Chapter 5

Moslach

Moslach looked down at the low, foot tall walls, mosaic tiled floors and the wide scattering of ‘aged’ implements, pottery shards and drinking vessels. He nudged a row of glass beads closer to one of the low walls. Paused for a final confirmatory look and nodded his head, waving his hand in the air for emphasis. Behind him, the clank of metal treads started and drew closer as Moslach moved out of the way.

Sitting in the operator seat of a dozer that was technically a museum piece, Kertog deftly worked the pedals that controlled the metal tracks as his hands worked the controls for the large blade and the power. The blade bit into a large mound of excavated spoil and stated pushing it towards, and then over, the low walls and scattered detritus of human existence. The spoil ran out and the dozer retreated for another blade full, pushing it over the newly laid ground and covering even more of the intricate layout of walls.

Kertog had a large smile of enjoyment across his face, as he worked a machine that must be at least ten times his age, and Kertog was the wrong side of seventy years of age, as Moslach was the wrong side of sixty. As had he done countless times before, Moslach watched the covering up of the ‘ruins’ by the University’s head janitor.

The dozer itself looked to be in pristine condition, and ran smoothly like a machine with an hour counter not yet hitting three figures. Then again, not many machines were stripped, cleaned and rebuilt every year. Who actually owned the dozer was a bit of a grey area. Certainly, only one person was actually allowed to operate it. Even the Dean had never done more than sit in the seat, and certainly not with the engine running. Ostensibly, the dozer existed purely as a means on which the engineering students could learn about mechanics, how to strip and repair mechanical parts. The culmination of the course being the re-assembly and fully working status.

The blade bit back into the rapidly diminishing mound of spoil, Kertog’s smile defying logic by managing to be even broader with each successive pass. It was a sight that every student who had passed through the University in the last thirty or so years, would have sworn blind to be impossible. A sight that many of the professors would also have denied being possible.

There was no denying Kertog’s commitment to his job as janitor, the University campus buildings services running with a smoothness that matched the dozers power plant. One of the first things new students saw upon arrival and upon entering the building, was Kertog’s scowl of forced-upon suffering at the messy flesh and blood things that broke taps and muddied floors. It was a scowl, that never left his face and an expression that would always linger in the memories of students long after they had graduated and forgotten most of their time here.

Rumour in the staff room had it, that this would be Kertog’s last year, that he was finally retiring. More than one professor disagreed, and said that the only way he would be leaving would be in a casket, probably pushed by the dozer. Moslach had his doubts about that. For a start, they had to find someone who could actually operate the damn thing. There was not really much point in watching Kertog. He knew what he was doing, and besides, he would be here long after the job was done, just ‘playing’. Kertog didn’t get much time to play with his favourite toy, so when he did get the chance, he made the most of it.

Moslach left the artificial dig site and made his way through the thick screening trees and into the University grounds proper. It had only been a few days since the term had finished, some students leaving for the final time, degrees gained, or failed, the rest going home for summer recess. The grounds seemed ... empty ... without the throngs of noisy boisterous students. Even after all these years, the silence seemed ... spooky.

Gargoyles peered down imperiously from the eaves as he stepped into the Lecturers halls of residence, the ornate woodwork and ancient artefacts lining the corridor beating the air into a musty submission with the combined aura of antiquity. Pulling a key out of his pocket, Moslach unlocked the door to his quarters and shut it quietly behind him. Physical keys were an amusing novelty to all the new students, more familiar with key-cards and implants, as was the strict dress code for students and lecturers both. Why they wore, what they wore, was often a bone of contention with students, who were forever pointing out that the garments didn’t serve any practical use. It was what all those who had gone before had worn, and if it was good enough for them ... Tradition seemed almost as important as the knowledge gained within the hallowed walls and cloisters.

Not that Moslach was wearing traditional garb today. With the students home, dress rules were relaxed. And the legendary irritable head janitor, hidden behind a dense screen of trees, could smile.

With the dig site being re-hidden, there was not a lot Moslach could do, or prepare for the next term. His subject as an archaeologist was literally dead and buried. His lectures were the same every year, the only difference, the faces sat in front of him. Or lying in front of him if they were at the faux dig site.

He sat in his well-worn chair and called up the computer screen that displayed itself in front of the wall. Out of habit more than desire, he called up the profiles of his students for the following term. As it had been every year since he had started here, the makeup of the class was ninety percent female, and of the ten percent who were male, half of them would be digging for the same sex. His first decade here, had been one of barely restrained debauchery, trying to see how many of his students he could entice into bed. It had been a lot, back then, trailing off as the years progressed. The sexual interest of the students moving from one of youthful excited exploration, to one of the allure of the older man and finally, to the calculated suffering of sleeping with a less than arousing tutor in the hope of good grades. For the last ten years, not even the possibility of improved grades was enough to tempt students into a dalliance. Not that it stopped him looking at the profile pictures and dreaming of what could have been, had been.

Moslach purposefully refused to consider whether he would even be capable of satisfying the needs of a partner these days, much less his own. Not without robbing ingredients from the chemistry lab. He mused on his future, and the fact that he even had the job in the first place. In all the centuries humankind had been littering and squatting amongst the stars, no sign of another intelligent life form had ever been discovered. Nor had the traces of past empires been discovered. As the centuries passed, it was beginning to look more and more like humanity was an aberration amongst the stars.

That didn’t stop the youthful dreams off the young and the naïve who imagined themselves discovering lost, long dead civilisations, unearthing and touching objects never seen before by humanity. So as long as there were dreamers out there, he would have a job teaching them what to do in the highly unlikely scenario that they actually did find something.

That was the problem with modern life. Everything was so well documented, that there was very little mystery to existence. The many planets capable of sustaining humanity, had only been settled within the last few centuries, barely any time for civilisation to rise and fall and the detritus to be buried within the ground. The one place, the one planet, where that was not the case, was an inhospitable, toxic, irradiated wasteland that no-one wanted to go to, unless they had a desire to watch their skin slough off and cough up their insides out through their mouth. Good old Earth, cradle of humanity.

With a derisive snort, Moslach shut the screen down. Maybe Kertog had the right of it. Find an obscure hobby and retire. Moslach snorted again. He had the obscure hobby, just no place to indulge it.

The message came out of the blue, from a former student of all people. She had been asking if the information was correct. Of course, his first reply had been “What information...”. It turned out, after a bit of back-and-forth, that some planet on the outer reaches that had been colonised by a religious commune, had come across some lines in the ground that were too straight and perpendicular to have been formed naturally. Even more bizarrely, the new inhabitants weren’t the slightest bit interested in them. Moslach was rather interested in how the lady in question had found out about them.

On that matter, the woman had suddenly become very coy. The reason for that became a bit suspect when Moslach looked into the commune. Very straight laced and conservative. All the things Lauren hadn’t been when she had been his student, and more than willing bed partner. Promiscuous wasn’t even the level to start at. Adventurous, seemingly without shame, she hadn’t even batted an eye when she had caught him with another female student. Simply stripped off and joined in. God she had been fun. He still had a video of her somewhere, in his bed with another two girls. That hadn’t even been his idea, she had seduced them and lured them into his bed. It had been a night of laughter, wine, and a tangle of limbs every which way you looked.

Moslach forced the memory away, least he start looking for the video, then he wouldn’t get anything done. He had paid a small bribe to access the optics of some weather satellites, and sure enough, there was something definitely there, well clear of the nearest of the sparsely inhabited planet’s small towns. Further digging revealed that the religious order wasn’t a fan of technology and preferred to do everything on foot, or at a push, by horse.

The occasional space craft was tolerated, if it was to bring converts, but other than that, they had no desire to trade with other planets and had nothing of interest to other planets. Until now.

This was most likely his one and only shot at a ‘swan song’. His one chance to make his mark on history. In order for him to do anything, he needed to get there, and for that he needed funds. And a ship. Though if he could get funds, then the ship part should be easy...

Right, one very rich benefactor is needed, where can I get one of those... Moslach started composing letters to various acquaintances in various educational establishments. There was always some rich person looking for a tax deductible enterprise.

“Your charter is here.”

“It is?” Moslach asked with surprise.

Tramol nodded. “Uh-huh. Arrived about three hours ago.”

“It’s not due for another two days.”

“Well it’s here.”

“Oh.”

“Shall we pop round after classes?” Tramol enquired.

So it was really happening then. It was one thing to plan and organise, another thing to see that planning actually used. “Yeah, lets.” Moslach said.

TramoI met him in the staff canteen after lessons and they took the transit tube to the spaceport. The freighter dominated the skyline as they approached and they peered at it through the transit tube windows, both silent as they drew closer.

“It’s not big enough.” TramoI stated with the confidence of the engineer that he was.

Moslach said nothing as he knew nothing of space craft and the one dominating the skyline looked pretty big. He hadn’t expected it to land, was fully prepared for it to dock at one of the orbitals, and for them and their gear to be shuttled up. Which didn’t really make much sense, since one of the stipulations for the charter, was for it to be capable of atmospheric flight, and surface landing. He had a feeling that he was about to learn more about space craft and interstellar transport than he had any real desire too.

The transit tube pulled into the almost empty station and they stepped off, walking briskly towards the main terminal building. Moslach flashed his newly printed charters ID, TramoI his University ID and the bored looking check-in girl waved them through. Stepping onto the fast moving walkway, they stared at the charter sitting in its docking cradle. It didn’t look any bigger this close either.

Tramol sniggered “Looks like you’ve been conned there my lad.”

Moslach was loath to agree with him, already mentally reviewing the clauses in the charter to see if there was any way of getting out with some shred of dignity left intact.

“If you use the standard common ratio of thirty percent of hull space is for the main drive, another thirty percent fuel, water/air storage. Twenty percent for the, you know, tedious requirement of living space, ten to twenty percent for armament-though that doesn’t appear to be an issue with this craft - leaves you about ten to zero percent for storage. Congratulations! You’ve basically hired your classroom. I hope you get on well with your fellow dirt sifters, because you’re all going to be living in each other’s underwear for the next few weeks. You know what?”

“What?” Moslach asked with a sinking feeling. He was never going to live this down. Never.