by Nick M Lloyd
The MIDAS summary status continued to display significant anxiety.
Alien orbit imminent
Population scared
Trending words: invasion, support, saviour, murder
Not long afterwards, improved images of the craft from ground-based telescopes started to filter through MIDAS. The craft was not lit up in any way, so normal optical telescopes were almost useless. On top of that, the moon, which might have provided a little reflected light, was on the wrong side of the Earth for another few weeks. So, again, it was left almost exclusively to infrared telescopes to perform the observation work. Unfortunately, they were not numerous, or well suited for the job. They required their lenses to be cryogenically cooled and shielded from ambient heat sources, and were designed to look at effectively stationary galaxies and nebulae thousands of light years away. On the plus side, the temperature gradients across the Ankor craft appeared to be the most interesting thing to observe, and the infrared telescopes were ideal for that purpose.
By seven o’clock that evening, a high definition image of the Ankor’s craft was being streamed directly from the CNSA who continued to create an amalgamated image from all the best Earth sources.
The now-familiar lattice cube of seven by seven by seven, just under five miles high, wide, and long.
There were no missing pods. Each of the three hundred and forty-three pods was shown with some indicating different levels of temperature. The units were ‘K’, Kelvin, with 0K being absolute zero, 273K being roughly the freezing point of water, and 310K being the average operating temperature of humans.
One MIDAS aggregator feed overlaid the CNSA image with data.
343 Pods
213 Operating at an average 305K
78 Operating at an average 220K
52 Operating at an average 4K
Questions as to function of different pods have been sent.
No responses received.
‘What do you think that means?’ asked Sam.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Tim. ‘All the pods appear to be the same size. There’s no obvious correlation between the location of the pod in the lattice and the temperature.’
‘Maybe they have different function,’ said Sam.
Tim kicked off a search to look for hypotheses. ‘Let’s see what’s being postulated.’
‘I need to take a break,’ said Sam, wheeling herself towards the breakout room which had a sofa. ‘Call me if something big happens.’
‘Okay,’ said Tim, knowing that physical exhaustion and back pain were her constant companions. ‘Shall I bring you a glass of water?’
Likely, Sam would be taking painkillers.
‘I’ve got a bottle in my utility wheelchair,’ said Sam. ‘But thanks.’
Tim returned his attention to his own workstation.
An hour passed.
‘Expert’ opinion started to appear on the internet. People broadly agreed that the 305K temperature reading probably meant the Ankor had a biological component, something the Ankor had not communicated to anyone on Earth – as far as Tim was aware.
There was little agreement on why the pods didn’t include more insulation, or indeed whether each pod had a different internal temperature.
Even more perplexing than the pod temperature differentials was the fact the craft didn’t appear to have any engines.
The evident vast gulf in technology between the Ankor and the Earth should have calmed humanity – after all, the Ankor were there to help. This, however, was not how humanity reacted. The overwhelming immensity of the situation could not so simply be absorbed.
Smart screens burst to life as demonstrations picked up all over the globe: masses of people demanding answers, accusing their governments of cover-ups, and begging for protection.
Tim monitored the demonstrations, some of which were degenerating into riots. Although a lot of ‘alt’ groups – whether left or right – were grabbing the chance to peddle their own messages, most of the demos showed a genuine upsurge of public fear.
Images of an overturned police car in West London started appearing and being reused.
About to wake Sam and tell her about the new developments, Tim received an email from Francis MacKenzie.
I want you to move the encryption servers on-site to me from your offices and entirely disable Park Royal. Report to Anglesey by Tuesday.
Clearly MacKenzie wanted as far as possible to isolate the MIDAS Production system. Although, given most of the data came from the internet, MIDAS could not be entirely isolated. However, with the various data breakers and passive system sniffers, if the whole system was in Anglesey, any intrusions could be more easily intercepted. Sam had already proved that things weren’t secure with the encryption servers in Butler Street.
Tuesday?
It was doable. Deciding to ask Sam her opinion, Tim walked over to the breakout room.
Inside, on the sofa, Sam was dozing in front of a smart screen showing the Ankor craft.
As he put his head into the room, Sam looked up. ‘I couldn’t switch it off. Join me?’
‘I wonder if anyone isn’t watching it?’ asked Tim, grabbing a blanket, easing off his shoes and settling himself down on the sofa with her.
‘Is it quiet in the street?’ she asked through half-closed eyes.
‘Last time I looked,’ said Tim, hypnotised by the image of the slowly rotating Ankor craft. ‘What do they want?’
‘No idea … Save our lives …’ Sam was clearly exhausted. As she shifted to get comfortable, a flicker of pain registered on her face.
Tim looked back at the image on the screen. Would the Ankor provide anything more than the shield? Could they help injuries like Sam’s? Their current approach of minimal communication made it seem unlikely, but … maybe.
‘I will support whichever decision you make about further treatment,’ said Tim. ‘I’m not trying to heal you for my conscience.’
‘I know.’ Sam smiled, keeping her eyes closed. ‘Just remember it’s my body, my decision.’
‘When this Ankor stuff is over, and arterial cleaning is running,’ said Tim. ‘I’m sure MacKenzie will focus MedOp on neural repair.’
‘We did see Xandra Kusr at the launch,’ said Sam. ‘Before she was struck off, she’d been doing pioneering nerve regrowth work.’
‘I know.’ After the accident, Tim had spent every night for over a year researching nerve damage regrowth.
With her eyes still closed, Sam elbowed Tim gently, slightly slurring. ‘I don’t know why she didn’t fight to clear her name. Why did she simply take MacKenzie’s gold?’
‘Yeah, free healthcare for the masses,’ said Tim. ‘What a selfish bitch!’
Sam chuckled and opened one eye. ‘I have enough upper body strength to push you onto the floor.’
Tim smiled.
Warm silence descended, and Tim drowsed.
Barp! Barp! Barp! Barp! Barp! Barp!
His brain whirred to life. It wasn’t a burglar alarm. It was a critical MIDAS alert.
The image on the smart screen did not appear to have changed. The Ankor were still slowly rotating in perpetual night twenty thousand kilometres above the equator.
Tim looked more closely.
The Ankor cube had altered – it was no longer perfectly cubic. A set of numbers in the bottom right corner of the screen seemed to confirm the picture of the Ankor craft was still a live feed from the CNSA.
‘Sam!’ Tim nudged Sam, deeply asleep next to him.
‘What?’ She rubbed her eyes.
‘Look.’
‘It’s expanding,’ said Sam.
They watched as the cube, originally five miles long on each side, spread to ten miles wide in just a few minutes. Either the distance between the pods was growing, or it was reforming its shape.
The CNSA feed moved to a split screen – one half showing the real-time images, and the other showing possible end-state configurations. It still showed a total Ankor pod count of 343
, but their distribution was changing. The average distance between the pods did not seem to be changing – it remained at just over one thousand metres – but the craft was enlarging from Earth’s perspective.
‘It’s unfolding,’ said Sam.
Tim felt her hand reach out and take his. He gave a little squeeze in what he hoped would be taken for general reassurance. Sam was right. The Ankor craft, having arrived in orbit as a seven by seven by seven cubic array, was transforming its shape.
As they watched, the craft continued to unfold, growing both in width and height.
After about an hour the unpacking stopped. The Ankor craft was now twenty pods wide at its widest point, stretching fourteen miles from end to end. Its height was ten pods – seven miles at its tallest point – and the CNSA estimated between one and three pods thick.
‘A giant oval,’ said Sam.
Tim felt a chill run down his spine.
More like a giant lens … looking down at us.
CHAPTER 12
Westminster, Saturday 20th April
At five in the morning London was calm as Martel’s unmarked car ghosted its way through its streets. The quiet wasn’t going to last once people found out what the Ankor were currently doing.
For the last three hours, internet traffic had been running at twenty times its previous peak.
Martel activated his secure radio and put a call in to his second-in-command, Captain Whaller, back at Porton Down – the special weapons facility where Martel’s team were preparing a whole range of possible physical responses.
‘What’s the latest, Captain?’
‘It does not look like a denial of service attack, sir. They’re just sucking up data.’
‘How?’
‘Every data access point that has the capability of transmitting data into space is doing so. All other communication hubs are relaying data to those uplink hubs.’
For the next five minutes, Captain Whaller gave Martel the locations of the major access points and the current estimation of the volume of data being extracted.
‘Anything on the new shape of the craft?’ asked Martel.
‘Nothing other than the obvious: that they are presenting a much greater surface area facing Earth. The temperatures of the individual pods have not changed,’ replied Whaller.
‘I’m going to tell the prime minister we are sure that it is not an attack,’ said Martel. ‘Do you concur?’
‘Yes,’ said Whaller. ‘The Ankor may simply be unaware of the fear it would cause. Although admittedly they may be purposely trying to destabilise us. As a precursor to attack.’
‘I may suggest taking back some semblance of control,’ said Martel. ‘How easy would it be to turn off the data flow?’
There was silence for a few seconds.
‘I checked the numbers as asked. Physically, we could cut the power to all satellite-enabled uplinks within forty-eight hours.’ said Whaller. ‘There are a few thousand of them. But that could come across as an act of aggression.’
‘I’ll discuss it with the PM,’ said Martel. ‘What’s the latest public news from Anglesey?’
‘Nothing new,’ said Whaller. ‘The place is gearing up for a test launch in five days.’
Just as Martel was preparing to hang up, Whaller spoke again. ‘Just coming through now, sir. China is claiming it’s being attacked by the Ankor.’
‘Attacked?’
‘Cyber-attack,’ said Whaller. ‘I’m sending you the transcript, just seconds old.’
Martel’s phone buzzed.
People’s Republic of China is grateful for the efforts that the Ankor appear to be expending on Earth’s survival. However, the data extraction currently underway is not commensurate with our expectations of their data needs. It is too much. We have tried to bilaterally discuss this with the Ankor but they have not replied, or acknowledged the request. We will continue to support their efforts, and mobilise our workforce for the development of rockets, shelters, and shield materials. However, as of now, we have cut access to our communications network, and without paralysing our country, are actively stopping the data extraction.
CHAPTER 13
Anglesey, Saturday 20th April
Sitting at his desk in Mission Control, MacKenzie had one eye on the hundreds of technicians scurrying around below him, and one eye on the screens covering the walls. The image that held most of his concentration was that of the Ankor craft itself.
Many people looking at the same image were wondering where the engines were, or the power supply. MacKenzie didn’t know the answer, but those subjects were of little interest to him. He accepted that they had the required technology. He saw it in action as they approached Earth.
The way the Ankor craft had unfolded was much more interesting. Not only did it now have a much larger cross-section of pods facing directly towards Earth, but the internal connections between many of the Ankor pods had altered.
The new pod distribution was showing well-defined grouping of the two Ankor factions.
In every communication with Earth, and almost every communication with MacKenzie, the Ankor represented themselves as a single unit.
They were not, however, united.
Division hasn’t been a problem so far.
It would be too much to say that the Ankor factions were vying for his allegiance – the main faction definitely saw itself as far too civilised for that – but both sides seemed keen to keep him as an ally.
Of course, he was under no illusion that it was in any way a judgement of his own personal attributes. He simply had what they both wanted.
MacKenzie’s eyes drifted to the CNSA information covering the pod temperatures. Seventy-eight pods at 220 Kelvin that held Ankor life in a state of suspension. Fifty-two pods, hovering above absolute zero, were empty. The remaining two hundred and thirteen were operational.
The Chinese could protest all they wanted; the Ankor would take whatever data they needed. They didn’t require information from MacKenzie – not any more. It was physical materials that they needed. The Ankor couldn’t descend into Earth’s gravity well. They would pay MacKenzie handsomely for his services.
Immortality.
Movement from the bottom of the stairs that led up to his office level drew MacKenzie’s attention.
MacKenzie stared at Taylor for a moment, and then shook his head, denying him permission to come up. Taylor tried not to look disappointed as he stepped back off the bottom step and waited.
Looking back at the newsfeeds, MacKenzie absorbed the news covering the British army as it was deployed across all the major cities: London, Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow … the list went on.
Did the Ankor advise you on the perfect timing for rolling out the army?
Too soon, and Joshua Timbers would have looked weak. Too late, and the crowds might have become unruly. As it was, the deployment appeared perfectly timed; the UK population had had a chance to let off some steam, but not much more.
MacKenzie smiled. The more army personnel that were deployed on crowd control, the less would be available to interfere with his plans. Not that Colonel Martel’s liaison team had been a problem. He’d had them scurrying around SpaceOp, allowed to look everywhere.
Not quite everywhere, but everywhere that appeared on a plan or blueprint of the facility.
MacKenzie stood up and walked down the stairs.
Indicating for Taylor to follow him and with Juan at his side, MacKenzie headed underground, deep into one of those areas that didn’t appear on any blueprints of SpaceOp.
‘The Chinese announcement came as predicted,’ said Taylor.
MacKenzie acknowledged the point with a nod and murmured agreement. The Chinese satellite uplink restrictions had come as the Ankor predicted. However, MacKenzie was still not sure that the Chinese launch capabilities weren’t a back-up for the Ankor, or vice versa, that the Chinese were their primary contact and he himself was the back-up.
It could be a bluff … a
double bluff.
Until he was one hundred percent convinced that the Chinese were not secretly supporting the Ankor, he would continue with all his countermeasures and counter-surveillance. Nothing from his moles in the last few weeks had given any impression of a double-cross, although annoyingly a few packages from China had not arrived at the dead-drops yet. It could just be delays in the public postal service – obviously he could not use electronic transmissions and he avoided over-use of private couriers: the photos, if intercepted, would look suspicious purely based on courier costs, particularly being delivered to anonymous numbered post boxes.
As they continued downwards, MacKenzie noticed the old bandages sticking out from Taylor’s sleeve. He had mixed feelings about Taylor’s implants. He was interested to see if they worked, but he disliked Taylor’s implied submission to the Ankor. ‘When do you need the new ones?’
‘Early next week is fine,’ said Taylor. ‘The main procedure will require a general anaesthetic.’
MacKenzie shuddered. He didn’t even like falling asleep alone in a locked room. The thought of having a general anaesthetic with Xandra Kusr poised above him with a knife …
‘Let’s hope that Dr Kusr comes round to our way of thinking,’ said MacKenzie. She’d been kept underground for almost ten days. Each day she begged to speak to her children or simply be let out. Each day she was told to get on with reproducing her last set of experiments from MedOp. Each day she refused. The Ankor analysis – both behavioural and DNA-based – was clear that extended torture would not work and worse, would degrade her ability to do her job to the extent that she would become worthless.
An impasse that is about to be broken.
The Ankor arrival gave MacKenzie another weapon in his armoury.
After passing through the final set of doors, now six floors below the Hot Zone, MacKenzie indicated for Juan to open the final door and lead them in.
As usual, Xandra Kusr was wearing a white laboratory coat, latex gloves, and had her long black hair tied up in a bun. As usual, she was sitting on the floor cross-legged, staring at the very visible internal CCTV camera.
