Bodkins the Great

by Bill Bowler

part 3 of 6

In the ensuing months, Baldemar organized the creatures along the lines of his ship’s chain of command, with himself as captain. The creatures’ fangs were hard and sharp enough to cut stone. Baldemar trained them to shape blocks from the milk quartz that was found in abundance among the rocky cliffs to the north. He showed them how to stack the blocks and build a large, high-ceilinged, many-chambered structure. In time the structure rose to five stories linked by massive staircases; it spread horizontally as adjoining wings were built.

From the center of the main wing, the creatures built a tall, narrow spire with an interior circular stairway that led up to a deck from which the whole countryside was visible by day and, by night, the glittering canopy of stars. Following Baldemar’s thoughts and designs, the creatures chiseled down beneath the ground floor of the main wing and discovered a subterranean cavern. Here, they stacked rock bricks to make rows of small rooms the size of closets.

Within the milk-white, transluscent palace, Baldemar’s own large bedroom was strewn with deep layers of the softest strands of the silk-like substance that, Baldemar learned, was excreted by the creatures as part of their reproductive cycle, to line their nests prior to replicating.

The purple, wrinkled pods that contained the sweet and intoxicating syrup Baldemar had grown to crave, were the fruit of a low-growing, thorny bush that grew in patches here and there among the surrounding rocks and dunes. Baldemar organized crews of creatures to harvest the pods and store them in the cool, dark rooms beneath the palace for his personal consumption.

Baldemar ordered crews of creatures to dig deep holes in the sand, near where the bushes grew, and at a depth of ten meters, they struck water running in streams beneath the surface. The creatures themselves were unable to drink water until after it was transformed into pod juice by the plant metabolism. But Baldemar ordered the digging of wells and the construction of stone viaducts that led to the palace, and soon he had running water.

Baldemar had achieved, if not luxury, then at least a high degree of comfort. The creatures seemed merely an extension of his will; they existed only to serve his interests. Captain, he thought, is an inadequate word to describe me. Captains are pathetic, when you get right down to it. Admiral is more like it. But then again, I’m running a planet, not a single ship or a two bit fleet. Now, Emperor has a nice ring to it...

In time, Baldemar had organized the entire population of creatures into specialized cadres or brigades: engineering, agricultural, mining, domestic, and personal guard. Squads of creatures, under Baldemar’s mental command, built and maintained the wells and aquaducts that brought water to the palace. Others mined and transported blocks of stone and milk quartz from the northern mountains to the village where construction squads continued to add wings, raise levels, and build walls around his magnificent palace, which now dominated the landscape. Still others pruned and watered the scrawny bushes that bore the purple fruit, harvested the pods, and stacked them in Baldemar’s cellar.

Eventually, Baldemar’s dominion extended to neighboring areas where more of the creatures dwelt in nests and villages built in the rocky, scrub brush oases that lay scattered across the desert. In Baldemar’s own village, now the capital of the region, a new generation of creatures was being born that had never known a time when Baldemar was not the ruler of their kind.

Baldemar traveled through the neighboring villages and everywhere the creatures, young and old alike, bowed to him and obeyed his every wish and command. Bodkins named his subjects Bodmoids. He was, he told them, their father, “Bodkins the Great, Father of all Boidmoids,” and the planet, which had no name before he had come, was now called Bodkinia.

Baldemar had everything it seemed he could desire. His merest fleeting thought was instantly realized by the creatures if it were in their power to do so. But there was one thing, of course, that was beyond the capability of the creatures to deliver, and that was human companionship. Baldemar sat for hours on end on the observation deck of the palace spire, or lounging on the palace verandah, or reclining in his chambers on a bed of softest silken strands — but always alone. His longing for human companionship grew more and more intense, but his subject creatures were powerless to fulfil his wish.

Bodkinia was in its seventh orbit around its red sun since the commencement of Bodkins the Great’s reign, when a Bodmoid guard at his post on the palace verandah, raised his great yellow eye and saw a bright light, like the one that had brought Bodkins the Great, streaking across the night sky. The guard informed his superior, who raced at once to Baldemar’s chambers and awoke the sleeping sovereign to convey the news.

Bodkins leapt from his bed and raced up the spiral stairway to the observation deck. He searched the night sky and saw with his own eyes, amidst the stationary sparkling stars, the quick moving, flashing point of light that could only be a spaceship.

Baldemar spent a sleepless night and summoned the villagers to assemble on the square the next morning. He let it be known that his supreme wish and command was that they should heed only his, Bodkins the Great’s, thoughts and none others. Should other beings arrive, their wishes were to be ignored by all, their thoughts reported to him, and only his commands, their leader’s and father’s, Bodkins the Great’s, should be carried out. Bodmoid couriers were dispatched to carry Bodkin the Great’s message to every creature in every village in his domain.

Three days later, a landing module of human design and manufacture descended to the surface and came to rest in the desert near where Bodkins’ ship had crashed those many years ago. The spot was unmarked, the wreckage buried now beneath the shifting dunes. Bodkins emerged from the palace with a company of Bodmoid guards and marched in formation out the gate and down the rocky path to the module landing site.

The landing module stood in the sand, its tripod base extended. With Bodkins and his guards still at some distance, the hatch slid open and and Baldemar, for the first time in seven years, laid eyes upon his own kind. Three figures in spacesuits and helmets, brandishing small arms, emerged through the hatch and climbed down the steps to the sand.

One of the astronauts raised a monitoring device and then removed his helmet, satisfied that the atmosphere contained enough oxygen to support human life. The other two figures removed their helmets in turn and Bodkins saw that one of them was a young woman.

From the top of a dune, Baldemar called out, “Over here! Over here!”

Startled, the newcomers trained their weapons on Baldemar and his squad of Bodmoids.

“No need for that!” shouted Baldemar. “Put down your weapons. It’s me, Bodkins, from the crew of the First Expeditionary Mission. Our ship crashed here years ago.”

The landing party lowered their weapons. “Bodkins?” said the first newcomer. “I don’t remember any Bodkins on the crew list.”

“Here he is,” said the second astronaut, scanning the list. “Bodkins, Baldemar B. Ship’s porter.”

“But where are Capt. Febus and the others?” asked the first astronaut.

“All dead,” said Baldemar as he ran up to the landing party.

“And where is your ship?”

“Under one of these dunes.”

The astronauts looked around at the stark, windblown landscape of shifting sands, and exchanged glances.

“Well, thank God you’re alive.” The leader of the landing party saluted Baldemar, “Smithers. Acting Sub-Lieutenant Stanley Smithers. And this is my module pilot, Dora Chan.”

Baldemar looked into the deepest, brightest eyes, fringed by the softest, thickest brown lashes and shining from the roundest, creamiest, most radiant face he had ever seen. And the radiant face was smiling invitingly in his direction. Baldemar returned Smithers’ salute and bowed towards Dora,

“Welcome to my, I mean, welcome to Bodkinia. Heh, heh. To amuse myself, I’ve named the planet after myself. It had no name before I got here, of course, and I never expected to see another human, so...”

Smithers was squinting at Baldemar in some disbelief; Dora was still smiling; but both took a step back and drew their weapons again as Baldemar’s Bodmoid guards came up behind him.

“No need for that,” said Baldemar. “These creatures are dumb brutes. I’ve domesticated them like dogs. They’re harmless.”

Bodkins waved his hand for show and directed his thoughts to the creatures, Lay down and be still. The Bodmoids obeyed his unspoken command and the landing party lowered their weapons though, from their faces, it was clear they were not entirely convinced of the harmlessness of the large creatures.

With the main rescue ship and rest of the crew still in orbit, Bodkins and his Bodmoid guards escorted the landing party across the dunes, up the rocky path, through the gates to the village and then across the square to the palace itself. They stood before the verandah, gazing up at the magnificent milk-white structure with its graceful spire rising from the center of its many wings which spread along that side of the square.

“Nice place,” said Lieutenant Smithers. “Who lives here?”

“Why, I do,” said Bodkins.

“I thought you said you were the only survivor,” said Smithers, with a note of suspicion in his voice. “This place is big enough to house the crew from a fleet battle cruiser.”

“These humble creatures built it for my use,” said Baldemar. “Of course, I protested, but they insisted. So I agreed, for their sake. I didn’t want to disappoint or offend them.”

“I thought you said they were dumb brutes,” said Smithers.

“So they are,” said Baldemar. “But they seem to hold me in some esteem, perhaps as representative of a superior species. They built this dwelling for me as a token of their respect.”

“Your residence is lovely,” smiled Dora. Bodkins noticed how svelte the module pilot was. Her nylon spacesuit was form fit and clung to the spheres and curves of her slender, shapely figure. Bodkins drank her in. His eyes roved along her curves, seeking the hidden recesses. Dora blushed and Baldemar realized he was staring and looked away. Smithers was watching them through narrowed eyes.

“But it must be quite lonely at times,” said Dora, with a glance at Baldemar.

“Yes, it is,” said Baldemar. “At least, it has been, before...”

Baldemar turned to Lt. Smithers, “But how did you find me?”

“When Ground Control lost contact with your ship, our rescue mission was launched. We proceeded to your last known position. Of course, it took seven years to get here, even with photon turbodrive.”

“And you are currently in touch with Ground Control?” asked Baldemar.

“Of course,” said Smithers. “And if this planet turns out to be habitable, there will be more of us on the way.”

Baldemar said nothing.

“How exactly did your ship crash?” asked Smithers.

“Two explosions, one after the other, breached the fuselage and knocked us out of orbit. The ship’s engines caught fire.”

“But what caused the explosions?”

“I don’t know,” said Baldemar. “It must have been an accident. Maybe the reactor backfired or something?”

“You know,” said Smithers, “that hostile alien activity had been monitored in this sector for years prior to your mission.”

“No,” said Baldemar. “I didn’t know. But the locals are friendly.”

“Not the locals, “ said Smithers. “Galushians. Our ship was fired on as we approached this system. We seem to have crossed into a sector they consider their own. Their home planet is only 6 lightyears from here.”

“Galushians?” said Baldemar. “But they wouldn’t fire on an unarmed ship.”

“They would,” said Smithers. “Human life means nothing to them.”

A few days later, the main rescue ship descended to the surface and landed, bringing the balance of the crew to join Smithers and the landing party. Bodkins led them to the plateau village and pointed out a level, bedrock area behind the domes suitable as a foundation for construction. The astronauts quickly assembled pre-fab housing and field laboratory units and a little human quarter was soon bustling at the edge of Bodkinsville. There were fifty humans in all, men and women, including the flight crew, scientists, engineers, and security.

From the observation tower, Bodkins gazed down across the square towards the human quarter and watched the pre-fab structures go up. He looked east, down to the original crash site, and admired the spaceship gleaming in the dunes, the sleek silver cylinder standing gracefully on the points of its curved fins, its needle nose piercing the sky.

To be continued...