forward, trying to shake off the giant insect. K’chuk held on tight, his six tarsal claws digging in to the skin under the uniform. Blood seeped through, and still the Russian struggled. Folkard stood aside, bracing himself against the drilling vehicle, and watched, as fascinated as Nathanial, as K’chuk opened his powerful triangular mandibles. With a snap, faster than the eyes could follow, the mandibles met and the Russian’s head, in an explosion of blood, was severed.
The body, with K’chuk still on top, dropped, the head landing next to it. For a moment longer Nathanial stood where he was, his eyes locked on the severed head. Then, as the bile began to rise in his mouth, he turned away and deposited the contents of his stomach on the cavern floor. The sight, and the cloying stench of the blood, was just too much for him.
4.
THEY PASSED through a hive, where they were practically ignored by the Selenites there (Annabelle wished she had time to stop and observe, since she had learned much from K’chuk, but second-hand information was no substitute for first-hand experience), and continued on a downward slope into a small, narrow, tunnel. Grey fungus filled almost every inch of the wall. The queen, Q’theletockus, stood at the foot of the tunnel, no doubt guarding the nursery beyond, with two Selenites either side of her. K’ovib indicated where Bedford and Annabelle were to stand, a few feet from the queen, and Miller and Platt stopped behind them.
“Why you come here?” Q’theletockus asked, the human words grating in her mouth. “We Esitonina not war with other species, we live in peace. You bring evil here.”
Bedford opened his mouth to speak, but Annabelle touched his arm gently and he looked to her. “Lieutenant, if I may.”
Bedford did not look convinced, but he stepped back discretely. Annabelle knelt on one knee and looked up at the queen. “Your Majesty, we did not bring war to you. We, my uncle and I, came in peace. My uncle is known to your people as the ‘gooddoctor’, he has helped a Selenite colony before. You must know K’chuk.”
“K’chuk told us of the gooddoctor. You his batch relation?”
“Yes, I am Annabelle Somerset. I helped K’chuk be free of the Russians, the men who brought evil to your world.”
The queen was silent for a moment. “We trust the doctor, but he bring Russians, they come from your world. Bring death sticks like these.” Q’theletockus pointed with one of her fore-legs at the carbines slung over the humans’ shoulders. “Killed many Esitonina with your sticks.”
“Not we, Your Majesty. Unlike Luna our world is divided. We have many different, uh, colonies. I am American, these men are English.”
“Like I Esitonina, K’chuk Compuntos. We are many colonies, but still one.”
Annabelle sighed. “I wish Earth was so, but it is very different to Luna. Our colonies often fight over land. Every colony wishes to be stronger than the others.”
“This not their land to fight over. Heart not know evil like this.”
“We are different to you,” Annabelle said, feeling like she was losing her footing. She had to make them understand that not all humans were the same. “It would be impossible to explain human nature to you, mostly because we do not truly understand ourselves. If you know K’chuk then you must know that my uncle, the gooddoctor, did not bring evil to you. Indeed, even now, he is being forced to work against his will. Just as other Selenites are. K’chuk and I escaped; he freed many Selenites while I asked for help. Help to stop this evil.”
“You asked for more war, more evil. More men with death sticks.”
Annabelle swallowed hard. The queen, once again, spoke true. Annabelle removed the carbine from her shoulder and gently lowered it to the ground between her and the queen. “We did not seek to bring evil to your world, but it is here now, and it will only be removed with more…evil.”
“Miss Somerset,” Bedford whispered in her ear, “the British Empire is not to be considered evil. Explain this to her.”
Annabelle bit her lip, ignoring Bedford, and praying he would not oppose her openly in front of the queen. Things were delicate, and the brash thinking of a military mind would only tip the balance against them.
“Your Majesty, please understand, if we do not use death sticks against the Russians, they will remain. They will continue to dig into the heart of this world. Many more Selenites will be killed.”
The queen became agitated. “No! They must not be with Heart.”
“They have heart, but they seek different things to us. They look for…” Annabelle was stumped. How could she explain the Russians desire for the relic and the power it offered them? Of course! “That which you worship, they look to misuse it.”
“Not Heart!”
Annabelle raised her hands, in an attempt to placate the queen. Ants on Earth were some of the most vicious creatures on the planet. They fought mercilessly to protect their nests. Annabelle recognised the sound in Q’theletockus’ voice; it was hysteria! It was just what they needed.
“We can stop them, Your Majesty, me and my companions here. But only with your help.”
5.
FOLKARD STEPPED out of the Mole Drill and walked over to Professor Stone, who was still standing near the mouth of the tunnel looking a little on the worse side of green. He had been sure the professor was stepping up to the plate quite well, but clearly K’chuk’s unexpected bout of aggression was just that bit too much for his delicate stomach. For his own part, Folkard had seen much worse in his time as a naval officer, he had done a brief tour during the early days of the colonisation of Mars that would make the most resolute men turn green, but that was not to say he enjoyed seeing a man’s head being severed from his body.
“Are you quite all right now, Professor?”
The look Stone gave Folkard left little room for misinterpretation. “Peaceable ants? Something tells me turning the Selenites into soldiers will be a lot easier than either of us thought.”
“Well, I shan’t grumble too loudly, Professor, K’chuk did save my life, and in effect yours. How do you think you would fair on Luna without me, surrounded by Russians?”
“A fair point, Captain. Nonetheless…”
“What if K’chuk turns on us?” Folkard looked back at the Mole Drill. K’chuk was inside the vehicle now, as fascinated by the interior as Professor Stone was about the Selenites as a whole. “We do not know for certain, but something in me tells me to trust him. He has had ample opportunity to strike if he had a mind to.”
Stone nodded his agreement. “Very well, we have come too far to turn back now. And I was warned about the dangers of this mission. Let us make haste then.”
Folkard turned and walked back towards the Mole Drill. “Haste is unlikely, Professor. A Mole Drill is not made for speed, but rather for power. With enough coal it is essentially unstoppable.”
“What puzzles me, though, Captain, is why the Russians would need such a vehicle. Luna is littered with tunnels and caverns. What need is there to create more?”
“A question to which we will soon learn the answer. I speak a little Russian; perhaps it is enough to get some answers from our captive.”
Together they entered the Mole Drill, and Folkard looked at the man in question. The sub-lieutenant was bound with rope, a dirty rag, no doubt used to wipe the coal-dust off the driver’s forehead, served as a gag. His decapitated comrade had been secreted away in a burrow in the cavern; it had been freshly dug by K’chuk, who claimed that often times Selenites created such burrows to store food. The smell would not last long, it would soon join the usual sub-lunar stench which, Folkard began to realise, was probably rotting meat in other burrows. He was no expert on ant culture, but he did know that meat-eating ants existed, and most likely the same applied for the Selenites. He stepped closer to the prisoner.
“You will talk, tovarish, or my little friend over there will make a meal out of you, too.” Folkard nodded towards K’chuk who was standing on the raised platform next to the coal chamber. The Russian’s eyes widened in horror. He may not have spoken English, but he understood the meaning.
“I not kill. Only to save,” K’chuk said.
Folkard walked over to K’chuk and said in a whisper; “I understand that, K’chuk, but we do not wish our captive to be a party to that information. We need to know what the enemy is planning to successfully rescue your brethren.”
K’chuk was silent, his bulbous head tilting from side to side. Then he nodded. “Understand, friend Folkard.”
“Superb. Professor Stone?”
Stone, who was looking around the large interior, turned to Folkard. “A fascinating vehicle,” he said.
“I am glad you think so, since it is time for you to learn how drive it.”
“Me?” Stone was quite incredulous.
“Of course, what other person is there? I will be busily engaged in extracting information from this retrograde. K’chuk will help you.”
Stone swallowed and stepped past Folkard. The professor did not rate their success in this endeavour, and in truth Folkard had his doubts, too, but the basic operations of a Mole Drill were simple enough and the professor was a smart man. As Stone climbed the ladder to the raised level, Folkard pulled the lever that activated the door winch. Soon they would be behind enemy lines, and then they would learn first-hand what they were up against.
Folkard found he was rather looking forward to it.