Steph Bennion - Hollow Moon

“Our future?” asked Ravana.

“For all our wondrous technology, mankind still clings to his barbaric ancestry,” Fenris told her. “The greys have shown us there is another way. The Isa-Sastra is a gift to mankind, given to the first prophet Betty Hill over three hundred years ago and which fate has now placed in the hands of our High Priest Taranis.”

Ravana smiled. “Betty is a funny name for a prophet.”

“History is full of people with strange names,” mused Miss Clymene.

“Legend says Betty hid the book, for she knew the time to reveal its teachings was not yet right,” continued Fenris. “It remained lost for many generations, until fortune brought it to Taranis, who deciphered the wisdom within the ancient script.”

Miss Clymene looked thoughtful. “So it was Taranis who wrote your holy book?”

“He merely translated the original texts. The teachings are those of the greys.”

“Aliens indeed! Has anyone else ever looked at Betty’s book?”

“They are sacred writings!” Fenris retorted. “They are not for mortal eyes.”

Miss Clymene smiled, her suspicious nature sensing a scam. Ravana however was fascinated, for although she knew many people within the hollow moon who were religious, the Dhusarian Church was not one she was familiar with. It was the concept of mysterious alien beings, the benevolent greys, that captivated her most. For the first time in years she found herself thinking of a strange memory from her childhood, an incident that perhaps now seemed a little more real.

“My dear Ravana,” Fenris said, addressing her softly. “Would you care to know more about the Dhusarian Church?”

“Maybe later,” Ravana murmured.

In her mind she was once again six years old, out exploring the woodland near Lanka on Yuanshi. It was a memory that would stay with her forever; the vines across the entrance to the cave, the discarded and crumpled spacesuit, the smell of burnt flesh in the air. Most of all she remembered the bundle of blood-soaked rags that had suddenly become the frightened stare of a strange grey creature she had found bleeding, dying and hiding in fear from her, a small girl who had accidentally stumbled across a broken traveller far from home.

The giant gas planet of Shennong grew closer by the hour and soon the Tianzun moons of Lingbao, Yuanshi and Daode hove into view. Daode hung in the black like a glittering turquoise jewel. As Quirinus looked out upon the cloud-garlanded land and seas of the terraformed moon he could not help but be reminded of his home planet of Earth.

The peace conference was creating a headache for Hemakuta space traffic control, for most interstellar craft were designed for deep space only and the small fleet of orbital shuttles plying back and forth from the city could not unload the arriving ships fast enough. Endymion, Bellona and Philyra were amused to learn that one such starcruiser now finally being met by a shuttle was the Fenghuang III , aboard which awaited Xuthus, Maia, Lodus and the rest of the Bradbury Heights contingent. The Platypus had no such problems and was granted permission to land shortly after establishing orbit around Daode.

The carousel was brought to a halt for re-entry and locked into position with the couch at the bottom to provide secure seating. Surya’s cyberclone retreated to the safety of its recharging coffin, Ravana’s cat to the nearest convenient cupboard. Once everyone else was securely strapped to their seats, Quirinus fired the retro rockets, switched the sonic shield to full power and the Platypus began its final descent into Hemakuta.

The initial tumble through the upper atmosphere was in many ways the most nerve-wracking part of the whole journey. Yet it was just a matter of minutes before the ship slowed enough to deploy its wings and soon their frantic dive to the surface became a gentle glide through the clouds, high above the clear blue waters of Pampa Bay. Ahead lay the city of Hemakuta, a vast metropolis of glass towers, parks and canals that had long outgrown the site of the original domed settlement. The land beyond was a patchwork of fields, forests and green valleys against a backdrop of dark mountains. Daode was living proof of the power of human ingenuity and of mankind’s drive to recreate Earth wherever it could.

The Platypus touched down at an airstrip next to the small harbour, right in the heart of the city. As they taxied to a halt, a long open-top ground car hove into view, looking and moving like a river boat on wheels as it slipped from behind the sleek shuttle parked nearby. When Ravana finally pushed open the cargo bay airlock to let in the sweet sea air she was surprised to see a uniformed chauffeur waiting to take them all to their hotel.

“The Maharani has arranged everything,” Fenris replied simply.

“We made it,” whispered Miss Clymene, barely able to believe it. “Daode!”

“Oh my,” murmured Bellona, looking through the door. “It’s a whole new world.”

“I wonder what holovid channels they have here?” mused Philyra.

“Did someone mention a hotel?” asked Ostara, putting an arm around Ravana’s waist. “Only it’s been sixteen light years since I last had a bath.”

The car sped along the wide boulevard that ran the length of the harbour wall, weaving in and out of the heavy traffic on its way to the seafront hotel on the far side of the harbour. The open-top car left its passengers pleasantly exposed to the elements, for while the tiny sun above seemed weak and incredibly distant, it was a warm day and there was a gentle sea breeze to temper the humid atmosphere typical of terraformed worlds.

The streets of Hemakuta bustled with people surging from one moment to the next; many rode in hoverchairs, while those on foot moved with an odd lolloping motion that came more naturally in gravity barely a quarter of Earth’s. Even before the dome was dismantled Hemakuta had somehow avoided the usual fate of far-flung outposts, which often slipped back several generations in technological prowess during the initial struggle to establish food supplies, power and shelter. Instead, the city had become the epitome of the ultra-modern spirit of colonisation: a confusion of high-rise towers of carbon-fibre and green glass that splayed and twisted in a very organic way, an idea reinforced by the gossamer hanging walkways that linked many of the buildings to its neighbour.

The Pampa Palace hotel was a huge edifice of five towers that rose from carbon-brick ramparts. Above the portico entrance, a colossal holovid screen alternately switched between a newsreel on the peace conference and a static display of the hotel’s name in a flamboyant yet regal lettering several metres high.

The main political speakers were not due to appear until the day after tomorrow, though preliminary talks had begun. A throng of journalists and holovid crews had congregated outside, along with a crowd of spectators who seemed ready to burst over the walls of the harbour and into the sea at a moment’s notice. As they approached, this thought drew Ravana’s gaze to the nearby beach and with a pang of jealousy she saw that some people were indeed swimming and surfing in the warm waters of the bay.

“The Pampa Palace,” Miss Clymene observed. She was clearly impressed. “This is the venue for the peace conference.”

“The most exclusive hotel on all of Daode,” Fenris added.

Their car turned off the boulevard and began threading its way through the crowd. As they pulled to a halt outside the grand entrance to the hotel, a stream of attendants swept through the doors, eager to greet them and collect their luggage.

“We’re staying here?” remarked Ostara, surprised.