Tungstoon's Grid

Back in 2007, artist HvH and myself started work on a graphic novel, based on an idea HvH had, that was never finished. I came across it the other day and, with his permission, thought I'd share a portion of it. It was meant to be a kind of outer space soap opera in the manner of Dune. I still have the full outline put away, but only a few chapters were ever finished.


Tungstoon's Grid

Eric Arvin & HvH

I


The man who manned the moon—its lunar majesty hanging ever like a lonely, sorrowful queen above the now barren Earth—was named Hark D'Or. His name was seldom said aloud. It hadn't been for a very long time. He would have forgotten it himself if it were not written on the top of the reports and transmissions he sent back to earth.


Hark was alone with the moon; the only man ever to have lived on a continual basis there long after other, more prominent scientists had left for Earth2. He was not the last man on the moon, but at least the first in any real meaning of the phrase. Most people did not have the power to survive such long stretches of solitude. Most would go insane staring the blank of space in the eye day in, day out. Other people had come and gone, short stays lasting no more than a night here or there. But Hark—he had taken it upon himself to do the job that no other would take. He was the Sentry, the supreme sentinel who scouted for any sign of the Baghuars in the distant starfields that might join the attack force which had occupied Earth2 for a centred. His was a heavy task, and a quiet, lonesome one whose ache would echo in the minds of most. Not that he minded that separation from human touch. For Hark D'Or was good with being alone in the dark; he was friends with quiet, knew boredom well, and was secrecy's chosen lover.


On Earth 2, he had been trained to be a soldier of solitude. This included, in fact it relied upon, having little if no interaction with other humans. His life had been lived far away from the colonies, deep in the caves of the Goran Desert. He was bred for this. Hark had a continuous conversation with Boredom, with his fairly unimaginative self. This conversation didn't involve words. Only thoughts. Thus, the air of the moon base was virgin silent but for the drones and beeps of the important machines and devices—all layered with a thick dust—that surrounded him. He knew each one of them on a named-by-manufacturer basis. He kept the station dark. It was only lit by the glow from the controls. It created an intimate feel for him, for his machines.


Besides scanning the atmosphere for any signs of the Baghuar, Hark's other major duty included the running and upkeep of the portal—Regina, as she was called. After being an important research laboratory for millennia, the station had lost all use but this. The station was now on the moon for this deathly critical purpose. The moon was, for all intents and purposes, a stop-over on one's journey from one Earth colony to another. It was only ever used in the most dire of situations to keep its existence secret. Each colony on Earth 2—all of them hidden deep in the ground, caves upon caves—was equipped with a replicant portal that would transfer an occupant from their platform there to the Moon's, then on to their final destination. They had not yet perfected the technology to go easily from colony to colony without the aide of the Moon layover. Because of the war, they hadn't the means. All remaining resources were used in the effort to simply survive. By some stroke of missight on the part of the Baghuars, the portals had so far gone undiscovered.


Every so often a colonist, a Citizen, would need to use the portal, and Hark would need to endure a few moments of excruciating awkwardness until Regina powered up again and could send the Citizen onward. The Citizens would often try and engage Hark in some meaningless conversation. They would comment on the eerie dark of the station as their eyes roved about, catching the gleams of lights on metal helms. This only made Hark flinch. It was as if they were breaking the very sacred air around him. After the Citizen had been sent back to Earth on his mission Hark would touch Regina gently as if saying, "Well done. It's over now. You can rest."


So, it was with some alarm when Hark D'Or's treasured silence was smashed by something even more penetrating than another human voice. The sirens from one of the colonies on Earth, Socrates III, was blaring. It shook Hark to his core and he looked around him in disbelief. The sirens had never been needed before. They were installed as a precautionary measure in case the Baghuars got past the moon's detection. But that was a seeming impossibility—until now.


Hark hadn't the time to wonder how the Baghuars had accomplished this feat, how they had got past his detection, how they had made him a failure and his life's work moot with the first note of the screaming siren. At once he was at the helm, receiving instructions.


BAGHUARS STOP PREPARE TO RECEIVE CIVILIANS STOP TRANSMITTING IMMEDIATELY STOP


Hark prepared himself for the mass influx of strangers he would now have to face. He raced about the dark station, running through the drill he had memorized in his many lonely hours. Could Regina take what was to come? Would she be all right? He prepared her, gently massaging her frame. "You can do it, girl," he thought. "You'll do just fine."