Copyright © 2019 Peter Gregory
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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For Andrew and Michael
Good science fiction is
better than bad science
Professor Martin Rees
Astronomer Royal
Contents
Part 1
STRANGE HAPPENINGS
1Impact
2One Month Earlier
3Liz Conway
4Meteor Showers
5Shock Wave
PART 2
STRANGE FINDS
6Meteorite Hunters
7The Find
8Analysis
9Confirmation
10Decisions
11Leaks
12Going Public
13Religion Refuted
14A Lull
Part 3
Collision Course
15Asteroid
16Collision Course
17Black Deflection
18Illicit Love
19A Surprise
Part 4
Dark Days
20Earth Orbit
21Nuclear Winter
22Alien Life
23Plans
24Life at the Edge
25The Dark Freeze
26Activity
Part 5
End Game
27Scouting Mission
28First Glimpse
29Origins
30Asteroid Belts
31Desperation
32Options
33Drones
34Samples
35Superbugs
36Whispers
37Decision Time
38Success
39Reunion
40A New Beginning
41An Unlikely Coupling
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Notes
Part 1
STRANGE
HAPPENINGS
All our science, measured against
reality, is primitive and childlike –
and yet it is the most precious thing
we have
Albert Einstein
1
Impact
They watched the asteroid on the flickering screen in silent fascination. The giant lump of extraterrestrial rock that was hurtling towards them at 70,000 miles per hour, 20 times faster than a speeding bullet. The giant lump of extraterrestrial rock that measured over 500 miles in diameter. The giant lump of extraterrestrial rock that would, in less than one hour, smash into the Earth with a force of over a trillion hydrogen bombs. The giant lump of extraterrestrial rock that would extinguish all life. Everything. Forever. Plants, animals, birds, fish, insects, even bacteria and viruses. And, of course, humans. Nothing would survive.
They’d known for a while that it was only a matter of time before a giant asteroid would collide with Earth. It was a simple matter of probabilities. Given enough time, the probability was one that such an event would occur. In other words, it was an absolute certainty. The only question was when? And now that question had been answered. The answer was NOW.
Over its 4.5 billion year existence planet Earth has been bombarded with asteroids countless times, some big, most small. The last really big asteroid to collide with planet Earth, in what is now Chicxulub on Mexico’s Yucatan peninsular, happened around 65 million years ago, an event that blasted billions of tons of dust and debris into the atmosphere. Dust and debris that spread around the globe, blocking out the sun’s life-giving rays for years. A nuclear winter that not only caused the extinction of the dinosaurs, but also caused the extinction of 70 per cent of all life on Earth. A mass extinction. But that asteroid was a mere tiddler compared to the one that was hurtling towards them now, just a piece of intergalactic dust compared to the monster coming to destroy them all.
The scientists watched in hushed silence as the asteroid hit the Earth’s atmosphere. Watched as it glowed first red, then blue and finally white. A white hot piece of rock the size of a small moon hurtling towards its final destination. THEM!
Without taking her eyes off the screen, Liz whispered to the man sat to her right, ‘How long to impact?’
‘Five minutes, ten seconds,’ answered Professor Cecil Vivian Shawcross, the leader of the small British team involved in the early detection of ‘Near Earth Objects’, the team tasked with keeping a lookout for rogue asteroids. ‘In just 310 seconds, the whole of the USA will be completely obliterated, vaporised. Soon after, the rest of the world will suffer the same fate.’
Liz said nothing, her eyes glued to the flickering screen. It was horrific, yet compelling, viewing. The static caused by the approaching asteroid made the picture on the screen almost unviewable, as if she was viewing it through a snowstorm, but she could still make out the shape of the massive white hot piece of rock as it hurtled inexorably towards its final destination.
‘Thirty seconds to impact,’ a voice said in the darkened room. To Liz, the voice sounded disembodied, unreal, as if it was coming out of thin air rather than a human mouth. ‘Why is it,’ she thought, ‘that humans always count down to an event. Counting down to major events, such as the launch of a space rocket or the start of a New Year, was fine, but counting down to trivial events like the end of a rugby match, or the start of a race, or the start of a stupid game on a stupid reality show, or… Well, it was just silly. A silly human trait.’
‘Five, four, three…’ the floating voice said in a calm, emotionless manner.
‘How can anyone be so calm at a time like this?’ thought Liz.
‘Two, one – IMPACT.’ The screen showed a massive explosion, then went dead.
2
One Month Earlier
The shooting star sped across the night sky like a supersonic bullet, leaving a wispy white trail of stardust in its wake. The weather forecaster had said there’d be a meteor shower, and he wasn’t wrong. This was the seventieth one she’d seen in the last 30 minutes. Granted, it was a cool, clear night. A night ideal for spotting shooting stars. But seventy in just half-an-hour, this was the most that Liz had ever seen.
The weather forecaster’s prediction had spurred Liz into action. She gulped down her tea, grabbed a thick sweater, woolly hat and walking b
oots, and dashed to her car. She dumped them in the boot, checked that her prized binoculars were there, closed the lid and hurried to the driver’s door. As she was inserting the key into the ignition, she paused, opened the door and dashed back to the house. Moments later, she returned clutching a plastic bag full of nuts, placed them carefully on the front passenger seat and sped off towards her destination.
It took Liz no more than 20 minutes to drive the short distance from her home in Southport to Freshfields. As a member, she normally parked on the National Trust car park adjacent to the beach. Tonight, that wasn’t an option – Formby Point Nature Reserve closed at dusk. Instead, she parked on the road leading to the entrance, the road of expensive million pound plus properties, some of which were the residencies of famous footballers from nearby Liverpool and Everton. Quickly, she put on her walking boots, sweater and woolly hat, placed her binoculars around her neck and put the packet of nuts in her pocket. Satisfied that she had everything, she strode purposefully towards the entrance.
Liz knew this place like the back of her hand. The National Trust’s Formby Point Nature Reserve was one of her favourite places. Nestling between the pleasant village of Formby and the Irish Sea, it was an idyllic spot. Pine woods flanked the road that ran through the Reserve, the tarmac road that Liz was hurrying down towards the beach, tall pines that sprung from the undulating sandy floor. Numerous man-made paths traversed the woods, especially those to her left, paths designed to allow visitors close access to the Reserve’s main attraction. Red squirrels.
As she strode towards the beach, Liz thought how beautiful this place was at night. No people, no cars, no noise. None of the sounds of civilisation. Just the peace and tranquillity of nature. The stillness. The serenity. The solitude. The only sound was the gentle rustling of the trees caressed by the soft breeze, punctuated with the occasional hoot of an owl as it called to its mate. Toowit, toowoo. And the smells. She loved the smells of autumn. The smell of decaying leaves, of cut grass and hay, and the crisp, fresh ‘after-the-rain’ smell so pronounced in autumn. Liz also loved the autumnal colours. The golden yellows, the rustic reds and the russet browns. They delighted her. Fulfilled her. Nourished her soul. But tonight, the only colours were grey. A million shades of grey. And black. The black of the night sky, a black dome speckled with dazzling dots of brilliant white.
After about half-a-mile, the pine trees petered out, replaced by a flat, sandy expanse of grass. At the far side of the flat expanse lay the deserted car park. Immediately beyond the car park, about a quarter-of-a-mile ahead, large sand dunes rose into the sky. Hidden, at the other side of the sand dunes, was the beach, the large sandy beach that stretched for miles and miles. Her destination.
On reaching the beach, Liz paused and gazed up at the sky. She couldn’t help herself. It was something she’d done since childhood. Gaze up at the night sky. On a windy night she’d face into the wind, look up at the clouds scudding overhead, and imagine she was piloting Spaceship Earth as it sped on its fantastic journey through the galaxy.
Elizabeth Conway had been fascinated by the night sky since childhood. Fascinated by the big black dome with twinkling lights. The 6,000 twinkling lights visible to the naked eye and, sometimes, a big white ball too. Or a white banana. In her mind, she likened it to a big black tea cosy studded with sparkling diamonds. A big black tea cosy that appeared every night to keep her warm. As she grew older and her knowledge increased, the reality of the Cosmos, with its billions of stars and galaxies, proved infinitely more fascinating than her childhood perception. She was hooked. The Universe intrigued her. Fascinated her. Captivated her. She wanted to know more. To learn how it got here. How it works. To understand it, unlock its secrets. But what intrigued her most of all was a simple, childlike question. Was there life out there? Intelligent life. Life that we could communicate with. Interact with. She fervently hoped so. Because of her passion for the Cosmos, it surprised no one when Elizabeth Conway became an astrobiologist.
Liz loved her moonlight rambles along Freshfield beach. Along the wide stretch of sand illuminated with second-hand sunlight from the moon. It relaxed her. Helped her unwind. The noise of the waves lapping gently on the sandy shore soothed her. Calmed her. As did the moonlit sea, the vast, shimmering, silvery expanse of water that stretched to the distant horizon. And she loved the feel of wet sand beneath her feet: it was much softer than walking on tarmac, or concrete. Much kinder to her tender feet. The beach had one other big advantage too. It was away from the bright lights of the towns and cities. Bright lights that interfered with stargazing. Or spotting shooting stars.
Although the clouds were beginning to roll in, most of the sky remained clear. And dark. Alone on the beach, Liz scanned the heavens with her binoculars. Wow! That one was a beauty. A large one. Definitely large enough to reach the Earth’s surface before burning up in the atmosphere. A meteorite.
Minutes later, another shooting star streaked across the night sky, disappearing behind a cloud before reappearing at the other side. This one was smaller: it would probably burn up before it reached the Earth’s surface. A meteor.
Liz spotted several more shooting stars before realising how cold she was. The increasing cloud cover had caused a change in the weather. The temperature had dropped considerably, imparting an icy chill to the wind. Exposed and alone on the cold, dark, windswept beach, she suddenly felt vulnerable. Instinctively, she pulled the woolly hat down over her ears, lifted the collar of her sweater to protect her neck, and hunched her shoulders to make herself a smaller target. Then she headed for the shelter of the sand hills.
Huddled in the sand hills away from the chilling wind, Liz continued scanning the night sky. The clouds were scudding across the sky at an ever increasing pace, black ominous rain clouds that cast weird, shifting shadows as they flitted across the face of the moon. Weird, shape-shifting shadows that raced across the deserted beach. Rain was in the air. She could sense it. And it was windy and cold. Time to retreat to the relative safety, and warmth, of her car. Anyway, the increasing cloud cover made further stargazing impossible. But she’d had a good night. In just over half-an-hour, she’d spotted 70 shooting stars, the most she’d ever seen. A record.
As she arose from her sheltered position, a strong gust of wind blew sand into her face. Instinctively, she rubbed her eyes. Why was it always windy at the seaside? She’d wondered that from being a toddler splashing in the sea. Even on hot, sunny, summer days, the wind on her wet skin always made her feel cold. Now, as a 29-year-old astrobiologist, she knew the answer. It was rudimentary ‘O-level’ physics. During the day, the sun heats the land to a higher temperature than the sea (it has a lower heat capacity), warming the air above it. The warm air rises, drawing in cooler air from the sea. A cool onshore breeze. At night, the reverse happens. The sea retains its heat better than the land, causing the wind to blow from the land to the sea, an offshore breeze.
The wind was really cold now and she felt the first drops of rain on her face. A flash of lightning lit up the night sky, followed by the distant rumble of thunder. A storm was on its way. Liz quickened her pace, hurrying to reach the shelter of the pine trees before the storm broke. Her face and hands felt really cold. ‘Why didn’t you bring your gloves, you stupid fool?’ she said to herself. ‘It’s autumn now, not summer.’ Stuffing her hands into her pockets, her right hand encountered the bag of nuts. The bag of nuts she’d forgotten about. Forgotten about completely. The bag of nuts she’d brought with her to feed the squirrels.
She faced a dilemma. On the one hand she wanted desperately to feed the squirrels. It was something she did every time she visited the Reserve. She knew it was silly but she thought they’d come to expect her to feed them. In fact, it was more than an expectation. Liz thought the squirrels depended on her feeding them and, if she didn’t, they would starve. On the other hand, a storm was approaching and she was still half-a-mile away from her car. All these thoughts flashe
d through her head as the road left the flat expanse of the car park and entered the wood.
Her heart implored her to feed the squirrels but her head told her to hurry back to the car. Fast! She could see the path that led into the wood: it was about 50 yards ahead on her right. ‘Never shelter under trees in a thunderstorm. It’s dangerous. You could be killed by a lightning strike.’ The warning drummed into her by her parents swirled around her head. A lightning flash lit up the sky for the second time, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. The storm was getting closer.
Before she knew it, Liz felt the soft feel of pine needles beneath her feet. Without realising it, she’d left the tarmac road and taken the path leading into the wood. The narrow sandy path covered with a thick layer of pine needles. She felt like she was walking on a cushion of air. Her decision made, she walked even faster, indeed almost ran, to reach the spot where she fed the squirrels.
As she hurried towards her feeding spot Liz reflected on the plight of one of Britain’s most endearing mammals, the red squirrel, our own native red squirrel which was fighting a losing battle against that ubiquitous foreign invader, the North American grey squirrel. Although she would never harm a grey squirrel, Liz despised the Victorians for deliberately introducing them to Britain in the nineteenth century just to satisfy their penchant for novelty. Adaptable, tough and hardy, these foreign invaders thrived, causing a catastrophic decline of our own native red squirrel. The grey was able to out-compete the red in every phase of its life cycle. Furthermore, it is more resistant to disease, another factor that helped it spread like wildfire. Liz knew that the main hope of survival for the red squirrel was isolated conifer habitats like Formby Point, where the grey squirrel does not so easily out-compete the red. Here, in one of the few remaining strongholds of the red squirrel, Liz did all she possibly could to ensure the survival of her favourite animal.
The Dark Freeze Page 1
