About the Author

Generally, ‘life’ has two sides, a ‘positive’ and a ‘negative’. On the negative side, throughout my life there have been people who used every opportunity to abuse, belittle and denigrate me emotionally, physically and psychologically. However, without their continual efforts to make my life utterly miserable, I would not be the person I am today and this book probably would never have been written, so I now offer them my sincere thanks. On the positive side I am now in the happiest retirement a man could wish for. Why? Well apart from the fact that I have had a very full and enriched life, there’s one other factor. I just happen to have a wonderfully enduring friendship with a woman who is my foremost love. She is my best friend Joy Hill with whom I am able to share everything and discuss anything. And when you are a chap who is naturally curious and analytical, having a kindred spirit to talk about stuff is a real blessing. I hope everyone enjoys reading “Ruby and the Luminarian Cross” as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Dedication This story is dedicated to the memory of my beloved brother Denis Hopkins (8/5/1953 – 26/3/2007) who, after working with me on “No Game For Amateurs” in 1990-3 would have absolutely loved to have worked with me on this project 20 years later.

L l o y d H o p k i n s

R U B Y A N D T H E L U M I N A R I A N C R O S S

Copyright © Lloyd Hopkins (2015) The right of Lloyd Hopkins to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. ISBN 9781785543739 (Paperback) ISBN 9781785543746 (Hardback) www.austinmacauley.com First Published (2015) Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd. 25 Canada Square Canary Wharf London E14 5LQ Printed and bound in Great Britain

Acknowledgment

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the following Austin Macauley staff: Vinh Tran, Lily Ryan, Hayley Knight and Gemma Cox who have always given willingly of their time and friendly, professional assistance. But in particular I would like to express special gratitude to three people who have been integral to both the growth of the story and its ultimate presentation. Firstly there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that without my best friend Joy Hill’s penchant for historical accuracy, brilliant imagination and extraordinary, spontaneous creative input, there wouldn’t have been any foundation on which to build this story. Secondly there is Anne Howard (also on AM’s staff) who wrote the “author’s report” in which she offered some really good advice. Her remarks were so unexpected and encouraging that Joy and I were both greatly impressed and inspired. Anne may have written just a few sentences but they had an incredibly positive effect on us. We read them over and over again and with each reading, our minds went into a frenzy of creativity. So much so that the story grew with new characters I had hitherto never imagined. Thirdly, Greg Carter for his brilliant artistry with the cover design. And finally I wish to acknowledge the Australian War Memorial (Canberra, ACT) for producing its daily radio segments entitled “Diary of an ANZAC” in commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the landing at

Gallipoli. As I listened to those segments I was not only reminded of my own military service (U654368 Cpl LH Hopkins RNZASC 1964-1975) but they also inspired me to give the story a radical makeover which culminated in the story having a completely different conclusion.

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Part one

About being psychopathic

“You can’t possibly be serious? I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in all my life. What absolute nonsense to suggest that ‘smart phone’ technology could have been responsible!” Professor of Sociology Ingrid Bjornstein yelled as she stormed out of Luminaria’s prestigious Sumakartra university’s common room where her colleagues from various faculties were enjoying afternoon tea.

Although almost all the academic staff had a different opinion about what actually caused the demise of the Druggonian Empire on the planet Februallis, it’s a pretty fair bet that Diablo Alvatorre, a much feared figure within Luminaria’s organised crime, had a hand in it. And contrary to Ingrid’s opinion, he did use the phenomenon known as ‘social media’ as an integral tool in his master plan to eventually conquer the universe. Not only was he a criminal mastermind with delusions of grandeur but he was also ranked third on Roget’s Wealthiest List. Of all the magazines purporting to be the most prestigious, RWL was regarded as the most reliable when it came to assessing the wealth of individuals within the Luminarian population. His plan, which in later years proved to be extraordinarily successful, relied on the practically universal acceptance of smart-phone

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technology. His aim was to use it to help spread contempt and rebellion throughout the millions of Druggonians who were disgruntled and disaffected with their government. If his idea worked, most of the population would take to methamphetamine use without the slightest compunction and those that didn’t would migrate to Luminaria.

And work it did because at one stage, health authorities believed there were twenty million addicts who were overdosing and dying at a rate of about five hundred a day...a phenomenal number that almost overwhelmed the extensive hospital system. But when Diablo got frustrated that the deaths and migrations weren’t emptying the planet quick enough, he ordered his chemists to drastically increase the methamphetamine’s toxicity level. When the resultant increase in the death toll meant the drug scourge was spiralling out of control and the medical staff were screaming that the health system was at the point of collapse, Diablo smiled contentedly because his plan was unfolding quite satisfactorily. And from the reports he received of the continuous activity at the numerous interstellar airports, it was clear that those of the population not caught up in the drug culture and could migrate, were doing so and left in their millions until there were only two groups left. The ‘druggos’ and those who volunteered to stay behind to help wherever they could. But it wasn’t long before those carers also realised the situation was hopeless and they too migrated. When the last ‘druggo’ was cremated, the remaining officials dissolved the parliament, closed down everything that had made the empire function and left on one-way tickets to Luminaria.

When Druggonia was finally abandoned, Diablo and his few trusted henchmen made their move. He declared the planet ‘terra nullius’, renamed it ‘Alvatorre’, installed himself as President and with almost obsessive vigour, set about creating his empire. First on his list was the mining venture that was destined to more than quadruple his personal wealth. Then, when every gram of the mineral

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‘recalcitrite’ had been extracted and his engineers declared there was no threat of the planet imploding, the mining contractors departed for their homes. Then with a huge sense of achievement, he began spreading the word to neighbouring planets that his empire was ready for settlement. Almost all of those who had migrated to Luminaria, but most importantly those in the public service on whom Diablo would come to rely on to make his empire function, duly returned to their homes to carry on their lives and occupations as if they’d never left. And they were quite nonplussed about the fact that Diablo had invited five thousand misfits, miscreants and mercenaries to form his defence brigade and armed them with a formidable array of state-of-the-art weapons. He then let the rest of the neighbouring planets’ underworld kingpins know that he was in control and could defend his realm should any of them think about challenging his autocracy. It meant nothing to him that his so-called army was composed almost entirely of hapless thugs who were little more than obsequious sycophants. But he was cautiously optimistic that the professionals amongst them would be competent enough to train the unskilled.

Now, as a quiet achiever by most criminal standards, his goal was to use any and all means possible to one day make his new home not only rival Luminaria but to surpass it in every way. He had the financial resources, the patience and the ambition. Oh, and he made it quite clear that he didn’t suffer fools gladly. If anyone on his payroll messed up, they paid with their life.

And to add icing to his cake, he would make absolutely certain that every being in the universe knew his name. In his mind at least, he was a major player...whatever the game.

But some years before he could even think about mining, his plan had just started and was slowly bearing fruit. Although still in its early days, drug use within the empire had begun its transformation. Where it began as a disgusting habit among a subculture of assorted dropouts and losers, it

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gradually became a socially acceptable activity that for the vast majority of the population was as normal as breathing.

And two excellent examples of those who happily and willingly conformed to the status quo were Borga Plaskin and his wife Thenki. They were typical of their generation in that they were in their early twenties, happily self-employed in their industrial cleaning jobs and pretty much carefree. As long as they had a roof over their heads, food in the cupboard and drugs when they wanted them well, pretty much nothing else mattered. And what’s more, they had no idea nor the least concern, that the methamphetamines they regularly took could be contaminated with any of a variety of poisons to hasten their demise. Or that their consumption might have a detrimental effect on any children they hoped to have. Like most other young folk, they began with the occasional experiment in their early teenage years and whenever someone had a party to celebrate their birthday or engagement, that was all the excuse they needed to really binge out. And after that, it was just a matter of continual taking over the next few years. By the time most were in their adulthood, for a few the novelty had passed but for everyone else, it was simply a matter of ‘keep-on keeping on’. After all, almost everyone took drugs and it was considered by their peers to be grossly impolite not to indulge when one attended any social occasion. Of course, none of them had the slightest idea how the drugs were made, what the ingredients were or indeed if they were doing themselves any long-term neurological damage. Any conversation by medical authorities that suggested taking drugs during pregnancy resulted in deformed babies or that cancerous tumours may well form on the brain after a few years of even occasional use, .was met with contempt! Nevertheless, apart from the aged, the infirm and the children, .the general population were regular users and any invitation to have a party where there’d be drugs of every description laid-out like platters of finger-food...were happily accepted.

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When Thenki became pregnant in her twenty-fifth year, she was terrified that the medical authority’s warning may eventuate. But to her great relief, her pregnancy was one of her most pleasant experiences. She looked absolutely radiant, was the envy of all her girlfriends and the subsequent delivery was effortless. Shevik was born a healthy little boy and they and their friends had every reason to rejoice with another party. He was normal in every way and much to his parents’ relief, during his formative years, he showed no sign of any untoward mental or physical behaviour. If anything, there were numerous indications of a superior intellectual capacity. Whenever they went out as a family, everyone remarked that he was simply a delightful child. Medical science had warned them that a ‘normal’ child was unlikely due to their drug use and so they were prepared for the worst. But with Shevik they had beaten the odds and duly expressed a big sigh of relief.

With that success, Thenki was only too happy to have another child to add to their very happy family.

But falling pregnant with Gorghan during Shevik’s eighth year was an entirely different experience. Almost from the moment she conceived, Thenki’s health became an absolute nightmare with bouts of abdominal pain occurring so fiercely that they made her double-up in pain as she vomited. Her paediatrician was understandably quite worried and recommended a termination. But after a brief discussion, she and Borga agreed to proceed to full term. To her friends she confided that the only thing that she reckoned kept her going was her occasional use of methamphetamines, the use of which she kept secret even from Borga. If he’d known, he’d probably have gone berserk. Although a regular user himself, even the worst addict was aware there were times when one refrained. And as difficult as periodic abstinence may be, pregnancy was widely accepted as just such an occasion. Then, when the time came for the delivery, Thenki spent 72 hours under the watchful eyes of a specialist team of paediatricians. They urged her to have a caesarean section

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but she was determined to have a natural birth. And that was mainly because there was considerable status amongst their friends who had all enjoyed natural births. And it was vitally important to her that she not be regarded as outside the status quo.

When Gorghan’s head began to emerge, it was on the cards he’d be deformed in some way although such apprehensions weren’t evident from the multiple imaging scans Thenki had undergone. Thus there was a big sigh of relief when Gorghan appeared normal, well physically anyway. But when Borga compared the two pregnancies, he couldn’t quell his gut feeling that Gorghan was going to develop quite differently to his older brother.

“Will my worst fears be realised...will this child be a little monster?” He quietly asked the leading paediatrician.

“I’m sorry, medical science can’t give you any advice on that score, only time will tell,” she advised.

And much to Borga’s heartache, Gorghan’s true colours didn’t take all that long to manifest themselves. Whereas Shevki was quiet, studious, well mannered, kind, caring and considerate, Gorghan was loud, had a spine-chilling laugh that most of the family’s friends found ghoulish. When he was at his most diabolical, he’d use the front yard to set all manner of traps in the hope of capturing anything that flew or walked. Then he would sit on the front porch and wait impatiently for one or more of them to snare something. And when they did, he’d laugh as he sprang back into life and ran to the trap. Whatever he’d caught would then meet a slow and extremely painful death. If he caught a mouse, he’d first go to the kitchen, get an aerosol can of insect killer and spray the mouse’s eyes and laugh as it screamed and squirmed in pain. Then he’d get a pair of scissors from his mum’s sewing kit, cut off each leg just below the knee then place the rodent on the floor and laugh as it tried to move around. After a minute or so of that, he’d then go to his father’s tool box and return with a blow torch and burn its eyes to a crisp...and when it was dead he tossed it in the rubbish bin. He also got

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huge pleasure from capturing all sorts of flying bugs, pulling their wings off and then watched as they tried to move about before stomping on them.

Now oddly enough that behaviour was regarded as being within the parameters of ‘normal’. The first real sign that he had quite serious neurological issues was during his first day at school when their class was outside enjoying their lunch break. Gorghan noticed a small rodent moving awkwardly under the bushes that grew along the edge of the playground. Sensing another opportunity to inflict some horrible pain, he went quietly to investigate. As he looked at the furry little chap staring back at him, it seemed that it had been in a fight because it was having difficulty using its hind legs as they were being dragged instead of walking normally. Then he also noticed a shiny aerosol can of the kind he had seen his mother use, so he picked it up and put it in his pocket. Then he gently picked up the rodent and looked into its beady little eyes. It was at that moment that some of the other children noticed what he was doing, left their games and gathered around him.

Gorghan smiled at his gathering audience and felt great that something he was doing attracted the rest of the class. This was indeed a pleasant surprise because most of them regarded him as a bit of an idiot because he showed no interest whatsoever for the school work. And to add to his strangeness, for no apparent reason, he often laughed in a crazy sort of way during a lesson.

However, on this occasion, some of the children were intrigued and looked on enviously as they would also have liked to have held the rodent just to see what it felt like.

Then when their teacher, Miss Kransky noticed how quiet the playground had become, she looked out the window to see Gorghan holding something that seemed to fascinate the class. Leaving her lunch, she stood up and walked outside.