Ultimate S.H.A.D.E. #15: Dark Side of the Moon pt4

[jackalope]

Ultimate S.H.A.D.E. #15
Dark Side of the Moon pt. 4

S.H.A.D.E. Base, Russia

“Status report!”

The Russian S.H.A.D.E. agents look at Langstrom blankly, then go back to doing whatever they were doing before he shouted. He grits his teeth. This wouldn't be happening if Father Time was here, instead of up there, where he should be, as a giant-ass bat, chasing people. The lanky doctor scratches his head, frustration building within him. He looks out at all of the busy agents, carrying files, checking computer screens, being useful. He starts to count how many of them he could take out before they got organised enough to take his daemonic alter ego out.

“Ha ha haar!” The cackle makes him jump and he turns to see the Russian leader, the one Time called Baba, standing behind him, a devilish glint in her eye. “At least twenty, I think.” His eyes look left and right, no one is watching them. He smiles cautiously, feigning ignorance. She shakes her head slightly. “Come now, I know a naughty day dream when I see one.” She cracks a large grin, pushing wrinkles out to the edges of her face.

He stares blankly at her, unsure how to respond. She rolls her eyes.

“<Status report!>” Her Russian brings a trio of agents running with files outstretched. She takes them in hand and starts flicking through, dragging her long nails finger across the pages. “The craft has crashed, but it is under repair. It seems like they were attacked.” She looks up at his concerned face, and pats him on the shoulder. “They'll be fine, worse comes to worse they can detonate the nuclear device within the ship.” His eyes widen. She smiles, “Russian humour, it does not translate well sometimes.”

He sighs, “Fuck.”

She lightly pats his arm. “Come on, share a coffee with me. We can gossip about who is the leak within your team.”

He stops, “What?!”

“Well we can see it is not you...” She pulls his arm down through to the corridor. “Father Time did not tell you of this? He is a man of many secrets.” She squints at him. “Like you.”

Langstrom watches the old lady as she took his arm in hers. “I don't have secrets.”

She smiles without looking at him, her large white veneers catching the artificial light that lined the corridor to the kitchens. “Some are so secret; even you do not know them.”

***

Now, Moon.

Niles kicks the wall. “It's a fucking maze.”

“Why is David Bowie playing over the radio frequency?” Lyta looks at the others.

Father Time shrugs and points his umbrella. “Left Frankenstein.” The huge space suited man nods, taking the left route, through the tunnels. “Niles you have your work cut out with this guy. Aten-hut was the smartest guy in ancient Egypt through to when he was stranded here. He has had over a hundred years to work on this place; I'm not surprised the whole place isn't rigged with...”

“Trap!” Frankenstein launches forward into the huge brass log that swung down towards them. Taking the full force in his shoulder he knocks the flying metal weight into the wall beside him, swiftly cutting the metal weaved ropes that held it with his mighty blade. A spear shot out from the ground that he kicks, breaking it in two. Grabbing the broken end he jams it into a pipe that appears in the wall just as it starts to shoot fire. The blocked pipe starts to rumble, and in the distance behind the tunnel walls an explosion can be heard. The blue skinned man turns back to the team. “I feel we are owed a more in depth explanation as to why we are being attacked.”

The Indian man looks at each of their expectant faces. “Ok, keep moving.” He pushed through them, onwards. “I'll explain as we go.”

***

1902, Inside the Moon.

“Stay back!” shouts General Immortus waving his sword at the approaching swarm. The buzzing of wings, carrying human sized bug creatures through the enormous carved cavern of the lunar rock. The long thin creatures that hover through the air wield long spears. The ancient general turns to Vandal Savage. “This is on you.”

The huge Immortal shrugs, “I like our odds.” Suddenly he leaps, the low gravity launching him high. He lets his blade swing, slashing through the moon bugs with ease. They stab at him, but with prowess he dodges through the air, knocking spears out of the way and finally dropping back to the ground, landing on top of two of the warrior bugs.

The others run forward, Mademoiselle Thyme swinging out with her umbrella, crushing arms and carapaces with each connecting strike. Arden stands near her, his sword slashing through the insects. Orlando strikes with a great fury, some underlying anger driving her forward.

“These will be the females, if they are anything like their earthly counterparts,” Aten-Hut calls. He draws out some sort of steam gun and fires blowing a line of floating Selenites into dust. “The ones Vandal struck must have been drones.”

“This is all very educational Professor,” called Immortus, dodging a blow and striking back, “but is there a point?”

The Mummy's steam gun whistled, preparing to fire again. He ducked back behind one of the small walls. “What I'm trying to say,” another BANG signals another four disintegrated bugs, “is there's likely to be some sort of Queen.”

“Or King...” Mademoiselle Thyme utters as she looks up at the creature that stands on the largest building ahead of them. Taller than the winged females, this Selenite stood observing the battlefield, the shell that grew on its face was shaped, growing into a natural horned crown. With its green colouring it was distinctly frog-like. It pointed at them each. The swarm of bugs suddenly twisted in the air, like an organised aerial manoeuvre. The produced some sort of silken nets, and flew around the Earthlings, keeping far enough away from them that they could not be struck. Lady Orlando was scooped up, then Immortus. Arden jumps in front of Thyme, slicing at the bugs with the sword, trying to keep them back. A flying creature swoops down behind them, using its spear to trip them. As they fall back, two more catch and net them.

Savage laughs and leaps at the Selenite King. In midair a swarm of them overpower them. Grunting he kicks and smashes them against one another, but he is overcome by the overwhelming numbers. With a series echoing clicks the King is lifted by a host of winged females towards the centre of the lunar city.

The Infinity Club exploration party are brought through the city of carved pale rock. Pushed together by the net that binds them, Mademoiselle Thyme's glistening eyes catch those of Michel Arden. He smiles, shifting to wrap his arm around her. In French he whispers, “<I have never seen this look in your eyes, what is it?>”

She looks away. “Fear,” she answers honestly.

He kisses her forehead. Lifting her chin he looks at her. “<Of this?>” He laughs, “<I'm fairly certain this is not the scariest thing that we could experience... If I ever meet your parents- now that would be scary. Or if we had to get real jobs. Or we were to never see one another again...>”

Her pursed lips twist into a smile and she kisses him. “You're a fool.” She tussles his hair and hugs him. “But you're a brave fool.”

“<Is there any other kind?>”

“Get a room.” Lady Orlando's voice shouts out.

The members are dropped to the ground from a huge height, but with the reduced gravity none are hurt. Still wrapped in the silken web netting the party crawl around, looking at their surroundings. In some sort of circular court or arena, thousands of Selenites, both winged and drones stood around, watching the humans. The green king sits silently on an ornately carved chair, flanked on either side by the winged soldiers.

“Plan?” whispers Immortus to the rest of them.

“Several,” Aten-Hut replies, adjusting his glasses. “First we must establish a baseline for communication.” Vandal Savage grunts dismissively. The living mummy pulls a couple of bronze measuring instruments and starts to tap them together.

At the clicking, the bugs seem to collectively gasp, or the closest they can manage without vocal chords. One of the attendants of their leader steps forward but the King makes a subtle signal, stopping her. Aten-Hut clicks the instruments together again. Tilting his head slightly, the alien king rises and starts to approach the bound group. His claws click together in a pattern, which the Professor mimics back. Cautiously stepping forward the King makes another tapping pattern. Again, it is repeated back.

“It's working,” Immortus whispers to Orlando.

“What's working?” she whispered back. All eyes were on the bandaged Professor and the bug king that approached him, except for Savage who gazed about the moon court.

“I am signalling to them that we are capable of communication. Of learning,” explained Aten-Hut. The alien clicked again and the mummy followed suit. “These are a remarkable species, intelligent enough to create a society like this in such an inhospitable place as the moon. I'm positive mathematic will form the bases of communication, it is the true universal language.”

A few feet from him the Selenite king stopped, and crouched down. Clicking again it watched as the netted man in the white cloth tapped his response. It angled it head, as if considering his options.

The sound of shuffling makes General Immortus look down. Vandal's long arm is reaching towards him, through a hole stretched in the net. He grabs the General's sword and draws it back. Immortus scowls. “What are you doing Savage?” he whispers harshly.

“Communicating and learning.” The huge immortal holds the two swords together and bangs them together. The echoing ding shifts the aliens' attention to him. Pushing himself onto his knees he bangs the swords together again. The Selenite King turns, taking a step towards him.

“Don't ruin this Savage,” shouts Aten-Hut. “We have a chance at connecting with an alien species.”

Savage grins. He holds the blades up, then turns them and stabs them into the ground. He crawls backwards. The Selenite king signals with a twitch of his arm. Two winged aliens leap into the air, swooping down and grabbing the weapons. They land beside the green king, and hold the swords up for him. The alien leader takes one in each hand and looks at them.

“See Professor, given the choice between communication or a military advantage, a leader will always choose the latter.”

The frog-like king brings the swords together, letting the clang reverberate out. He looks at the travellers, lingering on Vandal. With the swords pointed out towards him, the King approaches. Savage bends his head, as if offering himself as some sort of sacrifice. The Selenite places the sword on the huge immortal's shoulder, then slices, cutting away the net that binds him. Savage looks up and slowly stands to his full height, almost as tall as the green king.

“<The alien has forgiven him...>” mutters Arden to himself.

“What you fail to understand is there is only one universal language...” Vandal Savage says to them. He lunges, at the king, knocking the blades out of his hands and lifting him over his head. “Violence.” He throws the Selenite king to the ground, where he disintegrates into dust and a pile crumbled limbs.

“What have you done?” Aten-Hut asks, quietly.

Savage picks up the swords and cuts free the Infinity club. He stares out at the silent alien masses that surround them, swaying silently. “Conquered the moon.”

“We should leave,” Thyme says tugging at Arden's jacket.

“I agree.” General Immortus grabs his sword back. He looks to the nervous Lady Orlando and pats her arm. “Let's go.”

The Selenites continue to watch the Earthlings as they move towards the exit. They break into a run as they spot the tunnel through which they came in the distance.

“Why aren't they following us?” Orlando calls between breaths.

“They were reliant on a leader, you saw how they became organised when the frogman showed up,” Savage yells back. “Honestly, I thought you'd all be smarter with age.” He bounds forward, the low gravity sending him over the pale stone buildings. The others jump after him.

“They could just be grieving,” says Michel. “They just lost their King.”

“I didn't know there were any French royalists left...” remarks Immortus, as they get closer.

Mademoiselle Thyme spots something white lying below her. “My umbrella! I knew I dropped it.” Landing near she steps towards it, but Aten-Hut stops her.

“Look, it's infected.” The multi-coloured fungus is crawling up the umbrella. “Leave it.” They turn to join the others, who have just reached the tunnel to the surface, when a sudden humming vibrates through the cave. The adventurers turn back to the lunar city. “Shit.”

The Professor and Thyme leap forward to the tunnel mouth through which the others are running, except for the Frenchman who is waiting for her. Behind them the ceiling of the internal city is now covered with a vast swarm of moving green bodies, not organised or disciplined, but furious. The group runs through the cave at full tilt. Savage leads them and reaches the space suits first. Pulling his on, he grabs the giant breathing machine. General Immortus and Lady Orlando arrive next. As they start to put on their suits, Savage snarls and starts to pull up the oxygen machine back up the hole leading to the surface.

Immortus and Orlando grab onto the machine as it is being winched up. The old general pulls out his sword and looks through to the tunnel, waiting to see what emerges. Arden bursts through, followed closely by Thyme, whose hand he holds. Aten-Hut appears, spinning and drawing his steam-pistol, letting off a round down into the buzzing darkness. Michel starts helping Thyme get into her suit.

“Wait!” he calls up at the ascending Savage. Lifting her foot he heaves her up. She floats up, just managing to be caught by Orlando and Immortus.

She turns. “Now you!”

He hastily puts on his suit and leaps. Suddenly the swarm hits, enveloping Aten-Hut in a blur of green movement. Michel's hands reach out and, by his fingertips he grabs Thyme's foot. She is pulled up on to the rising platform just as it reaches the surface. Behind her a smiling Arden hangs on the side of the breathing machine. He reaches for her hand, relieved. “<That was close.>”

As she goes to take his hand, a foot comes down on the Frenchman's other arm. Michel slips. His face becomes confused as he falls back down into the vibrating black hole. Thyme looks up. Savage looks down at her, his heavy foot placed where once her lover hung. He looks at her sternly. “He wasn't one of us. He was going to die anyway. Better now, to save us.” He heaves her onto his shoulder and runs, dragging the breathing machine behind him. The General and Orlando look at one another, then quickly follow. Screaming and sobbing echoes throughout their suits as Mademoiselle Thyme hits Vandal's back with all her might.

***

Now, the Moon.

Father Time steps out into the artificial light cast upon the giant industrial machine that stands before him. Frankenstein, Medusa and Niles follow close behind. Huge pipes and pumping engines wrap around the white lunar architecture that sprawls out like a metropolis. The smaller green drones, like worker ants, move purposefully through the city, moving in and out of factories, carrying metal and other items.

“Fucking progress huh?” Niles laughs.

Frankenstein grunts. A buzzing starts. Thirty winged Selenites drop from the ceiling, wielding miniature versions of the heat weapons used by the walkers. Frankenstein raises his sword and Lyta reaches for her visor, but Time stops them both.

“No, let them take us.” The team looks at him. Frankenstein lowers his blade.

The flyers pick them up, remarkably gently, floating them over the busy industrial mess to a large brass arena surrounded by the winged guard. The agents are dropped in the middle of the arena. The Selenites look to the throne, on which a bandaged covered man in dark glasses sits.

He leans forward. “You've come all this way to stop me but you are too late.”

“It was a mistake you were left here,” Father Time says, stepping forward, “we thought you were dead. I've come to bring you home.”

“This is my home!” The mummy stands, holding out his hands to the city, “and these are my family.” Clicking echoes out.

“You've been alone too long Aten-Hut. I'm sorry I should have gone back for you.” Father Time drops his head. “I blame myself.”

The figure laughs. “Oh that's rich! Some funny little Indian man comes to the moon to apologise on the behalf of some sick old psychopaths, for a mistake committed over a hundred years ago, and he can't even get my name right. Merde!” He looks at Time, folding his arms in front of himself. “I'm sorry to disappoint but Aten-Hut has been dead for nearly 20 years. His steam-engine heart is still going-if that's any consolation.”

Time stands still, wavering a little. He coughs and scratches his head. His voice cracks, “Michel?”

The bandaged man looks back at him, at his umbrella, then his eyes.

“Thyme?”