by Nick M Lloyd
And they still might.
Martel, noticing Dexter hanging around, left the prime minister and came over. ‘Everything okay?’
Dexter flicked his eyes back at Tim before speaking. ‘The orbit is stable at two thousand kilometres. It’s all in the Ankor’s hands now. They should send a craft to descend from their orbit at twenty thousand, and scoop RL3 any moment.’ Dexter paused and indicated towards the main floor. ‘Most people here have little to do for the next ten hours except worry. We need some direction.’
‘Things haven’t changed,’ said Martel. ‘We prepare for RL4 on the basis that the volunteers will come. The first helicopter is due soon.’
Dexter opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind.
Martel returned to the prime minister, whilst Sam and Tim continued to watch the shuttle climb.
Without warning, an Ankor broadcast flashed on the screens.
Disobedience has consequences
The Americans or us?
How many reprisals? Where?
Less than a minute later the news service erupted.
Detonations
Mainland USA
New York, San Francisco
‘Fuck!’ Sam grabbed Tim’s arm.
At the back of the mezzanine level, Martel and the prime minister had hushed conversations.
Everyone else simply gaped at the horrific images on the main screens. Times Square was in flames and the Golden Gate bridge had been vaporised.
Seconds drew out into minutes.
Still, everyone waited.
Would there be more explosions?
On the main floor the scientists, technicians and support staff all watched as the report ticker continued to give updates on the two explosions.
The death toll was in the millions.
So much for Martel’s price of one million.
‘Ankor bastards,’ said Sam.
Tim’s instinct was to tell her the Americans had brought it upon themselves, but he held his tongue. Clearly, the poor bastards in the nuked cities had done nothing to deserve it.
Like the people across Britain who didn’t inject the Chimera …
Joshua Timbers walked to the front of the mezzanine level, and the whole room went silent. ‘We pray to God that he receives those poor souls with his infinite grace and kindness.’
Murmured responses of support echoed up from the main floor and the prime minister turned away. There was nothing more to be said.
At two o’clock, the radar tracks indicated that the Ankor had scooped RL3 and that it was less than thirty minutes away from docking with the mother ship.
The configuration of the Ankor receiving zones had not changed. There were still two ‘harbours’ created by the arrangements of pods. Tim assumed one was for the main faction and one for the Transcenders.
Which way would the Ankor scoop craft take the RL3 module?
The screen showing the CNSA’s composite image indicated that more pods had come up to the operational temperature of 305K.
Ankor Mother ship – Pod Temperature Distributions:
343 Pods
276 Operating at an average 305K
42 Operating at an average 220K
25 Operating at an average 4K
Based on the information MacKenzie had given to Whaller while Tim had been present, he couldn’t quite reconcile MacKenzie’s comments about the size of the Ankor brains and their expectations with regards to how much human material they’d need.
Fifty thousand people would provide about fifty tons of brain materials, but empty pods – of which there had been 52 initially – would need two tons each.
So we’re already fifty tons short … plus however much the other three hundred plus pods need to top up.
Dexter opened a news screen on the main wall – the first helicopter full of volunteers had arrived.
The prime minister, to his credit, had tried to get permission from the Ankor to meet the volunteers, but it was denied. He was confined to Mission Control with everyone else.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched on the screens as the twenty volunteers, naked except for their underwear, disembarked from a helicopter outside the Hot Zone. They were met by four Leafers in hazmat suits and had their hands zip-tied behind their backs.
They were led inside.
The helicopter remained where it was, its rotors turning on half power.
The return of twenty hostages was insignificant compared with the Ankor raining nuclear hell down upon all of humanity, but the world still held its breath to see if the Ankor would meet their half of the deal.
A minute passed.
And another.
Twenty people ran from the Hot Zone, and into the helicopter. A wave of relief passed through the main floor.
‘Twenty down,’ said Sam.
Tim nodded. The volunteers who’d just arrived would be murdered tomorrow. It was hardly a victory – and the current projected volunteer numbers arriving at the transport sites would cover maybe twenty percent of the Ankor’s demands for RL4. The rest would have to be made from the existing hostages.
‘Current projections?’ asked Martel quietly, hunching over the workstation.
‘We’ll get five hundred in total,’ Tim said. ‘To meet the RL4 payload and timeframes, existing hostages will need to start being processed just after five tomorrow morning.’
Martel walked back over to the prime minister. After a brief discussion, Timbers left the mezzanine and headed through the back doors.
‘You okay?’ asked Sam.
‘Yes,’ replied Tim. ‘You?’
Sam shifted in her seat. ‘Sore.’
‘Do you need painkillers?’
Sam smiled, taking Tim’s hand. ‘Right now, you could sell my blood for two hundred quid an ounce.’
Once more, Tim’s thoughts drifted back to the concept of warning the Ankor about the Chimera. Ultimately, he had no idea whether the level of catastrophic response from the Ankor would be any different if he told them now than if he kept his nerve, the virus didn’t incapacitate them, and then they retaliated.
Stick with the plan.
In any case, he reflected, if he warned them and then was found out, he’d have had a bullet in the back of the head from Martel, and eternal damnation from Sam.
He squeezed Sam’s hand.
The screens didn’t have real-time visuals on the alien craft, but the radar arrays pointing that way tracked the RL3 payload as it was taken to the Ankor ship.
It appeared to be docking with the main Ankor faction.
For the next few hours, everyone not involved in preparing for RL4 was glued to the screens: Lincoln updates, Ankor craft changes, and volunteer arrivals by helicopter.
Martel, Tim and Sam were particularly focused on the composite CNSA image of the Ankor craft.
There were no further updates on the Lincoln, which seemed to have settled into a low Earth orbit, well away from the Ankor craft and the staging area height of the RL modules.
An hour passed.
An alarm drew everyone’s attention.
Internal radiation levels had risen another tick.
The minority of people who didn’t yet have pieces of cloth tied over their mouths now changed their minds.
Tosh started making more frequent visits up to the mezzanine for furtive whispered conversations with Martel.
Each time Tosh came up the stairs, Sam widened her eyes conspiratorially at Tim.
Martel must have known the Ankor would be able to hear even the slightest whisper outside of the Faraday room. Tim hoped they were keeping the communication oblique.
Another hour passed.
Ankor Mother ship – Pod Temperature Distributions:
343 Pods
32 Operating at an average 310K
218 Operating at an average 305K
42 Operating at an average 220K
51 Operating at an average 4K
‘RL3?’ asked Sam, pointi
ng to the CNSA feed.
The pod temperatures of the Ankor mother ship were increasing above 305K. ‘Seems likely,’ said Tim.
A good thing, or a bad one?
Another hour passed.
Now, Martel left the mezzanine and through the back doors in the direction of the Faraday room.
The composite infrared image of the Ankor craft blinked out.
Information on the pod temperatures was gone. Tim dared not submit a search into MIDAS. He looked around the mezzanine level for Private Hunter.
He’ll have radio information.
Hunter was crouched at the back of the mezzanine level, listening to the radio set.
Tim scurried over.
As Tim approached, Hunter gave him a knowing look and indicated for him to wait whilst he continued to listen.
Hunter stood and, beckoning Tim to follow, headed for the Faraday room.
Tim walked back over to Sam and grabbed her crutches. ‘Come on.’
‘Are you sure I should come as well?’ asked Sam.
‘We’re a team,’ said Tim.
Together they followed Hunter down to the Faraday room, where Martel, Whaller and the prime minister were already in conversation.
Also in the corner of the room, closely guarding Francis MacKenzie, was Lieutenant Briars – the last remaining member of the liaison team. Tim smiled a greeting at Briars, who returned it.
‘I evaded capture,’ said Briars, grinning. He prodded MacKenzie. ‘Unlike this one.’
MacKenzie opened one eye but didn’t speak.
Martel ignored the exchange, signalled to Whaller to confirm the electronic seals were in place, then turned to the group. ‘Good news. Three separate measurements from the Ankor mother ship in the last ten minutes indicate that at least eighty of their pods, after showing initial signs of overheating, are now cooling rapidly.’
CHAPTER 37
SpaceOp
Tim looked at Sam, not quite daring to allow the hope to rise … eighty pods were cooling.
Frankly, that means at least eighty. We don’t know what’s happened in the last ten minutes … it could be more …
‘Do you have an update, Hunter?’ asked Martel.
‘There are explosions in some of the cross-strut connectors between the pods,’ said Hunter.
‘Possibly isolating the infections,’ said Martel. ‘Do you have a sense of how many?’
‘Almost a third of the pods are being isolated to some extent,’ replied Hunter.
Martel turned to Tim and Sam. ‘Can you quietly try to assess the status of the Ankor’s control of Earth’s technology?’
‘Of course,’ said Sam. ‘We’ll get straight onto it.’
‘Also,’ said Martel, ‘I’m planning evacuations of SpaceOp with Tosh. The Americans have diverted their Atlantic fleet this way. I’m not sure how far they’re going to take it.’
All the way … if their rhetoric so far is any guide.
‘Captain Whaller said you showed him an escape tunnel?’
‘Yes,’ said Tim. ‘It runs all the way to the coast.’
Martel turned to Francis MacKenzie who, half-forgotten, was slumped in the corner of the room, drowsing. ‘Is this true?’
MacKenzie didn’t even try to open his eyes, which were bruised and swollen shut. ‘True. One of my contingency options.’
Whaller crossed the room and grabbed MacKenzie by the ear. Twisting hard, he pulled his head up. ‘Are there any traps?’
‘No!’ MacKenzie squirmed, levering himself up onto his right knee to avoid more pain.
Apparently satisfied, Whaller allowed him to drop to the ground. ‘If the Ankor are beaten, then all we have to do is storm the Hot Zone. The Leafers may even surrender.’ As an afterthought, he turned back to MacKenzie. ‘Are the Leafers believers or hired guns?’
‘Hired guns,’ said MacKenzie. ‘They have no idea what’s going on.’
‘Okay,’ said Martel, absorbing the information. ‘Sam, would you please look in on Richardson on your way up?’
Sam nodded.
Leaving Whaller and Briars guarding MacKenzie in the Faraday room, and dropping Sam off in the MIDAS server room, the rest of them returned to the Mission Control mezzanine.
On arrival, with Martel next to him, the prime minister started talking urgently on Private Hunter’s radio. He was trying to convince the Americans not to fire on SpaceOp, on the basis that the volunteers were coming.
Tim strained to listen. The conversation didn’t appear to be going well.
Logging on to the workstation, Tim considered how to check the current state of the Ankor capability.
No sooner had he touched the keyboard than they made it clear themselves.
Screens opened on the main wall to show two giant detonations had hit China. Two one-hundred kiloton blasts – city-busters – had hit Beijing and Tianjin, vaporising vast swathes of each city.
Thirty million people … Is this the last act of a trapped dying beast?
Tim scanned the news feeds playing across the screens on the main floor, trying to ascertain if China was the only target.
Why China?
Down on the main floor, people shared worried glances but continued to go about their business.
They probably think it’s more payback for China’s previous rebellions.
Tim looked at the composite radar image of the Ankor craft. The craft, once oval, was now looking ragged. Large gaps were appearing where pods were being jettisoned – possibly just for quarantine purposes, but potentially permanently.
The minutes ticked by.
Another screen opened.
Another two large blasts.
Sao Paulo and Mexico City.
Thirty million more … so much for their belief in the sanctity of life.
Utter silence descended on Mission Control as people simply stopped whatever they’d been doing.
Before that moment, people could rationalise that China had been punished. This was different. Brazil and Mexico had done nothing wrong. It was true they both had space launch capability, but neither had even been selected to send shield materials.
Screens opened on the wall showing that news of the blasts was spreading quickly.
The most immediate reactions came from people who happened to be in their cars when the reports came through. Tim watched screens of people acting similarly in every major city, be it Tokyo, Sydney, Moscow … everywhere.
Disregarding traffic signals and pedestrian safety, drivers scrambled to get distance from their respective A-Grav sites.
The Ankor had other plans for them.
Having taken control of the electronic transport infrastructure, the Ankor raised bridges leading out of cities, lowered automated barriers, and jammed traffic signals – all the actions required to create gridlock.
People were being bottled in, the way that old time cowboys used to corral cattle.
Fires. Deaths. Panic.
Again, the minutes ticked by.
A screen opened on Tim’s workstation.
Mr Boston, it’s time to deal
Tim looked around. The Ankor message appeared to have been sent only to his workstation. Only sent to him.
Shit.
He didn’t bother typing his response; he simply whispered aloud, knowing the Ankor would be able to hear. ‘What?’
The Ankor are barely holding on. The latest explosions are the result of the-sterile circumventing our controls. We stopped them and they are listening but they will not hold forever.
‘What do you want from me?’
The volunteers are not coming. The Americans will be with you in three days. They will destroy SpaceOp and everyone in it.
‘And?’
Help us get RL4 and we will stop the Americans and leave Earth alone.
‘If I refuse?’
We will leave SpaceOp to the mercy of the Americans and leave the rest of the UK to the mercy of the-sterile.
There was a chance they w
ere bluffing. Charlie had been explicit that the main faction of the Ankor considered life sacred. Now, the Ankor themselves had admitted the recent explosions had been caused by the-sterile: the Transcenders.
If you refuse, the-sterile will blow A-Grav units across the UK, wiping out most of the population … we estimate 40 million deaths within two months. And we will simply start again with another country.
‘No-one will comply.’
They will. We may be forced to wait a few months … we will get our Blessed.
‘They’ll all say the same. No.’
Will they? Because we’ll be offering a global dictatorship underpinned by our nuclear arsenal to the leader who helps us.
Tim stayed silent. He could think of a few countries that would accept that deal.
Do you see now?
‘What would you need me to do?’ Tim was still sure he was going to refuse, or at least refer the request to Martel, but he wanted to understand the whole picture.
Save 40 million lives. With your help we can take control of the Hot Zone mechanics. Head to the back of the mezzanine, open the hatch furthest left and closest to the floor. There will be seven wires lined up vertically. Cut the third and the sixth counting from the left. Then close the hatch.
‘And?’
Once you have done this, we will be able to trigger the processing of the RL4 Blessed. Once the Blessed are prepared there will be little purpose in your government sacrificing more people to stop them being delivered. Then we will leave – just this one launch.
Tim was unsure if they would leave, but the Ankor were right. Once the hostages were dead, the prime minister would look himself in the mirror and give the order to launch RL4.
Tim looked down at the staff on the main floor.
Would they all obey the order?
‘If I was seen, Martel would shoot me.’
You’d be saving 40 million lives. And, we’ll give you something to soothe your injured morals.
‘The launch technicians will mutiny.’
We can control them.
Tim wanted to walk away but found himself unable to.
Perhaps sensing this, the Ankor continued.
You’re not going to get any money from MacKenzie.
Tim knew that the money was gone, and the impact on Sam’s recovery had been dwelling in his conscience for the last few days – albeit, not getting much airtime up front due to the reasonably constant fear of imminent death.
