The Mandrake Effect
Chapter One

Put out the light, and then… put out the light: Othello

1952 – SPACE. CLOSING MARS ORBIT. Into God’s infinite immeasurable blackness a distant eruption of gas appears. At its epicenter is a solitary projectile; a crude unsophisticated cylindrical craft blowing out an enormous, deadly shroud of radioactive propulsion material as it closes on the red planet, leaving behind the claustrophobic ever-present aura of timelessness.

Suddenly, inexplicably, a beam of incoherent white light floods the craft. Something from outside––something alien––has entered the ship. This light, after an incalculable passing of time, shifts through the spectrum to deep indigo. The spaceship continues its journey, rounds the planet then careers onwards to its origin, Earth.

1980 – SPACE. CLOSING EARTH ORBIT. An age has passed. Now, into the unchanging indigo emptiness, a small gimlet-point of light appears. After a few moments, the luminous speck has grown to a magnificent spacecraft, the United States Starship, Junairo. This colossal craft glides slothfully onward to make rendezvous with the only other man-made body in this vacuous infinity, EarthlabOne, a huge space station. This orbiting oasis carries supplies, rocket fuel and a permanent crew of twenty souls, plus four SBS, stand-by shuttle, tethered beside like fledgling offspring feeding from the mother.

After various manoeuvres, the spacecraft gracefully docks and makes fast to the station. Her maiden test flight successful, Junairo will now undergo the laborious month-long procedure of refit.

Refit completed, Junairo is fuelled and crewed and towed one hundred nautical miles clear of the space station by a tug SBS. This shuttle detaches and returns to the station. After the mandatory countdown, the starship fires its massive engines. An incredible eruption of energy rams the elegant craft into deep space and to its maximum velocity, one-third the speed of light, and on towards its ultimate destination, the planet Mars.

The interior of the spacecraft is lit to half-light, dimly illuminating three glass-topped life-support coffers, occupied by two men and one woman. Next to these are three pressure suits, labeled, Fizz, Lenny, and Rose. The rest of the cabin is plain and practical. All is serene, all is silent, just the overwhelming presence of timelessness. A week, a month, a year could pass, it would make little difference to the occupants of the coffers as they breathe once every five minutes, the breath of the near dead. In fact, two months have flickered away, unnoticed by the comatosed crew. Contrariwise, to the ship’s onboard computer time is essence, it is the lifeblood of the Junairo. On cue, the planet Mars offers itself for view on the ship’s main monitor screen, but no conscious eye observers its red lifeless image. Also on cue, the flight-deck clatters awake, together with other flickering monitor and computer readouts––the USS Junairo has risen from its slumber.

Suddenly, inexplicably, a white incoherent light floods the craft. Something from outside––something alien––has pierced the tranquillity of the ship.

1980 – EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY, SCOTLAND. Inside this ancient red-brick house-of-learning, Henry Mandrake paces the well-worn corridors. He is of slender build, good-looking and in his mid-thirties. Even before he opens his thin-lipped mouth it is obvious he will possess a cut-glass English accent. He marches on with flamboyant Fred Astaire gait, his tutor’s robe draped foppishly over his Savile Row jacket, the lapel buttonhole of which adorning his customary sprig of mandrake, two violet blossoms surrounded by a cluster of blue-green leaves. Onwards he dramatically charges, oozing self-importance, past a pretty woman who has stuck her head out of one of the many doors in vain attempt to engage him in covert conversation.

‘Harry!’ she hisses, ‘Tonight! He’s–’ Harry ignores and carries on down the corridor to the small reception at the far end where, with much pomp and circumstance, he abruptly stops. Behind the desk is a seated woman secretary, by her side, impatiently waiting, is a huge villainous-looking man.

‘Radcliff, I presume?’ challenges Harry to the thug, in impeccable Eton accent.

The man turns, pushes his pugilistic scared, pug-ugly face into Harry’s space and growls in guttural Gorbals brogue, ‘Yoo, Mandrrrakk?’

‘Yes, very nearly––Follow!’ Harry marches off without waiting for further comment, just a beckoning finger over his shoulder. Radcliff follows close behind, into one of the offices. As the door starts to close, Harry hurls his words. ‘Now then, what the devil do you mean by coming here? And for God’s sake shut the bloody door… we don’t want the world and its mother listening.’

The door slams under the belligerence of Radcliff’s muscular shoulder. Through the obscured reed-glass panel, the receptionist unwittingly observes the jumbled figure of Radcliff grabbing Harry, thrusting his fist into his chest and proceeding to pummel him against the wall whilst hurling a bile of unintelligible threats, curses, and blasphemies. This goes on for half a minute or so, then Harry is shoved away. The door crashes back; the receptionist startles. Radcliff emerges and menaces off towards the car park shrugging, twitching, and neck jerking, interpreting to ‘job done.’ After a few moments, Harry gingerly appears. He straightens his tie and ruffled lock of hair, offers the receptionist a nervous smile, then storms off back down the corridor. Halfway along, the woman tries again to speak with him:

‘Harry,’ she hisses, cocking a well-plucked eyebrow, ‘He’s away all weekend.’ As Harry continues on she adds a wanton, ‘know what I mean?’ leer. Without breaking pace he forges an accepting smile to the eagerly offered tryst, and marches on, gown flowing.

Inside the spacecraft, Junairo, a tall slimly built woman – Navigation officer, Rose Hawkins, stands with her back to the cabin wall. She is dressed in a light-blue cooling suit that has the nametag ‘Rose’ over her heart. She appears terrified and in a state of near panic. Held tightly in her hands is a laser cutting-lance, aimed at a figure just out of view. On the verge of hysteria, she calls out to the craft’s open microphone. ‘Oh my God, I must be dreaming. Can you see this, Major?’ Unintelligible static answers. She screams back at the mike. ‘EarthLab, come in, damn you! … Jesus Christ, I must have the bends.’

The figure across the cabin moves and starts to talk – a woman’s voice. ‘Please listen… I’m in pain. I’m sick… I’m burning! My whole body is on fire. I need help… please, I’m–’

‘Move again, freak,’ yells Rose, cutting her off mid-sentence, ‘and I’ll burn you myself!’

‘No, don’t! You’ve got that thing set to infinity… you’ll hole the ship. We’ll both die.’

‘I don’t care! I’ll cut you… I’ll blast you!’

The second woman backs off and puts her hands up to her face in anguish. ‘Oh God, what’s happening? I’m in pain. Please don’t point that thing at me. Where are the men?’

‘You fucking tell me! – What am I doing, swearing at a freak?’

‘I’m not a freak. Where’s Lenny?’

‘You should know, you’re wearing his suit! Tell me, freak! Or so help me I’ll spread us both over a mile of space!’

The second woman calms slightly and puts her hands passively to her sides. ‘I don’t know,’ she answers submissively. ‘And I am not a freak, I’m as scared as you. I’m sick! I’m hurting!’ She turns and calls into the open mike. ‘Major, are you getting this? Base! for Christ sake, are you getting this? – Answer! damn you. Answer!!’ They stand motionless, glaring at each other. Eventually, the static clears and a voice gradually constructs:

‘ssskkk can you hear me? Answer Junairo. Do – you – read – us? This is EarthlabOne Private Enterprise. Do you read us? – Over!’

‘Where the hell have you been!?’ Rose screams into the open mike. There is silence for a few moments. Rose closes her eyes and waits.

‘Calm down, Rose. Calm down.’ The crackly voice jolts her to attention. ‘We have you… sound only, just a one-track audio link so we can’t both talk at once, but we have you. – Over.’

‘Where the hell have you been!? Thank God. Get video. We have a problem. – Over.’

‘Whatever the problem, Rose, we can work through it. Calm down and plug your unit in so we can monitor your–’

‘–Don’t mess with me, Base…’ interrupts Rose, but the two voices collide over the one-way link. After a moment it clears and she continues. ‘Let me speak to Major, and get video, and get it quick! I don’t think I can explain this with words. – Over.’

Major, a powerful military man in his sixties, sits looking into a blank monitor screen on the main deck of EarthlabOne. He speaks with controlled composure into a hand-held mike. ‘Rose, this is Major speaking. Now, for heaven’s sake calm down and plug-in your unit, we need to monitor you… normal procedure. Let me speak to Lenny. I want to–’ He stops mid-sentence, aghast. The static has cleared and the grainy black-and-white picture that now constructs on his monitor screen causes him to gasp in utter shock. ‘What in hell! What in hell!?’ He turns and yells orders to the entourage technicians. ‘Hold that picture! Cut the loop! Absolutely no coverage.’ He yells back into the mike, ‘Rose, for God's sake what’s happened?’

Major stares unbelievingly into his monitor. There is Rose still in her cooler suit, cutting-lance in hand, pointed at… a second Rose, dressed in a similar cooling suit, that has ‘Lenny’ over the heart. Even with the low-res picture, it is unmistakably two identical women, both rigid with terror, both staring unbelievably at each other. At the back of the cabin, between the two women, are the three life-support coffers, one intact, the other two shattered. Around them is a pile of decomposing remains, the air littered with the lightest of this material floated up in the quarter Earth gravity of the ship. On the monitor, the picture clears and sharpens into colour. After a long silence Major’s voice, loud and clear, rings around Junairo’s cabin over the open radio-link:

‘Here’s what you do Rose, suit up and–’

‘–I’m not suiting up. I’m not moving till you come up and get me.’

After another long silence, Major’s voice shrills out again. ‘For God sake, Rose, we can’t–’

‘–Yes you can! Just do it! I’m not putting this lance down, so you damn well get me out of here or I’ll blast the freak!’

At EarthlabOne, Major runs his fingers through his balding hair. He stares unblinking into the monitor. ‘We can’t bring you in if you don’t co-operate. Be reasonable, Rose.’

On Junairo, Rose re-aims the lance, her fingers still tight on the trigger. ‘Reasonable!’ she yells, ’Well here’s reasonable: If you don’t tell me you’re sending an SBS I’ll blast the lot to bits. My skin is crawling, my legs are shaking, and I’ve filled my urine-sack, I’m that goddam scared! So don’t give me fucking ‘reasonable!’ ’

‘Rose, the shuttle blasted off fifteen minutes ago, the moment we picked you up on the scans. Now, for Christ sake will you calm down? Both of you, suit up, stabilise pressure, and close off the cabin!’

‘No way!’ yells Rose. She aims the lance and continues with cold determination, ‘I’m not moving. She can suit up, but I’m holding this lance until you come through the hatch.’

‘That won’t do, Rose. Safety procedure: suit up and close off! We’ve got to flood your cabin. We’re changing atmospheres, for Christ’s sake, air for gas… cadet training.’

‘No fucking way!’

‘If you don’t close off there’ll be a great rush of air and–’

‘–Don’t mess with me.’

‘Listen to me, Rose! You got to–’

‘–I mean it, Major. The men are rotted to slime and I’m left here with this freak goddam bitch nightmare, staring at me. I don’t know if I’m dreaming, hallucinating or what, so just don’t!’ She turns and screams to the other woman, ‘Stop fucking staring at me!’ The woman diverts her eyes.

‘Rose, let the other… person close off.’

‘If she moves I’ll burn her. You’d better start believing me, Major. I’ll waste the freak and the whole damn ship.’ She turns to the onboard camera, adjusts and points the lance upwards. A shaft of amber light streaks across the cabin and into an alloy purlin, sending a shower of molten metal droplets dancing gracefully across the cabin deck.

On EarthlabOne, Major views the action on his monitor. ‘Oh, shit! … Okay okay! Give me a minute.’ His voice muffles as he confers with his subordinates, then he comes through loud and clear, ‘Okay Rose here’s what you do, the moment you hear them bang on the bulkhead, slip your helmet on with one hand and open the valves wide. It’ll be hard to breathe – we don’t have your cabin pressure – but you’ll manage… breathe in gulps. You’ll have to hold onto it real hard. When the airlock opens, the rush of air will probably knock you over, so don’t have your finger on the trigger. Got that Rose? Rose! ROSE!! For Christ’s sake, confirm!’

‘Fucking got it! – Freaking got it, okay?’ She closes her eyes in momentary prayer, ‘Oh sweet Jesus, please help me. Please forgive me for swearing. Mary mother of God, help me, I’m so scared.’

They stare across the cabin, two beautiful women absolutely identical, absolutely terrified, drawn by the irresistible attraction of each other’s eyes. Major’s rasping voice breaks the leaden silence.

‘They’re coming about Rose. Helmet on.’ Rose takes the glass dome helmet with one hand and, trailing the umbilical across the cabin deck, awkwardly slings it on.

‘It’s done,’ says she, gasping for air, ‘I can hardly breathe.’

‘It’ll be okay in a few moments. Okay, fingers off the trigger and hold on. We’ve got you.’

A dull thud on the bulkhead: Rose stands, fighting to suck in the rushing air, the knuckles of one hand white from gripping the rim of the helmet, the knuckles of the other white from gripping the lance, finger still firmly on the trigger. The other woman takes a half step toward the three suits.

‘Finish that step and I’ll cut you.’

‘But I need a suit, damn you!’

‘You’ve got a suit… Lenny’s! Move again I’ll kill you. Take your chances.’

The airlock spins open. A fine mist appears and the cabin fills in a chaos of decaying debris. Despite the rush of air Rose manages to stay on her feet, she staggers but stays upright, the lance not leaving its target. The second woman slumps to the floor in a faint.

The hatch now fully opens and two suited crewmen enter. Rose immediately lowers the lance and moves to place the two men between herself and the crouching second woman, who now staggers up and stands holding her head in her hands and looking very sick. Rose raises the lance again and screams at the two crewmen,

‘Get me out of here before I cut her… Get me out!’

The first SBS crewman, Cameron, takes the lance from Rose. The other crewman leads her through the hatch. The moment Rose leaves the ship she breaks down and sobs uncontrollably. The airlock closes behind her, leaving Cameron alone with the second woman. With the lance still held firmly in one hand, he twists off his helmet with the other. It comes away with a hiss of air to reveal a rugged, good-looking thickset man with cropped hair and Captain Kirk side-burns. The woman recognises him.

‘Cameron, isn’t it?’

‘What’s it to ya? Just move. Get into the coffer. I got to lock you in, Ro–’ he stops mid-word.

‘Com’on, Cameron, you know me: Rose, Rose Hawkins. You nearly said it. Com’on you creep.’

‘Damn it, you’re not Rose! – Just move!’

’You know me, Cameron. You made a pass at me once, you bum! I’ll tell you what your line was when you grabbed my butt, ‘Hi, how are you, sweet-chips?’ Remember, you goddam pervert? Com’on, I’m in pain, I need help!’

She takes a step towards him. Cameron looks momentarily into her soulless eyes then hurls her away in disgust. ‘Get away from me!’ She falls to her knees onto the debris-covered deck. ‘I made a hit on Rose, not you – you make my goddamn hair stand on end. I wouldn’t touch you with a cattle-goad. Now get in.’

She staggers up from the deck, speaks as she brushes off the putrefying mess from her suit. ’Well, you’ve got to call me something. How about something clever, like… ‘Rosette’ – you stupid jerk?’

‘Yeah, and fuck you too. Just get in.’

‘How in God’s name did a creep like you ever make crew?’

‘God’s name? Satan’s more like. Now get in!’ He takes another step towards her and seems about to grab her.

‘Back off. Don’t touch me, creep! I’m sick, I’m in pain.’ She starts to climb into the remaining coffer. ’I’ll go quietly, but I need something for the pain… my whole body is on fire.… I’m begging!

‘Sorry. When we get to Earthlab. There’s nothing I can do here.’

She lays down in the coffer. It closes. Cameron stands over the transparent lid and studies her. They stare eye-to-eye for what seems an age. She eventually looks away. Cameron puts the lance down and secures the coffer.

He staggers slightly under the tug of the SBS as it begins to tow Junairo to EarthlabOne.