by Nick M Lloyd
‘But we’ll feel more out there.’
‘Okay,’ said Tim.
Knowing from experience that Sam could only function on crutches for twenty minutes before serious discomfort set in, Tim stood and retrieved her wheelchair.
Spinal injuries were bastards to manage, with crippling pain being the constantly lurking enemy. Once the final bonus payment from MacKenzie came through, Tim hoped he could convince Sam to try ground-breaking neural pathway regrowth treatment.
‘I’ll stay in and monitor the news,’ said Toby.
Five minutes later, they were out on the pavement, Sam wheeling herself, as usual. Her chair did have detachable handles stored under the seat – for emergency purposes only. She was very clear on that. Tim had had his thigh punched on more than one occasion for trying to give unsolicited assistance.
Up and down the road, the pavements were filling up with other people who had decided to go outside too: mothers with babies, old people, and youths who should have been at school all gathered on the pavement.
The nervous energy was palpable.
Suddenly, being outside didn’t seem like quite such a good idea. ‘Maybe we should go back?’
‘We’re not going to suddenly be attacked by our neighbours,’ said Sam, pointing towards a large group of middle-aged men and women congregating outside an electronics store a few doors down. ‘Let’s see what’s going on over there.’
As they got closer, the crowd resolved into a collection of worried individuals. Newsfeeds showing on televisions in a shop window showed various governmental agencies asking for calm. All the programmes had a ticker along the bottom of the picture saying the prime minister would address the nation at two o’clock.
Tim reached for his phone to check the latest on the internet.
Unable to connect
‘It’s the start of an invasion,’ someone said.
‘Judgement Day,’ said another woman.
Each phrase triggered part of Tim’s brain to run a little simulation and determine both the likelihood, and the severity of the consequences.
Not good!
‘You okay?’ asked Sam, obviously seeing his face registering fear.
‘Yeah, let’s get that coffee,’ said Tim, burying his fear.
Two minutes later, they entered their favourite coffee shop Bean Ground Down?
The proprietor was switching off the lights. ‘Sorry. All my staff wanted to get home and check in with their families.’
‘No problem,’ said Tim, suddenly wondering whether he should have done the same. He turned to Sam. ‘Do you want to go home?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Sam.
Tim called Toby and gave the same message. His sense was that Toby had left the building before Tim had hung up.
‘I’d better check that Toby locked up properly,’ said Tim.
‘I’ve got to come back to collect my stuff.’
They returned to the office where they found Toby had locked up, and set all the alarms, correctly.
Tim opened his workstation while Sam gathered her belongings.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Tim, when it was clear Sam was ready to go.
‘Nah,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ said Sam, wheeling herself out.
Tim turned his attention to MIDAS. The primary information had not changed. As far as he could see, the Ankor had sent just the one message, although rumours were emerging that certain world leaders had also received personal messages.
Tim just surfed. The benefit of staying in the office was that MacKenzie had paid for their development site to have incredibly fast internet access.
Several government agencies were reportedly sending a radar pulse back along the trajectory of the incoming message to confirm if something was there. They’d all been at pains to say that the Ankor would not interpret it as an attack – the power of the pulse was carefully set to be only just sufficient to make the eight-hour round trip.
Let’s hope the Ankor feel the same way
At two o’clock, the prime minister, Joshua Timbers, addressed the nation. He looked older than Tim remembered.
This is an unprecedented event in the history of humanity. We are working tirelessly across all government agencies to validate the message. Please continue with your lives as usual. My next update will be in six hours, or sooner if new pertinent information presents itself.
For a statement that said nothing much at all, it hadn’t been a bad one. Reassurance had been given, and a clear timetable for the next update as well.
Tim headed home and continued to browse.
Already the internet was awash with disaster theories – the most pertinent being that historical precedent set a grim picture for junior species, or societies, when the big boys came calling. Even if the senior species was altruistic, which was not always the case, it rarely ended well for the little guy.
The prime minister’s evening update added more detail. The various governmental agencies across the globe were sharing information concerning the radio pulses they’d sent towards the Ankor. Unfortunately, atmospheric interference and signal scattering meant that no meaningful information could be gleaned about the size or nature of the alien craft. However, a craft did exist, it was currently somewhere near Neptune, and it was approaching Earth under its own power at a speed unattainable by any human technology.
The Ankor were less than three weeks away.
CHAPTER 2
10 Downing Street, Tuesday 9th April
Colonel Ben Martel hunched his shoulders and stepped out of the side alley. Ahead of him a mass of at least three hundred chanting protestors swarmed around the gates of Downing Street.
The protest outside was indicative of raised tensions everywhere. Although full scale rioting still seemed some way off, the whole country was already on a knife edge as the oxygen of social media commentary fanned its flames of outrage.
Is it simply fear of the unknown?
Entering via a secret underground back route to Number 10, Martel was ushered into Cabinet Office Briefing Room A – COBRA.
‘Thank you for joining us, Colonel,’ said the prime minster. ‘We’re just about to start.’ Timbers gestured towards an empty chair.
Martel scanned the room. He knew most of the faces present from the briefing materials. They were top tier Cabinet members with several high-ranking civil servants mixed in.
And, of course, Francis MacKenzie
Whereas other spacefaring nations had kept their launch capabilities under governmental control, the UK had licensed Francis MacKenzie to lead the ongoing British space programme. And – coincidence or not? – it had been Francis MacKenzie who, according the prime minister, had provided early warning of the approaching Ankor. A few hours before the Ankor’s message had come through, MacKenzie had apparently intercepted a signal from their craft on one of his radio telescope arrays.
‘We are all familiar with the content of the message,’ said the prime minister. ‘This group must achieve consensus on how the British government will respond to it. Firstly, let’s assess the GRB threat. Colonel Martel is the MOD lead on the threat assessment and mitigation.’
Martel stood. ‘The MOD believes the message is genuine. The GRB threat is not yet established. Theoretically, a gamma ray burst coming from an exploding star close to Earth would be fatal, but the Ankor have not given us coordinates.’
Questions erupted from every angle.
How can you tell it’s genuine?
Surely a hoax?
What else have they said?
Of the fifteen people in the room, only two – the prime minister and Francis MacKenzie – remained silent.
Martel could see that most of the participants were still in denial of the fact that there was something utterly uncontrollable coming their way.
The prime minister raised his hands for silence and then indicated for Nadia Peterson, the
deputy prime minister, to speak.
‘Can’t we check every nearby star to see if any are candidates to explode?’ she asked.
‘Every large star within three hundred light years has been assessed over the years,’ said Martel. ‘There are no obvious candidates.’ He paused. ‘Further out than that it is less likely the explosion would be critical to Earth.’
‘But you’ve checked every possible candidate?’ asked Peterson. ‘Even those further away?’
Martel noticed MacKenzie roll his eyes dramatically. Peterson noticed too and returned MacKenzie an icy stare.
‘There are one hundred billion stars in our galaxy alone,’ said Martel. ‘It is impossible to check every candidate.’
‘But surely we can check the big ones …’ said Peterson.
Francis MacKenzie cut in. ‘Unfortunately, when it comes to stellar explosions, some of the most viable candidates are binary pairs. They are almost impossible to see unless they collapse into each other and produce a supernova. By the time you see it … it is too late.’
Peterson opened her mouth to respond, but the prime minister interrupted. ‘We have the relevant experts digging for evidence, working across the international community.’
Peterson accepted the point and then turned back to Martel. ‘What damage would an explosion like this cause?’
‘The explosion emits very high intensity gamma rays which would strip away the ozone from our atmosphere,’ said Martel. ‘This would leave the Earth vulnerable to the full force of the Sun’s ultraviolet radiation. Earth would very quickly become uninhabitable.’
‘What does the MOD recommend?’ asked the prime minister.
‘The MOD recommends that the threat is assumed to be real. In one hundred and sixty-three days the Earth will be hit by a catastrophic gamma ray burst.’
Seated next to the prime minister was Molly Oakley, the home secretary. She now leant forward. ‘Assuming it is real, what are our options?’
‘We can’t get out of its way. It will hit us. A shield is the only option.’ said Martel, noticing the satisfied expression on Francis MacKenzie’s face.
‘This should be our public position,’ said Peterson. ‘But how do we establish whether the threat is real?’
‘The Ankor have to provide us with the exact location of the supernova,’ said Martel. ‘And, even then, we may not be able to tell until weeks before the gamma rays hit.’
‘Why wouldn’t they tell us now?’ asked Oakley.
The prime minister cut in again. ‘We don’t know for certain. That question is part of the wider investigation.’
‘So, for now, we have to take whatever they say on trust?’ asked Oakley.
‘Yes,’ replied Timbers. ‘However, there is a little more to it. I received a personal message from them – along with a number of other world leaders, as I understand it – a message telling the UK to prepare to send materials into space for the shield.’
‘Do we know what they actually want sent up?’ asked the home secretary.
‘Not yet,’ said the prime minister.
‘We must nationalise SpaceOp,’ said Peterson. ‘Take it under direct government control.’
MacKenzie put on an outraged face and started to protest.
The prime minister waved him down. ‘No. We leave ownership and management as is.’
Nadia Peterson leant forward in her chair and slapped her hand on the table. ‘This is unacceptable.’
‘The MOD will be putting people into Mr MacKenzie’s SpaceOp facility in Anglesey, but day-to-day operations will not be changing. There is too much at risk,’ said the prime minister. ‘That leads us nicely into Francis giving us a quick summary of SpaceOp’s capability. I depend on you all to know this, so you can individually defend the government’s position.’
MacKenzie didn’t stand. ‘Thank you, Prime Minister. As you know, SpaceOp has been active as a company for over ten years. My team has overseen launches both from Anglesey and by renting launch time from other platforms. We have rockets that can comfortably achieve low Earth orbits. Depending on the payload, we can get closer to medium Earth orbits. We are ready.’
‘Short and sweet,’ said Peterson. ‘What have the Ankor said to you?’
‘Nothing,’ said MacKenzie. ‘My facility captured the original ping that told us of their approach. It was just a ping, not a message. Since then, we have not received anything … other than the same message everyone got.’
A few murmurs around the table seemed to indicate that MacKenzie was perhaps not one hundred percent believed.
Peterson turned to the home secretary. ‘How did the broadcast message work?’
‘I have Scotland Yard’s Cyber Security team working on it,’ said Molly Oakley. ‘We don’t have anything concrete to share yet.’
Peterson turned to Martel.
Of course, Martel had a few of his own MOD team looking into it. Even with investigations underway for only twenty-four hours, they had already ruled out a few options. The Ankor couldn’t have broadcast the message in real-time from Neptune. They must have already had some technological foothold on Earth. Martel’s team had also identified an internet spike a few hours before the message came through but, when followed, the trail ran cold. ‘I will report back the moment I have anything definite.’
The prime minister addressed the room. ‘The predominant view of the other heads of state is that we treat the message at face value whilst continuing to assess the possible threats.’ He paused. ‘Obviously there are millions of conjectures, but our efforts need to be spent keeping the country calm and preparing to respond when the Ankor communicate further.’
Now Timbers passed out some annotated paper copies of the broadcast. ‘We must stay together. Please review my own speaker notes regarding the Ankor message.’
We are the Ankor
this is their name
You must obey us in full to survive
there is an external threat, as yet unconfirmed, but assumed to be real
There will be no dialogue
they won’t talk to us, they have their reasons, we are investigating why this may be
We will send critical directives
they will tell us what to do, we will review orders case-by-case
Gamma Ray Burst Arrival in 164 Earth days
these can be dangerous if close, but we assume 164 days is enough time to respond with support from the Ankor
Three concurrent defences necessary: Deflector shield, Survival units, Community bunkers
it is unclear and what any of these mean, but we expect further information
‘Are other launch sites acting similarly?’ asked Peterson.
Martel wondered if he’d imagined MacKenzie flinching at the question; he was now nonchalantly stroking his beard.
‘Yes, it is a coordinated global response’ said the prime minister, looking around the room for further questions.
Peterson continued. ‘Colonel Martel, do we know how the Ankor got here?’
‘Assuming we accept the GRB story as fact, the only way the Ankor could get here ahead of the gamma rays would be to perform faster-than-light travel – FTL. This is beyond our scientific understanding. If the GRB is true, then FTL is likely true, and that puts the Ankor way ahead of us technologically.’
‘And if the GRB story is not true?’ asked Peterson.
‘Then,’ said Martel, ‘we know absolutely nothing.’
Again, the prime minister pushed the formal position. ‘We will prepare as if we believe them. The alternative would be too great a risk. If we argue and procrastinate, and miss our chance to complete a shield, and then the GRB comes …’
The prime minister left this hanging, then turned to Molly Oakley. ‘How are your national security plans, home secretary?’
‘The police are reporting heightened tensions on the streets,’ she said. ‘We are having daily briefings to monitor and put additional controls in place.’
Timbers nodd
ed. ‘My intention is to continue to broadcast public updates, open and clear, each day. Hopefully that will help.’
Francis MacKenzie spoke up. ‘As you are all probably aware from your own pre-briefings, my interest in alien contact goes back well over twenty years. Everything I have read, both factual and fictional, leads me to believe that our only option is to assume the Ankor are benevolent.’
Around the table people leant in to their neighbours and shared whispered conversations. Martel noted to himself that he would have made people speak more openly, but the prime minister seemed content to allow people their own private discussions.
After a few minutes, Timbers cleared his throat. ‘To be clear: the speaker notes I have distributed represent the position this leadership team should be defending in day-to-day conversations with the media and other agencies. Any further points?’
There were none.
‘Okay.’ The prime minister wrapped up the meeting. ‘We’ll have these meetings daily until further notice. Thank you for your support.’
MacKenzie stood immediately and headed for the door.
Spotting the imminent escape, Martel interposed himself smoothly between MacKenzie and the exit.
‘Mr MacKenzie,’ said Martel.
‘How may I help you, Colonel Martel?’ asked MacKenzie.
‘I’d like to finalise the arrangements for the permanent MOD inspection team to be established in Anglesey. Who should I liaise with?’
‘I’m not sure that a permanent team has been agreed,’ said MacKenzie.
Martel held MacKenzie’s stare without responding for a moment before replying. ‘I understand your position; however, a team will be established immediately in the national interest. Its permanence, or otherwise, can be decided at a later date.’
Martel waited a few seconds, interested to see if MacKenzie would try to regain the upper hand, but MacKenzie simply nodded, stepped around him, and walked out of the door.
--------
Later that evening
In a concrete bunker four storeys below the rioters in Whitehall, Martel relinquished all his electronics to a waiting soldier. Then, after being scanned, he entered the ‘quiet zone’. Down here in the bowels of the government building, there was no electricity, no communications technology; just a series of concrete rooms shielded from any electromagnetic radiation.
