BigBug

Seamus is sitting on the bench beside Moon. He is calm and strong.

“Yes,” says Moon, continuing his conversation with Bigbug, and chatting amicably with it, as if they were bonded buddies, “there can never be any secrets between friends.”

“Secrets are,” sang the Bigbug, Bug juice dribbling down its chin, “the same as they ever were.” It wiped its chin stood up and threw the soiled napkin on the floor with distaste. The Bigbug lay down on the floor and closed its eyes. It began to jerk about.

“It’s having a fit,” said Moon. “An epileptic? An epileptic alien?” Moon knelt down by Bigbug and tried to open its mouth. “I have to stop it biting its tongue.”

Seamus took his penknife from his pocket and opened the blade. This might be their only chance to kill the monster. He stood up. He was strong. He was resolute. He was going to cut the aliens throat.

The Bigbug pushed the kneeling Moon to one side as if he were a child. The room changed. Seamus stopped, his knife at Bigbug’s throat, and stood still. Something was happening.

“ Don’t do it,” warned Moon, “ wait.”

Bigbug opened its eyes a miracle began to unfold before them.

The ether of existence in that wretched place was flooded with love, peace and tranquillity. Seamus put away his knife. A heavenly divine wind brushed their faces. The Bigbug stood up and looked at them. Its eyes had changed colour from green to dark brown. It was a look of fond recognition. Bigbug smiled at them, raised its hand in greeting and cleared its throat. It began to sing Ave Maria. Such music. Such a sweet voice.

“It’s an angel,” muttered Moon.

Seamus knew that voice. It was the boy from the courthouse singing. Who was he? An angel? It might be, thought Seamus. If angels exist this was surely one. Seamus’s fears, all his fears, were gone. This music dispelled all his doubts and demons. The beautiful sweet clean sound of a gifted boy soprano filled the air. Moon and Seamus were transfixed held fast in a place of serenity and spiritual graciousness. Such purity, such innocence, peace and holiness in this place of terror. Bigbug finished the Ave Maria, a song that will never end in memory. There was then a sad pause. A profound silence. A boy began to speak. Was this a baby angel?

“I have not,” began the Bigbug in the voice of a young boy, “been allowed to sing all these years. I was lead singer in our local church choir before the bugs invaded me and turned me into Bigbug. I am a monster.” Tears rolled down Bigbug’s face, “I don’t know what you have done, sirs, but the bugs are all asleep now. They are in crises and have reverted to emergency shutdown. They are in a stasis of some kind. I don’t know for how long.”

“Who are you?” asked Seamus. His voice was strong and clear and he had stopped shaking.

“I am Pieter van Zoete son of Professor Jan van Zoete. I was Pieter until they converted me into this thing you see standing before you. The bugs are evil minute mini- monsters. They profess to be benevolent planet saviours but when my dad fell down, dying from a massive heart attack, brought about by their invasive adaptation, they didn’t try and help him, they just ate their way out of his head and invaded me as I slept.” The boy began to weep. “Thank God my mother was away working in Rotterdam. All these years I have been their agent, an alien adaptation, party to their scheming, their meticulous manipulations, and their plans to eradicate humanity and take over the planet. They are very close to taking power with the resources they have. With your meteorite they will have all the power they need. Within months it will begin. They will launch The Great Cull.” The Bigbug was shaking and somewhere inside the Bigbug a small boy was very very upset and scared. Moon went up to him and put his arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“Sit down and try and relax. Do you want a drink of water?”

“No, no, nothing. Don’t give me anything in case it wakes them up.” Bigbug the boy was terrified.

The GUSH in some way, enhanced perhaps because of his epilepsy, gave Moon intuitive insight. Moon knew this boy trapped inside Bigbug the monster hated the bugs. He knew the boy was telling the truth. He had no doubt about that. He knew they could trust him and he knew the boy would do anything to escape the torment of his diabolical imprisonment.

“We can help you,” says Moon. He took out the box of GUSH pills and shook out six tabs. “This is what we spiked you with. One lasts a long time, maybe 12 hours. Three will kill you. If the bugs begin to wake, take one. If you really need to get out of there take all six. Do you understand, son, what I am saying?”

“Yes, sir.”

Moon handed Bigbug the boy the six GUSH tabs and he took from around his neck a small silver medal on a chain. It was a holy medal of the Blessed Virgin brought back from Fatima by his old mad granny. “This medal was blessed by the Mighty McQuaid, the Archbishop of Dublin. Me granny says if you wear it the Blessed Virgin will always look after you and it has done so for me. A sinful waster like me. The Blessed Virgin has always brought me good luck. Wear it and she will look after and protect you. She saved my life in the hot countries more times than I care to remember. ” He fastened the chain around the Bigbug’s neck and Moon muttered “I baptise thee in the name of the Father the Son and the Holy Ghost.” He wet his thumb and made the sign of the cross on Bigbug’s forehead. Moon had made a conversion. He had Bigbug brought into the one true holy and apostolic church. The first alien Christian and a Fenian too.

“Now,” says Moon, “how do we get out of here?”

“No,” says Seamus, “we need to talk first about his boss. Somewhere safe?”

“I know a place,” said Bigbug the boy, “follow me.” They walked down to the Bigbug’s lab. Bigbug the boy swiped the lock on the security door and all three went inside locking the door behind them. They went into the X- ray room. “We cannot be overheard here.”

May as well start somewhere thought Moon. “Why do the M&M marines only eat women of child bearing age and the girl children?”

“They are MMCs Mark 2. We call them the M&Ms. The Mark 1s were dreadful things. Uncontrollable. They ate my cat. Just because it was a female. When the cat became pregnant it enraged them. It was more than they could bear. Misogynists Marine Corp. Population Control Police. The PCP. The Mark2 is controllable.”

“They kill all the women and the human race dies out? No more children?” Seamus was revolted. He had to remind himself this was a monster in boy mode sitting there. And it would be no use killing it as he had planned to do and then take his chances. The bugs had to be stopped. Moon was right. They had to find out what was going on. They had to get inside the alien’s head.

“Not all females will be eaten. A manageable proportion, who displays certain skills, will be spared for controlled breeding. A number that a designated secure zone can sustain. They will be shipped off to artists’ workshops in Madagascar. DADA has determined the humans are ravaging this planet in a relentless rape. Species exterminated daily. Species raised in captivity only to be slaughtered and eaten. The whole planet is slowly being choked to death with all manner of vile pollution. On top of all that DATA decrees, you are a warmongering species and so paranoid, so full of hatred for each other, you have developed nuclear weapons which will kill not just humans but all other species too. The bugs are sure if you are left alone it is inevitable there will be a nuclear war. This they cannot permit. They say they will never let you destroy this beautiful planet that they intend to make their home. DATA has claimed the Earth. It is salvage of a stricken planet.”

“We can live together as friends. Genocide is not the answer. I agree with you that what we have done to the planet, to the creatures, and to each other, is despicable. It must be, I imagine sadly, and to a visitor from another world, incomprehensible, what we have done, what we are doing to the earth, but –”

Bigbug the boy interrupted Moon’s conversation. “I may not have much time. Let me finish. In all the vastness of the universe, one can travel for hundreds, thousands, of light years and never find a planet such as the Earth. The bugs love the Earth. They boast it is stupendous in its natural splendour and abundance of life. They calculate the odds of such a creation coming into being as random scientific circumstance are incalculable and they do not agree with any type of God factor in their calculations. The Earth is a one off biological wonder. The bugs accuse humanity of destroying a planet that is graciously generous and unique. All life is welcome here. To the bugs this is paradise. To humans’ paradise is somewhere you go when you are dead usually after you die in one of your horrible wars or man- made famines or epidemics. The bugs have concluded humans have no right to exist on this planet or any other planet. Humanity is a deadly uncontrollable plague against which millions of other species have no protection. There is no antidote to man.”

“Yet,” interjected Seamus, “DADA has developed a weapon, a horrible weapon, MM’s, misogynistic cannibals, to wipe out another species. Us. We humans. Not all humans are warmongers and polluters. Some of us feel, perhaps as the bugs do, about the rape of the planet. What’s happening is not right. It has never been right but we are not going to cure one wrong with another.”

“Two wars do not make a peace,” says Moon.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Just said it. Catchy insight.”

“Do you from your history recall the slogan ‘The War to End All Wars’?”

“I do.”

“The bugs use that slogan to illuminate their outlook on human savagery. The curious thing about that piece of propaganda was that if it had ended all wars, the unspeakable slaughter that took place, the war could have been rationalized. Justified. But of course it was a plausible, cynical, lie put out by warmongers. Spin soldier savagery. Humans were duped to their deaths. The bugs say these warmongers still control the Earth.”

“That’s a fact,” agreed Moon.

“DATA determined there is only one solution. A final, final solution. FFS. The human race must be erased. Vanished from the face of the earth. I convinced them to spare some of us. To eradicate the human race in one generation is not a problem for them. It is much easier than The Great Cull that is coming. One factor has mitigated in your favour. Art. Humanity has produced the greatest works of art. I argued such a species does not deserve entire extinction. The bugs are fascinated by art. They agreed dictating artists, of a certain level of accomplishment, will be transported, along with other selected humans, to the island of Madagascar to produce works of art for them. The rest of the planet will be a Humanity Free Zone. An HFZ. The Great Cull was the best deal I could get. For humanity. For us.”

“An alien has gotta do what an aliens gotta do. Have you got a banjo here?” asked Moon. He was tap dancing. He plucked imaginary strings on an imaginary banjo. “The Rocky Road to Dublin 12345. All right you can’t hear these chords but I can. The Dubliners in concert. Every word, every note. We don’t want them to be singing The Rocky Road to Hell do we?”

“This Great Cull when will it begin?” asked Seamus

“As soon as DATA has enough M&Ms and complete control of the earth’s computers and data banks.”

“How soon is soon?”

“They will have control of all earth’s computers and data within one year but it will take them 5 years to produce all the cannibal clones they need. Chinese, African, Euro/Asian. All races. They intend to let loose twenty million of them in various parts of the planet. The facilities for clone production are already in place. They need to neutralize and control the world’s military before they can start production proper.”

“How do they make the clones?” asked Moon.

“From bones. From skeletons. Human bones and devil jelly. When the M&Ms eat someone they send the skeleton back to the field lab. There is enough organic material in a complete skeleton to make a clone. They are not allowed to suck on or eat the bones. Damaging a victims skeleton is a Court Martial offence that is punishable by being fed to your comrades. As far as the bugs are concerned the M&Ms are perfect soldiers. You don’t need to feed them, you don’t need to pay them, you don’t really even need to arm them and if they get killed or wounded they are food for their comrades, and, their remains can be recycled. They are programmed to rape their victim’s men, women, and children as an instrument of mass terror.”

“It will take DATA five years to make enough of these beasts?”

“Yes - but with your meteorite, they can make the number they need, and deploy them, in 6 months. Your meteorite must be destroyed.”

“We have to stop them. The bugs must be destroyed. Will you help us?”

“Gladly, sir,” Bigbug the boy was white in the face, “but I don’t know how long I will be able to help you. Feel my head.”

Moon felt Bigbug the boy’s head. It was as cold as stone.

“The bugs have gone into survival mode. They are now retreating back into rock. My mind may freeze over.”

“Where do they make these clones?”

“Right here in Holland. At Metro Data. Inside the facility, there is a huge underground factory producing M&Ms. It is10 kilometres out under the North Sea.”

“There must be a reason why they chose Holland,” mused Moon.

“Transport,” replied Bigbug the boy. “They will transport the clones by great barges and ships each capable of carrying tens of thousands of clones. They don’t have enough space shuttles to do the job. When the wars start there will be no air or rail travel. The motorways will be abandoned. All power stations will be shut down. DATA has enough M&Ms to invade all European capital cities. Paris, Brussels, Berlin, Copenhagen, Moscow, London, all will be devastated. All European capitals are accessible by barge from Amsterdam or ships from Rotterdam. There will be no navies to stop them. The cities will close down. Men will arm themselves and stay at home to protect their women and children. No food. No fuel. No protection. Terror and anarchy will prevail. The more people are killed, the more bones and the more clones can be produced. When the designated percentage of the human population is exterminated a signal will be sent from DADA and the M&Ms will turn on each other. They are programmed to kill and eat each other at mission’s end.”

“Why do they want to kill us off in such a horrible savage way?” asked Seamus.

“DATA decrees you deserve this horrible fate because, for instance, not so long ago, you were eating each other with relish. You even ate your own mothers, fathers, wives, and children. Now you just eat other creatures. The bugs have decided this is a fitting end to human extinction. They regard humans as the most diabolical species in the galaxy. They are very paranoid, terrified in fact, that one day in a couple of thousand years, or even maybe five thousand years if you survive slaughtering each other, you will be capable of deep space travel. They are terrified you will take off and infect other planets.”

“The clone factory is next to DATA’s hive you say?”

“Yes. DATA supervises the entire programme. Everything is two kilometres below the North Sea resting on massive bedrock. It is designed to sit out the holocausts raging up above. The facility is impervious to outside attack and the hive within virtually impregnable.”

“Two questions. Can the facility, the bugs, and clones, be destroyed? Can you get us in there?”

“Difficult. Very difficult. In answer to both questions.”

“You said, virtually, impregnable. That’s not impossible,” says Moon.

“The biggest danger they fear is water. If the sluice gates were blown open the North Sea would rush down gathering incredible force, travelling down such a long way, and everything in there would be obliterated. The M&M’s were not designed to breathe under water. It’s all difficult. Very dangerous and very difficult.”

“Is it possible to blow up these flood gates?” asked Seamus. The GUSH had removed Seamus’s fear and terror. The horror had left him. He was now in super hero adventure mode.

“There is one weakness in the facility, where, if it were blown, would have the same devastating effect. It would be even better in so far as everyone and everything inside would be trapped behind their own impregnable floodgates. The Hive has an escape hatch. An angled vertical shaft, up through which DATA can be propelled, rocketed to safety, in dire emergency. If that shaft were blown the water would fall directly onto DATA and” added the Bigbug, “you don’t need to blow the hatch. It can be opened by computer command.”

“Piece of cake,” says Moon. He clapped Bigbug the boy on the shoulder, “Right buddy?”

“There is a full company of M&Ms in there guarding the facility. More than 100 of them.”

“Fuck them.” shouted Moon, “they are dealing with the Legion now. Not defenceless women and kids.”

“If we open the hatch we will be inside,” said Bigbug the boy. “We will be killed.”

“So what,” says Seamus softly, “we are nothing more than walking dead.”

“I would rather be dead dead,” says Moon, “have some fucking chance of getting into heaven. And do you know something we will be the first ones.”

“The first what?” asked Bigbug the boy confused.

“The first Irish suicide bombers and now,” he said delighted with himself, “we are going into the Guinness Book of Records.”

Moon and Seamus began to laugh. Bigbug the boy stared at them.

“We need explosives and fuses,” said Seamus, “just in case. We will blow the Hive.” They had stopped laughing. There was no question about it. Moon and Seamus were going to sacrifice themselves. They were going to save their species. In a bizarre way for two misfits, who owed society absolutely no favours, they regarded their sacrifice as their duty. Human decency. Something these bugs and their monster M&M clones knew nothing about.

“The M&Ms armoury. Everything you need is there. It’s also across the Ij. I have access. One question for you. Where is the meteorite?”

Seamus answered without hesitation. “As we agreed there are no secrets between friends. The meteorite is in the bilge of Moon’s boat, the Albatross. I put it in there with the ballast and welded a steel plate across the hatch.”

“Can you get us into DATA's hive?” asked Moon. He was high and happy he didn’t care about the rock.

“Oh, yes,” said the Bigbug and it was not talking in the voice of a small boy. It stood up. It unlocked and opened the door to the room. Ten M&Ms rushed in and grabbed Seamus and Moon. They were handcuffed.

“Are you good, Professor?” asked the cannibal captain handing the Bigbug a glass of Bug juice. The Bigbug drank it greedily.

“Never felt better.” The Bigbug was back. “Take these two across to the facility and put them in the holding pen.”

The M&Ms were super strong. They grabbed Moon and Seamus and dragged them along as if they were small children, out from the lab, down the corridor and out to the tunnel shuttle. Seamus didn’t care. He was going to die soon and he was happy enough about it. He was contented. He was beyond fear and Moon had given him ten GUSH pills. Moon was avid with excitement and curiosity. They were thrown into one of the small carriages and the Turtle train carried them across to the cut off Metro Shell station located under the Shell building across the Ij. They were transferred then onto another Turtle train, which sped along the 10 kilometres tunnel under the North Sea to the DATA facility. The train track sloped angling down. They sped a long way almost it seemed into the bowels of the earth itself and stopped at Metro Data. The blast doors opened admitting the train and a sickening warm air greeted them. The air in Metro Data stank of decaying carrion. They were thrown out of the train onto the small platform. The M&Ms dragged Seamus and Moon towards a gate next to a security checkpoint manned by a detachment of M&Ms. The gate opened and they were bundled through. The gate locked behind them. The GUSH had accentuated all of Seamus’s senses. He smelt pure fear. He could taste the terror.

“We are in,”’ says Moon looking at Seamus a ridiculous smug satisfied look on his face.

“In where?” asked Seamus softly. “Hell?” He could hear the children screaming.