"Well ladies and gentlemen, are we all agreed?" William Harlow looked down the long mahogany table, besides which the board members sat. Most of them were physically in the room but some were represented by holographic images of their faces, beamed in from all over the Solar system.
The room itself was a spacious glass dome that gifts a panoramic view of the huge industrial complex that it is perched upon. From the barren wasteland surrounding it, it looked like a giant metallic pyramid that hovered just above the ground. It was only when you got close that you could see the thick drilling pipes rooted into the ground underneath. Hundreds of thousands of people from all over the continent had formed a sprawling sea of tented villages around the complex; some had come to sell their goods but most were here to get a job.
Those people were irrelevant to Harlow, he waited for any show of disagreement from the board. He didn’t expect any and he wasn’t disappointed. Silver haired and in his late fifties, he was old enough to be the father of many of the board members, but his quick intellect and ruthless business acumen had ensured his continued survival. "Then it is agreed," he said. "We shall cease operations on Earth in two days time and relocate to planet Roget by the end of the week."
There was only one thing else to discuss with the board members. The now annual threat of strike action by the blue-collar workers down below but everyone knew they were too disorganised to actually carry out the threat. For christsake, he thought, I gave them the minimum water allowance. Hell, I even voted for it on the employment council. "Aw shit!" he cursed out loud and smashed his fist down on the desk, causing everyone to suddenly cower in his or her seats. Harlow forced himself to smile. "Don’t worry it’s nothing you’ve done. I just remembered that I needed to be in Washington today to vote on the new employment legislation." It was going to be a close run thing as to whether the Senate was going to ban the use of stimulants in the workplace again. OK, Harlow admitted to himself, it caused havoc with the social niceties of the workplace, but hell it sure improved productivity.
One vote might just sway it either way. Being a Senator and a company boss had its drawbacks. He called the meeting closed and dismissed the board. Sitting in his high backed chair, he watched the members leave the room or flicker out of existence until eventually he was left alone wondering if the Senate would accept his vote by email.
A few hours later.
"Roget," began John McIvor. "The largest moon of Wolf 5, it orbits once every fifteen days and has an atmosphere one and a half times the pressure of Earth. Originally composed of nitrogen, with a dash of methane and ammonia and topped off with rather attractive orange cloud formations. Sparsely populated but initial reports suggest a large gas field in the north."
"Brief and to the point, McIvor, that’s how I like it," noted Harlow. "Working conditions are going to be a bit tough though don’t you think?"
"Yes, things are going to be a bit heavy. It may be advisable to bring in extra shift workers or at least procure some extra droids."
Harlow regarded McIvor for a few seconds. He had decided when they first met that he could do business with this man. It was during one of his monthly walkabouts on the factory floor that he was introduced to him. McIvor was a supervisor then but he struck Harlow as an unassuming but competent individual. Unusually, Harlow decided later that day to find a more suitable role for him and within a few weeks McIvor was put in charge of a department responsible for new business explorations. In his late twenties and originally from the American continent he still bore the golden tan of his time spent chasing jobs across the wastelands. His sun-bleached hair was cut short but he preferred not to wear the suits that most of his new colleagues wore. Instead, he preferred to wear a similar but much more expensive version of the loose black shirt and hardwearing jeans that he wore on the wastelands.
"Good thinking, McIvor." Harlow put his arm around the younger man and led him towards the large window of his office, through which they could see the cold void of space and in the distance the Wolf system getting ever nearer. "I think it would be better if we get some more indigenous workers, financially at least."
"Oh I agree, Sir."
"Good man. However, This time I think it may prove a bit more troublesome than usual."
"How so?"
Harlow took his time responding and for a moment McIvor thought he hadn’t heard him, but then he smiled and pointed towards the Wolf System. "I was born there, you know?"
"The Wolf System?"
"No, but out in the wilderness. I lived there only as long as I had to. The first chance I get out and stowaway on a freighter, I took it. Exciting times. A long time ago though, but I still know enough about these places to remember what the people are like."
"How do you mean?"
"Set in their ways they are; they’re a parochial bunch and keep to themselves. Their ancestors where some of the first to colonize the system and they keep their secrets well."
"You mean they don’t like outsiders."
"Exactly." He’ll go far this one, Harlow thought. "That’s why I’m going to send you, McIvor."
"What?"
"I’m going to send you on ahead of us to prepare the way. You know which area we are going to drill; it looks like one of the few gas fields left in explored space. I want you to get to know the people in the area and get them to take you into their confidence. Their knowledge of the planet may prove invaluable in the long run."
He patted the stunned McIvor on the back. "We should be arriving in about ten days time, which gives you no excuse to fail me."
"But."
Harlow turned McIvor away from the window and walked him towards the door. "McIvor, I’m putting a great deal of trust in you. Go pack your bags and report to the landing bay. A man named Brunner will be waiting for you, he’s my personal chauffeur." He opened the door and showed McIvor the way to go. "You’ll be on Roget within the day. Keep me informed and don’t let me down.
"But."
Harlow shut the door.
The next day…
"Hey!" shouted McIvor desperately. "Hey, where do you think you’re going? Come back! Stop." He started running after Harlow’s stylish black space limo, the one that had transported him to a little village on the most northern continent of Roget. The limousine quickly gathered speed and McIvor was running full pelt alongside it, just quick enough to see Brunner, the shaven headed chauffeur, politely salute him before lifting off from the ground and up into the pale orange clouds above.
"Bastard!" yelled McIvor as he realised he was beaten and tried to slow himself down, unfortunately he didn’t spot a rather large rock in the ground until after he had tripped over it and landed in an undignified heap on the ground. A small cloud of dark red dust developed around him. "Great," he said to no one but himself. "That’s just great." He forced himself up and made a quick check of his jeans to check for any sign of blood or protruding bone. There wasn’t any so he looked up into the sky to where the limo’s bright exhausts could just be seen and gave it the finger.
"That’s not very polite," said a voice.
McIvor spun around and spotted its owner. She was a rather attractive red head. It wasn’t a natural red, McIvor could tell it was too dark almost brown to be so, but it went well with her slightly pale complexion. Tall and slim, although it was hard to tell by the loose fitting and obviously man made clothes she wore, she began to stride through the thick grass between them. As she came closer he noticed her bright green eyes and the amused expression on her face. "Are you a hitchhiker or summit?" she asked in an accent he hadn’t come across before. It sounded vaguely Irish, but he wasn’t sure.
McIvor smiled feeling slightly embarrassed "Er, no," he said weakly before remembering that he needed to keep his identity secret for the time being. "No, I’ve been planning on coming here but I just wasn’t expecting to be dumped in the middle of nowhere." That bit was true. "I’m actually on holiday, would you believe?"
She looked at him as though she didn’t but then she flicked her head back to move her long slightly curly locks out of her eyes. "You’re not married then?"
"No," he said cautiously. "Are you?"
She considered her reply. "Maybe. What made you come here anyway? Ribney isn’t exactly known for its tourism."
"Well, I just wanted to get away from things." He shrugged his shoulders. "I bought myself a map, closed my eyes and pointed to a spot."
Still showing some elements of doubt she abruptly turned. "Come on. We’ll have to find you a place to stay. My uncle owns the best pub in the village and I’m sure he’s got a room to spare."
McIvor quickly picked up his small backpack and trotted briskly to catch up with her as she headed for the thin road just across a small grassy embankment.
Within half an hour they were walking across a small wooden bridge that lay across the moat that surrounded the village. The lady’s name turned out to be Gretchen but she seemed reluctant to tell McIvor of her background, instead she was more interested in his.
"A billionaire?" she stopped abruptly.
"Yes," whispered McIvor, hoping that no one was listening to them. "But don’t tell everybody. It’s part of the reason I came here. I just want a bit of peace and quiet."
She took him by the arm and they proceeded to walk up the village street. The houses were nothing like McIvor was used to; small and squat with thatched roofs, he had never seen a cottage before. Nor had he seen such a profusion of green shrubbery and flowers because back home all the land was dry and infertile. As they walked up the cobbled street he noticed people appearing at windows or opening their front doors and watching them pass. It made McIvor feel self-conscious. Everyone could see him because the houses were built in a wide circle along the bank of the moat. In the centre was another smaller circle of houses.
Gretchen laughed softly. "Don’t worry, John. I told you we don’t get many strangers in these parts."
McIvor decided to smile at one of the onlookers, a little old lady with a round figure and grey hair. She was uncertain at first, but then she smiled back and said, "good day to you."
Gretchen responded for him. "Morning, Vera. How’s Peter doing?"
"Oh fine, Gretchen, fine. He’ll be back in a few days. I’ll tell him you asked about him."
They continued walking up the street until they came to central group of houses. It looked like a village square. In the middle of it was a small well that McIvor couldn’t stop himself from looking down. Like a school kid, he peered into the edge and asked is there anybody there. Nobody answered but he was rather surprised at the slightly red quality of the water. He put that down to the different type of climate on Roget. Around the square was a circle of small shops and on the far side was a rather insignificant looking building that appeared so old that its roof was sinking in on itself.
"That’s were you’re going to stay," said Gretchen.
Great, he thought.
"The Keepers Inn. What do you think?"
"Oh, it’s very err…"
"Quaint?"
"Exactly."
"Come on," Gretchen said. "I’ll introduce you to uncle Doug." They walked across the square until they reached the front door of the pub. McIvor started to hear some ancient form of music that wasn’t unpleasant to his ears. Gretchen motioned him inside so he opened the door and walked in.
The music stopped instantly.
There must have been about eleven pairs of eyes in the room and all were looking at McIvor suspiciously. "Hi," he said rather self-consciously. They continued to look at him unfavourably until Gretchen entered the room.
"Hello boys," she said warmly.
"Ah, it’s Gretchen so it is," said the barman.
"Uncle Doug." She went over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Ah, you’re looking fine Gretchen," said Doug. "How was the trip?"
Gretchen sat herself down on one of the stools next to the bar. "Oh, it was fine. Still a bit tired though."
"I can see that. I think you need a shot of your favourite."
"I do so. I’d like to introduce someone I met down the road."
McIvor walked over towards the bar still aware of the uncertain looks the regulars were giving
"This is John and he’s going to be our guest for a week or so. He’s not from these parts but I want you to make him feel at home."
McIvor took the cue to say hello again. "Nice to meet you."
"And what will your pleasure be, Mr McIvor?"
John had difficulty in understanding some of the strong accent but he got the gist of it. "A Jack Daniels, please. Oh and you can call me John."
"I will at that, but tell me what’s a Jack Daniels?"
McIvor was going to say everyone knows what a Jack Daniels is but when he saw Gretchen demurely shake her head he said, "On second thoughts, just give me a shot of whisky."
"That’s ma man," said Doug as he eagerly got to work on pouring the drinks. He was burly man with fiery red hair, this time natural, and bushy side burns. He wore a checked buttoned shirt, brown trousers and heavy looking boots.
McIvor scanned around the room. The pub was full of relics from the past and, said McIvor to himself, some of them are still alive. The ceiling seemed too low and there was a noticeable lack of anything electronic but somehow it seemed all the more civilised for it.
He thanked Doug when he placed the two small drinks in front of him and Gretchen. He moved the small glass to his lips then noticed everyone was looking at him once again. "Good health to you all," he said thinking on his feet. It seemed to break the ice. A few of the regulars murmured approval and soon they all got back to their own business. When he felt it was appropriate he swallowed the drink. "Wheesh," he said, baring his teeth and grasping the edge of the bar tightly.
"Its good stuff, is it not?" asked Doug, eagerly.
When McIvor was sure that his throat was not permanently damaged he nodded. "Sure is," he responded somewhat hoarsely then sat down.
"Uncle Doug," began Gretchen. "John here needs somewhere to stay during the week and I was wondering if you could let him stay here for a few nights."
"Sure, but he’ll have to pay for the pleasure so he will."
McIvor was now fully recovered. "Oh I’ve got plenty of cash, you’ve no need to worry on that account."
"One hundred solars a night?"
"One hundred!" Gretchen shot her Uncle an angry glare.
"Seventy five," he offered meekly.
"Sixty and no more," she said sternly.
"OK then, I’ll go an tell the missus to prepare the room. It’s nothing fancy mind."
McIvor held his hand up in a placating gesture. "No problem, just as long as it has got a bed."
He watched him shuffle away and out of sight.
The next morning, he had arranged to meet Gretchen at the village square. He managed to get a good nights sleep, the bed was comfy but somewhat small, and the breakfast Doug’s wife served up was just about the biggest meal he had ever had. In fact, he was half an hour late in meeting up with Gretchen because he felt so full.
"You should have left it," said Gretchen when he told her about it.
"But she watched me eat everything. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings."
Gretchen shook her head and smiled. "Anyways, what do you plan on doing today? You mentioned something about a picnic."
McIvor smiled and patted his backpack. "Yep. I’ve spotted a place I want to visit on the map. Your Uncle said it was only a forty minute walk from here and his wife gave me some food and a bottle of wine to take."
"Let’s get going then."
It turned out that it was well over an hour to get to the small headland that jutted out into the sea. Gibson Head it was called for no other reason, according to Doug, than one of the original settlers had a dog named just that. Gretchen hadn’t been there in many a year and she seemed to enjoy it even if the sea breeze kept blowing her hair into her eyes.
When McIvor had finished eating the sandwiches and most of his glass of red wine he looked out across the bay and marvelled at the liquid contrast to his home world. Then looked back towards the town. For the first time he became aware of the unusual layout: all the houses where arranged in a circle and formed a large circumference around the central square with a large gap in-between.
"Beautiful here, isn’t it?" said Gretchen.
McIvor could only nod. Inside he was starting to question what he was supposed to be doing. He had seen more life forms in two hours than he had seen in over twenty years on Earth. If he did what Harlow wanted then all of this would be lost.
"Why are you really here, John?"
He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at her. "Sorry?"
"I’m not stupid you know? I never believed for one minute that you are a tourist. Are you on the run or something?"
McIvor smiled wryly. "You’re right. I’m not a tourist." He picked up a small pebble nearby and threw it over the cliff edge. "I work for a large company. Harlow Industries, you may have heard of them?" Gretchen nodded her head so he went on to tell her how they had decided to relocate to Roget and how he was supposed to prepare the way.
When he was finished, Gretchen remained quiet for a considerable time. She just sat on the ground staring out to the sea until finally she decided to respond. "You don’t know what will happen do you?"
"Yes. All this will be ruined, just like Earth."
Gretchen stood up. "How long have we got?"
"About five days, but there’s nothing you can do. Harlow will get what he wants, he always does."
"He could end up with more than he bargained for." She had already started walking back towards the town.
Some time later…
"I ought to kill you right now," growled Doug.
"Hey," pleaded McIvor as he watched him begin to roll up his sleeves. "I’m just the messenger. If it was my choice we wouldn’t come anywhere near this place."
He could clearly see the slightly faded blue tattoos on both of Doug’s forearms. The one on his right looked like a large eye while the one on the left looked like some sort of exotic fish with an upturned mouth and a row of spikes along its back.
"I knew you where trouble when I first laid eyes on ye. I only gave you a room because of Gretchen."
"Oh don’t talk daft, Uncle." She turned to the others in the pub. "And you can shut up an all." The regulars took exception to her tone and left en masse.
McIvor began to shuffle towards the back door and said, "I’ll go and pack my bags."
"Aye," Doug advised. "Be off with ye before I do you some harm."
While McIvor was packing what few belongings he had brought, the communicator on his wrist started to flash madly and its pre-programmed tune played. He cursed silently because he knew who it was going to be and activated the connection. "Hello, Sir."
"McIvor!" Harlow barked. "I told you to keep me informed. You haven’t been in touch since you got there. What’s your excuse?"
McIvor explained that he hadn’t had the opportunity to get in touch, that he was too busy trying to make useful contacts in the community. It was all bullshit, of course, but Harlow seemed to accept it, well, some of it anyway.
"I understand you’re situation, McIvor, but when I say ‘jump’ you jump. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good. Now the reason I’ve had to get in touch is because I’ve had to alter the schedule."
"In what way?"
"I’ve had to speed it up." McIvor experienced a sinking feeling. "We shall now be arriving tomorrow."
"But I haven’t had time -."
"I know, but we’ve just had a new order placed and I’ve promised to deliver within the week. This could be a very lucrative contract and we’re going to have to pull out all the stops."
"Yes, Sir." McIvor, who was previously standing, slumped onto the edge of his bed.
"This puts you into a difficult situation. You’re going to have to get the locals to move out of the area because I’ve decided to scrap that idea about using them as cheap labour. I’ve ordered some extra droids instead. Time is of the essence now. I’ll see you tomorrow."
Harlow terminated the connection and left McIvor with his shoulders slumped and feeling very alone in his small room.
When he eventually plucked up the courage to go and pay Doug he was in two minds as to tell him that Harlow would be arriving tomorrow but when he saw him talking with Gretchen (and no sign of a gun) he cleared his throat. "I’m afraid I’ve got more bad news for you."
"If you’ve got no money then I really am going to kill you," Doug barked as he produced a short barrelled shotgun from beneath the bar.
"No," said McIvor as he urgently produced the cash from his wallet. He went on to tell them the bad news and found himself grimacing at the dark, ominous look on both Doug and even Gretchen’s faces.
Doug raised his hands in despair and said, "That’s it then. We can’t help them now."
"Is there no way you can stop them," Gretchen asked softly.
McIvor shook his head. "I’m just a part of the machine. I don’t press the buttons."
"Doug, you’re going to have to tell the others to leave their homes." Her uncle nodded and shuffled off into the backroom where his telephone was. She and McIvor waited until he was gone before talking.
McIvor spread his hands. "I can’t say how sorry I am. The village will be ruined."
"It’s not the village you should be worried about."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"You’ll find out soon enough. Come on, we’ll have to help the others."
They spent the rest of the day helping the locals set up a small makeshift camp near Gibson Head after collecting their most prized belongings from the homes. It was only till late in the evening that they could safely relax around a large campfire in the knowledge that everyone would be safely out of the way when the Harlow complex arrived the next day.
McIvor had been surprised at how well the villagers, particularly the older ones, had accepted the situation and apart from the occasional angry glare or shoulder knock he had managed to get through the day unscathed. Still, he had to make his own small fire a short distance away from the others. As the wind blew in cold from the sea he pulled his jacked collar up and began stoking up his fire with a small branch he had found. As he sat cross-legged, staring into the flames, Gretchen came over from the main group.
"Here," she said as she offered him a green bottle of wine, "have a drink."
McIvor gratefully accepted the glass and took great gulps from the bottle. It was a sour red wine that made his empty stomach shrivel up instantly but he was grateful for the warm alcoholic comfort. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Thanks."
"Thought you could do with some company." She crouched down next to him and they sat in the glow of the fire sharing the bottle and getting steadily drunk.
Presently, McIvor asked with genuine concern, "What’s going to happen to the villagers?"
She took the bottle from him and took a small mouthful. "They’ll cope. It’s happened before. We’re the Keepers children, we look after it and it looks after us."
McIvor’s head swayed slightly and he blinked as he tried to focus on her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he managed to slur but it was too late, Gretchen had slumped against his shoulder fast asleep.
McIvor, Gretchen and the villager’s woke early the next day but most if not all wished they hadn’t when the effect of last night’s drink started to wreak its painful revenge. In no time at all there was a shortage of aspirin and anyone attempting to cook breakfast was made to feel like a leper.
It wasn’t till just before midday that McIvor’s communicator shattered the peaceful calm of the camp. "Hello, Sir."
"McIvor. Still alive, I see," Harlow observed jovially.
"Yes, Sir. You’ll be pleased to know that all the villagers have been evacuated."
"Good. We’ve just arrived in orbit and have started our descent, you -."
Gretchen, who’d been standing close by with Doug, took the opportunity to grab McIvor wrist. "Mr Harlow, you don’t know me but I’m one of the villagers. I urge you not to land here. It will cost you more than you can possibly imagine."
Harlow reacted like he’d just been told a joke he heard a thousand times before. "Young lady, I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve known how to walk. I’ve dealt with all kinds of Trade Union leaders, Eco warriors, and Lawyer types. There isn’t a trick you can come up with that I don’t know how to deal with."
"I can assure you, Mr Harlow, you’ve never seen anything like this."
"Enough prattle, I shall begin compensation negotiations when we touch down, which according to my watch should be in the next few minutes."
Gretchen, McIvor and the others looked up in unison as the orange clouds above them brightened suddenly. Four pillars of electric blue light forced their way through the mist and attacked the ears of the onlookers. Some of them pointed up in the sky when the huge superstructure came into view while others just stood with loose jaws as the complex continued its descent towards the village.
But McIvor had seen it many times and he waited until the tallest houses were beginning to be crushed before adjusting his backpack and setting off down the slight incline. With his head still down, he began to force his way through the crowd towards the landing site, but when the ground started to rumble he stopped. McIvor didn’t remember the landings being quite this bad on Earth. He looked up.
"Oh my god," he croaked. McIvor now understood why the village was arranged in such a way, he knew why Gretchen had tried to warm him, and he knew why Doug had those strange tattoos on his forearms.
Like one of those strange fish you can find hidden just under the surface of the seabed, the Keeper erupted from the ground underneath the Complex and swallowed it in one impossibly huge gulp. Thick black smoke escaped through its lips and huge lumps of land fell off its dirty white body as it drew back into the ground.
But for the screeching birds and lizards in the sky, everything became silent again as the ground rumbled and subsided into its original state. McIvor stood transfixed long after the movement had stopped and some of the villagers had started to drift away.
"I tried to warn him, uncle, " said Gretchen matter of factly, standing just behind McIvor with her uncle.
"You did so, my dear. You did so."
Bio:
E-mail: iain@celltrax.fsnet.co.uk
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