Immortal

by Nick M Lloyd

  Dexter skimmed the file’s contents. ‘Seven hours …’

  As he spoke, the information on the screen changed. The Ankor were making updates and providing a detailed list of minute-by-minute activities for every person in SpaceOp. They did not mention the actual payload.

  ‘It’s a precondition of getting extra time to use volunteers instead of hostages,’ said Martel.

  Dexter checked. ‘Possible … Is the payload a secret?’

  ‘Keeping it a secret would be impossible,’ said Martel. ‘But we’ll try to keep it quiet.’

  Dexter nodded. ‘I’ll get to work.’

  Five minutes later, Joshua Timbers live-streamed to the whole nation.

  ‘There is no legal precedent for what I am about to say. I suspect that myself and everyone in the chain of command will be accused as war criminals in years to come … but the threat of further nuclear retaliation is too much to risk and I cannot delay this difficult decision any longer. I am hereby announcing the full surrender of the British government to the Ankor. Additionally, I have ordered the Royal Navy to work with the Ankor to bring down the United States Space Shuttle Lincoln, which we believe is on a suicide run aiming at the SpaceOp launch pad.’

  Statement over, the prime minister returned to the back of the mezzanine, speaking on Private Hunter’s radio.

  Tim looked around the floor at the men and women, young and old, who were busily preparing for the launch. He turned to Martel. ‘Could we evacuate non-critical personnel?’

  Martel was not convinced. ‘Where would they go? The radiation outside is critical.’

  There was no answer to that.

  A screen came to life. Whether it was a library shot or a live stream was not clear. However, all three hundred personnel within the main room watched a series of missiles being launched from a British ship.

  The screen closed.

  Sam typed into the workstation, looking for possible news services.

  A tangential news item confirmed the strike.

  The Lincoln was lost.

  Moments later, the US government made a statement.

  The United States of America will not stand idly by while acts of aggression are committed against it. As a consequence of this unprecedented attack, the United States is now at war with the United Kingdom.

  Tim sat down next to Sam. ‘I assume the Ankor will protect us.’

  ‘Until they get their brains,’ said Sam. ‘And then we’re on our own.’

  A new commotion broke out at the foot of the internal staircase.

  Martel headed down to address the twenty people who had congregated.

  Listening from the top of the staircase, Tim picked up the thread of the conversation.

  ‘You must unlock the doors,’ said one man.

  ‘The radiation levels outside are too dangerous,’ replied Martel.

  ‘It should be our decision whether to leave. Or are we all hostages too?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Martel. ‘But the answer is no.’

  Tim saw Martel’s hand drift towards the pistol at his belt.

  Perhaps the ringleader noticed too, as he backed away from the stairs.

  Martel came back up to the workstation. ‘Tim, I need to take personal control of the RL10 set-up. I will be going over to the Assembly Zone. Obviously, the prime minister is in charge, but if anything unusual occurs please get Private Hunter to call me.’ He paused. ‘And take this.’ Martel handed Tim Francis MacKenzie’s computer tablet. ‘See if you can get any of the video feeds of the Hot Zone working at the back wall.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Tim.

  A minute later, Martel left the mezzanine level.

  ‘Shall we plug in?’ asked Sam, wheeling herself towards the back wall.

  ‘Sure,’ said Tim. They might see something that could help.

  --------

  For a few hours, Tim and Sam checked video feeds of the Hot Zone by plugging into hard-wired network ports at the back of the mezzanine. Most feeds were either broken or showed empty rooms, although occasionally they came across a corridor shot that showed a Leafer patrol. However, as there were no reference points at all, they could not tell where the corridor was.

  ‘Charlie probably cut all the interesting ones,’ said Tim.

  ‘What do you think happened to him?’ asked Sam.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tim, still skipping through the CCTV channels.

  Sometime just before dawn, Tosh appeared with food. ‘RL10 is almost ready for launch,’ he said, handing out sandwiches.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tim, taking one and looking at the main screens. ‘They’re early.’

  ‘Martel has been cracking the whip,’ said Tosh. ‘RL10 won’t actually go early, though.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Sam.

  Tosh leant in conspiratorially. ‘MacKenzie insisted on being able to check his retrieval unit thoroughly.’

  Tosh went on to explain that the RL10 module was set up such that, even at 300km above the Earth, MacKenzie could abort and return safely to ground by a series of perishable parachutes.

  ‘I don’t think he’d be safe for long if he did return,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, for now, we’re all pretty incentivised to get him into orbit,’ said Tim, feeling a little wretched that MacKenzie’s safe arrival at the Ankor craft would not trigger – as people generally thought – a time extension for volunteers, but would trigger the Ankor overwhelming the Hot Zone controls leading to the deaths of approximately five thousand people.

  But saving millions more from reprisals …

  A few hours later, MacKenzie’s checks completed, RL10 launched.

  The screens in the main room tracked its ascent.

  The climb went without a problem and it reached stable orbit.

  Around Mission Control the feelings were mixed. People were angry that MacKenzie had escaped, but they were pleased that it would cause the Ankor to give the UK the time extension required to fill the RL4 payload with volunteers.

  All that was required now was for the Ankor to retrieve the pod, rehouse MacKenzie, and for MacKenzie to give the required information to override the Hot Zone processes.

  That part would have to be done very quietly.

  Maybe we should have been open with everyone in Mission Control.

  Tim wasn’t sure.

  ‘Look!’ Sam pointed to the feed showing the Ankor craft. ‘That’s the Transcenders, right?’

  As with RL3, the Transcenders appeared to be preparing an arrangement of pods to receive MacKenzie. Of course, for RL3 they hadn’t been successful.

  Maybe this time?

  ‘I wonder if the Transcenders are going to push a little harder this time,’ said Tim.

  Tim looked around. Martel was still gone, with just Private Hunter and the prime minister on the mezzanine with Sam and himself.

  ‘Maybe they’ll destroy each other,’ said Sam.

  Tim smiled but didn’t answer. The Ankor would be listening to anything he said.

  His eyes flicked to the main screens.

  The transcription of long-wave radio confirmed the US fleet was two days away.

  More pressingly, the main screen showed that the pod alignment on the Ankor craft had completed. Both factions had prepared docking areas.

  Tim’s smile faded. Nothing good could come of the Transcender faction getting MacKenzie.

  A few hours to go …

  CHAPTER 40

  SpaceOp

  Sitting on the mezzanine level, monitoring the status of RL10, Tim dreaded the thought of MacKenzie successfully docking and then sending the instructions for restarting the Hot Zone decapitations.

  Although that is the goal we’ve been working towards …

  Next to him, Sam was also morose.

  ‘They may just vent him,’ said Tim, trying to cheer her up.

  ‘I would if I was them,’ said Sam, not sounding genuine.

  Tim sighed; it was a clusterfuck of choices. MacKenzie had or
iginally chosen to kill close to seventy thousand people across the world in order to give himself eternal life. The Ankor had chosen the same but, critically to their moral standards, only thought they were killing twenty thousand – the Blessed were not actually dying.

  Of course, that was just the original plan.

  Since then, the Ankor had killed fifty million across China, Brazil, Mexico, and the USA in a twisted programme made up of equal parts retribution and coercion.

  On the main wall, a real-time feed of the Ankor craft covered five square metres. The temperature distribution of the pods hadn’t altered since the Chimera virus had been contained. There appeared to be well under two hundred pods at operational temperatures.

  I hope Charlie made it.

  ‘How long do you think?’ asked Sam.

  Tim scanned the composite image. The Ankor craft still had two docking areas prepared, but he couldn’t tell where MacKenzie was. The infrared telescopes could only focus on the Ankor craft. They couldn’t track the recovery module.

  The main screen went blank and a collective gasp emanated from the main floor technicians.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Sam, reaching past Tim for the keyboard and starting to type.

  At the back of the mezzanine, Hunter started talking urgently on the radio.

  Sam nudged Tim and pointed to the workstation.

  Explosion reported.

  ‘Did the Chinese send up a rocket?’ asked Tim, immediately feeling stupid. Obviously, a bomb had been smuggled inside RL10.

  Is MacKenzie dead?

  As Martel and Whaller climbed the stairs towards them, Tim wondered if he could ask.

  As he approached, Martel gave a look that implied questions would not be welcome. ‘Please can you two see what damage they’ve sustained and if they have lost any control of our systems?’

  With Tim offering advice, Sam got sifting. Theories were hitting the internet at the rate of a thousand per second.

  The most obvious change, if the data could be believed, was that in the past few moments data extraction from satellite uplinks across the globe, which had been running at terabytes every second, had slowed to a trickle.

  It certainly looked like their hold on Earth’s systems had loosened – but the severity of the damage they had sustained was critical. Would they retaliate?

  Plus … who got hurt … the Ankor or the Transcenders?

  ‘They’re moving,’ said Private Hunter, listening into his long-wave radio set.

  ‘What about pod temperatures?’ asked Martel.

  Sam dug into the transcripts. ‘We’re not getting real-time temperature readings now they’re moving.’

  ‘They haven’t blown us up yet,’ Sam whispered to Tim. ‘That’s a good thing.’

  Tim smiled at Sam’s gallows humour.

  ‘No!’ The scream had emanated from the prime minister at the back of the mezzanine level. ‘You cannot believe that!’ he shouted into his own radio. He strode forward to Martel who was still standing next to Tim.

  ‘The US have given us three hours to evacuate.’

  ‘But they’re two days away,’ blurted out Sam.

  ‘They have a stealth destroyer much closer,’ replied Timbers. ‘It has artillery with tactical shells.’

  Tim looked at Sam. Tactical shells didn’t sound so bad. ‘Some type of precision bombing?’ he asked quietly. Perhaps the Americans would just destroy the launch platform and leave.

  Sam wiped his growing hope away. ‘Tactical nuclear shells. It’s cold war technology. Each one of them yields up to ten kilotons. They could flatten all of Anglesey in a five second barrage.’

  ‘Three hours,’ said Martel, looking at the prime minister. ‘I suggest we evacuate.’

  Timbers nodded.

  Martel immediately went to the front of the mezzanine level, looking down on the three hundred technicians below.

  ‘Full evacuation! Go directly to the car park. The keys will be in the cars.’ He paused. ‘Do not leave the car park unless your car is full. Head for the east coast. We have arranged a flotilla to pick us up.’

  There was total silence.

  ‘What about the radiation?’ called someone from the floor.

  ‘There is no significant radiation outside,’ said Martel. ‘The Ankor were manipulating the readings to keep people in here.’

  Fuck! Martel must have known all along.

  Tim widened his eyes at Sam, who had come to the same conclusion.

  ‘And he didn’t think to allay people’s fears when he took over?’ whispered Sam.

  ‘I guess he was incentivised to keep people working effectively too,’ replied Tim, aware that Martel was only a few metres away.

  ‘Why are we evacuating?’ asked the same person. Tim did not see their face.

  ‘The Americans will start bombarding SpaceOp within a few hours.’

  ‘Where do we go?’ Another voice from the floor.

  ‘Anywhere between Abbey Bay and Hunter’s Point,’ said Martel. ‘We’ve been working on evacuation plans since even before the Ankor’s true nature became clear. Tosh’s team will be ensuring the keys are in the cars and all the barriers to the main gates are open.’

  ‘What about the hostages?’

  Martel stiffened at the question. ‘I will lead a detachment of my soldiers to free them.’

  Shit!

  There were hundreds of fully armed Leafers. That was a suicide mission.

  Tosh opened the main doors and shouted over the rumble of whispered conversations, ‘No more questions! Go!’

  Mission Control workers, accustomed to taking orders from Tosh, surged towards the doors.

  Private Hunter, having been listening to his radio, walked forward and gave Martel an update. ‘Sir. China have just destroyed all their space launch platforms and disabled all their long-range missiles.’

  Tim understood their reasoning. If they had no capability to send materials into space, then they could not become the focus of any new Ankor efforts.

  The door leading to the underground server rooms opened and Whaller came through, heavily armed. Martel took a step towards the staircase that led down to the main floor.

  ‘Do you need help?’ asked Tim.

  ‘Ever fired a gun at another human?’

  ‘No.’

  Martel smiled. ‘Thank you for the offer, but we’re expecting a heavy firefight down there. I can’t spare a man to watch your back.’

  Tim indicated towards the back wall. ‘I can provide video surveillance, what’s left of it.’

  ‘Thank you. That would be appreciated,’ said Martel. ‘As a last resort I may ask you to try to operate electronic locks from here. MacKenzie said all the electronic locks are on their own closed circuit and can’t be accessed remotely, but I can’t help thinking he’d have some control from here.’

  Martel beckoned Private Hunter and took a radio from him, passing it to Sam. ‘I can’t imagine for one moment you’re not staying for the dust up.’

  ‘You bet your ass I’m staying,’ said Sam, a glint in her eye.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Martel. ‘In one hour, no matter what happens, head for Abbey Bay. Tosh will ensure your car is just outside.’

  ‘MacKenzie?’ asked Tim.

  ‘We are ninety-nine percent sure he died in the explosion,’ said Martel, heading down to the main floor with the prime minister in tow.

  Dead at a shade over fifty years old. The irony was not lost on Tim. Francis MacKenzie had spent most of his life chasing immortality. His search for spiritual immortality early in his life through involvement with various religious groups had met with failure. Since then he’d focused his efforts on physical immortality through technological, and biological, engineering. Yet if the MedOp arterial cleansing had been MacKenzie’s one and only venture, he’d have achieved cultural immortality through the legacy he’d left to the world.

  He’d probably have been able to replace the Nobel Prize with the MacKenzie Prize.
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  As it was, the guy would be remembered – quite rightly – as a monster. An unempathetic entitled fuckwit who’d lived his life as if it was more valuable that anyone else’s … a position from which, with fear chasing close behind you and unlimited resources at your disposal, evil is almost inevitable.

  Walking over to the back wall, Tim plugged in the tablet. Having experimented with the feeds the previous night, he’d found some operational ones. He managed to find a camera showing the main corridor behind the decapitation rooms. The corridor that Tim suspected led to the holding cells.

  Sam relayed the information to Martel. Given that Martel and his team were attempting their incursion via the underground route, the signal was very poor.

  There were no Leafers to be seen.

  ‘We have such limited coverage,’ said Tim.

  ‘Whatever we manage to find for Martel is a bonus,’ replied Sam. ‘He was expecting to go in blind. I wonder if Richardson is with them … and whether he has my chair.’

  ‘There’s nothing on the tablet that implies we can open gates from here,’ said Tim. ‘It must be some of these dials.’ Tim pointed to them through one of the open hatches.

  The feed of the main corridor showed Martel’s team entering from the direction of the decapitation room: Martel, Whaller, Hunter, Briars, Tosh, and Richardson in Sam’s wheelchair. All heavily armed and making their way stealthily down the corridor.

  Managing to split the screen, Tim accessed the next video feed.

  Now he could see the first holding room – forty cells, just as MacKenzie had originally claimed. Still no Leafers, but the cells were full of hostages.

  Whaller was still working on the external door to get from the corridor into that first holding room.

  Tim split the screen again and managed to find a camera on the far corridor. They’d be able to warn Martel if anyone was coming.

  The radio squeaked. Sam listened.

  ‘They think this door will be a ten-minute job,’ said Sam, relaying Martel’s concerns. ‘They need automated cell release.’

  The prime minister approached. ‘Mr Boston, Miss Turner. The Americans won’t speak to me. Can I help here?’