Oli, A Very New Moon

by Carl Derham

CHAPTER 4

  Welcome to Pardoo

  A week had passed since the discovery of the asteroid and the President, under repeated instruction from his advisors, had decided not to inform the world. They would wait four days and continue to examine the trajectory of this increasingly menacing harbinger of catastrophe. Maybe they were mistaken, and as it approached the earth, their calculations would more accurately determine a near-miss scenario. He was sat at his desk watching a live feed from the Hubble Space Telescope. The asteroid was close enough now to receive a clear image. It was impossible to fully appreciate the scale, but he was able to clearly see the shape of the rock. It was not spherical like the moon, but was a more irregular shape, rather like a rugby ball with rounded ends and a few unsightly bulges at various points around it. The surface resembled that of the moon, in that it was heavily marked by craters. The sun was shining on the right hemisphere of the asteroid and this created menacing shadows across the flank. It was spinning around the vertical axis once every 27 minutes, so it had obviously been hit very hard by whatever object had set it on its present course.

  President Daniels shook his head and looked away from the screen. He found himself mesmerised, looking into the eye of an unstoppable killer that would erase humanity from existence. His advisers had warned that the ensuing chaos if it became general knowledge would be inconceivable. Society would totally collapse. They could not even rely on the army to keep order, as the soldiers would be presented with the same feeling of hopelessness. How could you expect anyone to fight for something that was about to end? If they then found out that it was going to miss, it would have all been for nothing.

  The newly formed Asteroid Comity would sit on the knowledge of the impending end of the world until three days before impact, and if it was then confirmed, they would inform the public. This would give everyone time to say their farewells. If it was going to hit, it was going to hit; there was nothing they could do. After all, this wasn’t some Hollywood movie where they could launch an A-list celebrity into space to destroy it with a toothpick and a can opener. It was extremely real and it was heading towards Earth at 60,000 kilometres per hour. Although, as one scientist pointed out, to his downfall, a more precise assessment would be that it was crossing the earth’s orbit travelling at some 40,000 kilometres per hour and the earth was going to slam into it, travelling as it does at 108,000 kilometres per hour around the sun. The resulting impact, allowing for the angle of the asteroid’s trajectory and the orbital path of the earth, would result in an impact of around 60,000 kilometres per hour. He wasn’t invited to speak again. In fact, a more precise assessment would be to say that he was instructed to never speak again.

  Two days before, President Daniels had attended a meeting with the top scientists in the country. Doctor Conway had been flown in from GASP. As the person who discovered the rock and the foremost expert in the world on all things asteroidal, he was expected to have some magical insights into how this problem might be solved. He had calculated the possible effect of ten nuclear missiles impacting the surface of the asteroid. There were only ten rockets in existence powerful enough to leave the earth’s atmosphere and intercept the rock at a safe distance, but in every computer simulation the resultant explosion merely dented the surface and the asteroid continued relentlessly on its present course. It was too big and it was travelling too fast for any technology known to man to have any effect on it. The bottom line was that if this giant rock was actually heading directly for Earth - and the odds for that had now increased to 97% - it would hit and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.

  Against all the cries of “you’re wasting your time Mr President,” President Daniels ordered the rockets to be made ready for launch. After all, even the minutest chance was better than no chance at all and these rockets and bombs were going to have even less effect sat in their silos. The President was informed that the rockets would be ready for launch the following day and would intercept the asteroid approximately six million kilometres from Earth. It was impossible to hide a ten-missile launch, so they had to come up with a cover story. The President informed the world powers that they were sending up ten new GPS satellites that would enhance the quality of the global positioning system to within one centimetre across the globe. No one really believed him and there followed a few days of furious diplomatic exchanges between the superpower states of Earth.

  But the rockets blasted off on schedule from a top-secret missile base in the Nevada desert. They left the earth’s atmosphere with a final burn, sending them around the earth and accelerating them to a previously unattained speed of 60,000 kilometres per hour, they blasted into space on their five day journey to intercept the asteroid. Everyone with knowledge of the asteroid was kept under close guard with no access to the outside world, and as several more observatories across the globe made the same discovery, they too were silenced.

  Totally unaware of the impending devastation, Stephan had caught a plane back to London to make a report to his department at the Natural History Museum. He had no idea what he was going to say, but word had got back to them from some source; he was sure it wasn’t Jaff. As he entered the Egyptology Department, he caught a glimpse of himself in the antique Moorish mirror that had been a gift from Jaff two years previously, and he concluded from the image of the hobo-like character staring back at him, that after this meeting he should get some rest. He entered his uncle’s office and was ushered to sit in front of the panel of stern looking academics.

  “I’m certain that you know why you’re here Stephan,” said Sir Rupert Evert, head of the department,

  “He just disappeared Uncle,” said Stephan, refusing the offer of a seat, instead choosing to lean on the desk with both hands in an act of defiance. “One second he was there, twenty metres up the passage, and the next he was gone. I cannot explain it any better than that. It was as though the floor opened up and swallowed him.”

  “Hmm,” growled Sir Rupert, gazing intently at Stephan over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “And who exactly was this young fellow that led you to disobey operating protocol?”

  Stephan explained how he’d met him on the plane and that he seemed like a nice chap and, let’s face it, everyone disobeyed protocol. They sat in silence, listening attentively and when he had finished, offered him two weeks paid leave to ‘pull himself together.’ Stephan didn’t utter a single word about Oli’s phone call, or for that matter the streak of silver that appeared from beside the pyramid and shot out into space. He figured that he was sounding barmy enough without adding little green men to the equation. Sir Rupert followed Stephan out of the stuffy room and put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to a halt.

  “I’m sure the young lad will turn up sooner or later Stephan,” he reassured him. “He’s probably just playing a practical joke on you. Now go and have some rest. I know,” he exclaimed, turning to place his other hand on Stephan’s right shoulder, “why don’t you spend a few days in Cornwall? It’ll be good for the old place to have some company for a while. It’s been lying empty for well over a year.”

  He reached into his voluminous pocket and pulled out a huge bunch of keys. After what seemed like an eternity of sifting through the multitude of chinking pieces of metal, he began to push a pair of ancient looking keys around the ring that secured them to the bunch. Stephan knew that these were the keys to his uncle’s country retreat located on the cliffs of Cornwall, looking out to the stormy Atlantic Ocean. Stephan had many fond memories of spending weekends at this sprawling country house as a child. It was every child’s dream house, with thousands of hiding places and grounds that you could get lost in for days on end. There were, apparently, secret tunnels under the house connecting with old tin mines, but Stephan had never been allowed to explore those for obvious reasons.

  “Thanks Uncle,” said Stephan, reaching for the keys, “I may just do that.”

  Stephan spent that night in his flat in Chelsea, attempting to reach the bo
ttom of a bottle of vodka. After several hours of such abuse, he fell into a drunken sleep on his couch. He hadn’t slept properly for five days and he remained in the same position for fifteen hours, where he awoke the following afternoon, feeling as though he might expire at any minute. Stephan was never really much of a drinker. When he was at university, his friends would invite him to parties knowing full well that he would fall asleep after a few drinks and would become someone else’s responsibility.

  He immediately assumed that he’d dreamt the whole thing but that blissful state only lasted a few seconds. He came to the disappointing conclusion that there was nothing more he could do. He might as well accept his uncle’s offer, head off to Cornwall and hope that Oli would turn up sometime, somewhere. At that moment his phone rang. He stumbled out of the chair, struggling at first to operate the lever to move the recliner into the upright position. He kicked over the almost empty bottle of vodka and reached for the receiver.

  “Yes, Stephan here,” he said, his gravelly voice exposing the fact that he’d also consumed an entire packet of cigarettes. He grimaced as out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the repulsive sight of the overflowing ashtray.

  “Hi Stephan, it's Oli.”

  “Oli? Where the hell are you? What the hell happened? Where the hell are you?” Stephan was aware that he was shouting, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “I'm fine.”

  Stephan was sure he heard Oli whispering.

  “Who are you talking to? Where are you?” shouted Stephan.

  “Everything’s fine Stephan. I’ve been away for a few days but I’m on my way home now. I should be back in about five days and I promise to tell you everything. See you soon.” And with that, the phone went dead. Stephan dialled 1471, for the service that identifies the number, but the recorded voice simply notified him that the caller had withheld their ID.