by Jon Lymon
18
Having got his hands on a new, state-of-the-art mobile phone, Remnant texted his new number to Chloe, once a day, every day for a whole week. There was no response. Not even a ‘stop hassling me’ or a ‘go away’. With only a week to go until her big day, it was looking likely that he would have to gatecrash his own daughter’s wedding.
He checked his phone again as he walked to the lock-up for the pre-mission briefing DT had organised.
He arrived to find Edgar sleepy. The frame of the ship was covered as always in the huge white tarpaulin that once served as the giant marquee for an advertising awards event in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Remnant had arranged for a few local lads to help him relieve the venue of it just after the event had finished.
“Is it done?” he asked Edgar, who nodded.
“Aside from a few minor details, we’re there.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
Edgar looked as tired as a man who had devoted a whole month of his life to building a ship ought to. As he finished lowering the door to the lock-up, there was a knock on it, not in keeping with the established code. Remnant looked at Edgar who shook his head. The knock was repeated, slower and more deliberate than previously, but just as inaccurate.
“Simon? It is me.”
That was definitely DT’s voice.
“You haven’t knocked the right code,” Remnant told him.
“I have.”
He repeated the knock, and for a third time got it wrong.
“No, it’s…” Remnant demonstrated the correct formula on the inside of the garage door which DT repeated on the outside. Satisfied a lesson had been learned, Edgar raised the door. DT ducked under it before it had fully opened, but Bettis waited until he could walk in without stooping.
Both were eager to get hands on and the veil off the vessel, but after being introduced to Bettis by DT, Edgar directed all three men to sit on the chairs that he’d arranged around the desk in the far corner.
“Well, team, apart from a few minor details, the ship is finished.”
Remnant whooped a cheer and shook Edgar’s hand and pulled him into a hug which he rounded off with a pat on the back. DT smiled broadly, almost lifting his silver, wireframe glasses off his nose. Bettis sat motionless.
“As soon as we get delivery of the hydrogen, we’ll be ready to go,” Edgar added.
Attention turned to DT. “My supplier assures me we will have it within the next fortnight.”
“So our launch date remains two weeks today,” said Edgar.
Everyone nodded. Remnant checked his phone. Still no message.
“Right, what is the plan?” DT asked.
“Plan?” said Remnant.
“I assume there is a plan. Of how you intend to get the diamond from the asteroid into the vessel?”
“Yeah, there’s a plan,” said Remnant, unconvincingly. “As I’ve said from the start we need to treat this as a heist. A raid on a jewellers.”
Remnant looked at DT waiting for a disparaging comment, but none was forthcoming. “Of course,” Remnant continued, “it’s a jeweller’s with no alarms and no security system. But we have to presume we won’t be the only ones interested in nicking it.”
Remnant paused again, expecting an interruption, but everyone was listening to him intently. “I’ve asked Edgar to install a drill on the end of a robotic arm like the ones you get on road diggers,” he said. “This will be controlled from the cockpit by me. I’ll use it to drill off chunks of the diamond.”
DT, who had started to write notes looked up from his pad. “How do you know if it will be strong enough to penetrate diamond?” he asked.
“We don’t. But it made short work of concrete, so it’s pretty tough. Now, alongside the drill is another arm with a net that clamps shut. I’ll use this to gather in the chunks of diamond loosened by the drilling. This can also be controlled from the cockpit, by myself. Once full, I’ll wind the net in. It slots into the ship in a hole that can be accessed from the ship’s hold. Any questions?”
“How do you know if the net is strong enough to hold diamond?” DT asked.
“We don’t, but it handled lumps of concrete, so it’s pretty tough.”
“And what the Devil am I doing while all this drilling is going on?” Bettis asked.
“Your role is a vital one,” said Remnant. “You’ll be keeping the ship steady so I can do the drilling. And you’ll need to be ready to help us make a quick getaway if we come under attack.”
“Under attack?” Bettis was takenaback.
“We have to be ready for anything,” Remnant told him. “There’s a lot of people out there wanting to get their hands on the loot, so we can’t assume they’re gonna let us help ourselves and ride off into the sunset without a fight.”
“So, do we have any means of defending ourselves?” Bettis asked.
Remnant shook his head. “We’re going in unarmed.”
“Isn’t that a bit foolish?”
Edgar felt the need to speak. “Getting hold of the parts to make the ship has been a challenge in itself. Getting hold of weapons is something else entirely. We’d need lasers or torpedoes, and those sorts of things are thin on the ground around here.”
DT nodded. “I am sure there will be plenty of diamond to go round. As long as I’m…we’re the first back with a big chunk I’ll be happy.”
Everyone looked at Bettis to see if he had any further questions. “Well, come along then, show me the ship, show me the ship,” he said eagerly.
Edgar stood and led the three men to the centre of the huge tube that lay veiled in the lock-up. With a drag of both arms he pulled off the white covering.
Remnant and DT both clapped, even though what they saw didn’t look vastly different from what they’d seen before, aside from the fact that the outer shell had been painted white with a black nose cone and grey underside. Everyone looked at Bettis to gauge his reaction, but he was giving nothing away.
“Can I take a look at the cockpit?” he asked.
Edgar led them round to the other side of the ship, where a button opened the sole hatch. Bettis waited for a set of steps to automatically lower, but there were none.
“That’s a little inappropriate,” he whispered as he grabbed either side of the hatch and hauled himself up. Once on board, he hung a left into the cockpit and the others followed.
It was as cramped as most cockpits, but unlike most cockpits, this had two beige seats stolen from a Bentley at the front. Edgar pointed out the radar screen, computer monitor and radio microphone on the dashboard. Bettis nodded without betraying any emotion, but when he sat in the pilot’s seat, he immediately looked displeased.
“This will need adjusting,” he said, looking for any handles he could use for that purpose. After finding none, he looked at Edgar. “Is there any way to adjust this seat?”
“You can take it out or have it in. That’s all the adjusting that can be done.”
“It’s too low. I can’t fly like this. And where’s the heating?”
“As Edgar has already told us,” said Remnant, “there’s a few more things need doing, and that’s one of them.”
Edgar frowned but Remnant shaking his head suggested he shouldn’t labour the point any further.
Remnant took his place in the passenger seat, and was reminded of the comfort he had enjoyed in the Bentley for a few precious moments. “It’s nice. It feels like somewhere I could sit for a few months. Where’s your seat, Edgar?”
Edgar laughed, but soon stopped when he saw Remnant was serious. “Hold on a minute. I’m not going anywhere.”
Remnant had been expecting a few surprises in this meeting, but not one of this magnitude. He’d always envisaged it as him, Edgar and the pilot going on the mission.
“The ship’s a two man ship, and I’m not going to be either of the two men,” Edgar added.
DT fondled his jaw and looked first at Remnant, then Edgar. Bettis remained focused on checking out
the ship’s controls.
“We need an engineer up there, to correct any faults that may occur,” said DT. “Not that I am anticipating any problems with the ship.”
“Listen guys,” said Edgar. “I’m not a flyer. If I was, I’d have worked in the US, not the Thames Valley. NASA wanted me. Offered me big bucks on several occasions and once I even went as far as booking the tickets to an interview in Houston. But I couldn’t do it. The idea of a few hours flying scares the life out of me. Nine months would kill me.”
DT sat shaking his head. “I see, I see. This changes everything. The idea of a mission without an engineer on board is not appealing. What do you gentlemen think?”
Bettis was far more interested in the dashboard in front of him, than the dispute behind him. “I have some basic knowledge of the workings of engines,” he said. “But all I will say is if you’re going to fly, fly with confidence. No plane I have ever flown has insisted on the maker of the craft being on board. I don’t see what makes this particular trip any different.”
Attention then turned to Remnant. “I think Edgar should go. Instead of me.”
Edgar looked at him in disbelief. “I’ve told you, I’m not going.”
“I don’t see what I’m offering the mission,” Remnant continued. “I mean, I can control the arm that’ll drill the diamond. But anyone can learn how to do that in a couple of weeks.”
“No, Sye,” Edgar pleaded. “I can see what you’re doing. Don’t go down that path. You want this more than the rest of us put together. This mission wouldn’t be happening without you. Don’t belittle yourself.”
DT pondered. “It is an interesting point he makes, though. We cannot afford to carry passengers who are not essential to the mission. After all, that will mean less room for diamonds, and more fuel requirements.”
Edgar vigorously shook his head. “No way, he’s going on this mission and that’s final.”
Remnant half smiled at Edgar.
“No one is saying he’s not,” said DT. “All I am saying is everyone has to be worth their place. All of us will be rewarded if the mission is successful, but not all of us can actually go on it.”
Edgar turned on Remnant, unable to hold in his emotions. “Why the hell did you have to say that? Why are you trying to talk yourself off the ship?”
“I’m not. I’m just telling the truth. I ain’t got any skills that are of use to anyone,” he said, turning to and pointing at the maze of controls that formed the dashboard. “Better to get that out in the open now, rather than halfway to Mars.”
Edgar shook his head.
“We will let this matter lie for now,” said DT. “Edgar, please show us the rest of the ship.”
The atmosphere was predictably frosty as Edgar guided them around. Immediately outside the cockpit on the left was the galley, a traditionally long and narrow space with standing room for two, and a brand new silver metallic microwave oven (that Remnant insisted he hadn’t stolen) built into the wall. The cupboards were packed with boxes of knocked-off, knock-down freeze-dried food (that Remnant had stolen), which did not look appetising or smell of anything other than their packaging.
“That hole there is your trash chute,” said Edgar, pointing to a circular gap about the size of a basketball on the far wall of the galley. Remnant instinctively thrust his arm into it.
“Do that while you’re up in space, and you’ll lose your arm. In fact, you’ll probably be totally sucked out.”
Remnant rapidly pulled his arm in as Edgar shook his head and led them toward the rear of the vessel. The door on the left led to the sole cabin, two-thirds of which was taken up by a bunkbed designed for men less than five foot tall. Remnant and Bettis were both over six foot. This was not a design fault, Edgar pointed out, but a design necessity to create a bigger hold for the diamond. Remnant nodded, content to sacrifice comfort for such a noble reason.
Opposite the cabin were the toilet facilities, which constituted a small shower cubicle that looked perfectly capable of harbouring alien bugs, a hand sink that was barely big enough for fingers, and a miniature metallic toilet that, with men aboard for months, was destined to forever have its lid up. There appeared to be nowhere to release the stench that would undoubtedly be created in there, until Edgar pointed to a small extractor fan. Bettis took a moment to consider the implications of that fan breaking down. Poisoned air would be floating around the craft for months on end, a stench doing the rounds like a fart on a 747. The prospect filled him with horror.
The corridor ended with a small hatch to the left, and a door straight ahead. Edgar pointed to the hatch first. “That’s your escape pod. Two-man of course. Sorry, but you’ll have to crawl along and down a short tunnel to get in. Once there, strap yourself in, fire up the engines, which work independently of the rest of the ship, and press eject. The pod’s equipped with satellite navigation. But be sure you’re within a thousand miles of Earth before you deploy, else I can’t guarantee you’ll make it home.”
“I hope you’re taking all this in, Sye,” said DT.
Remnant was checking his phone. Still no message.
“Sye?”
He nodded nervously.
Then Edgar opened the final door. “This, gentlemen, is the hold.” Edgar took in the three men’s reactions and afforded himself a smile. “Never has such a small, plain, empty space been looked upon with such awe,” he said, leading them in. Edgar knew the men were imagining the hold full of the gleam and glister of alien diamond, as he had done himself many times during its construction. “It’s six by six and…” he tapped his foot on the floor which rang hollow, “there’s room under there if you get really lucky. Just slide back that panel of flooring. He pointed to a tile in the far corner.
Remnant pointed to the wall at the far end of the hold. On it was a yellow sticker that housed a black skull and crossbones. “That doesn’t look too friendly,” he said.
“Beyond there is your engine. Don’t go anywhere near that wall when in flight. It’ll be hot, not to mention radioactive.”
“You just mentioned radioactive,” Remnant said, forcing a half-smile from Edgar.
DT’s interest peaked. “So if something goes wrong with that, and you’re not onboard, what shall we do?”
“Even if I was on board and something went wrong, there wouldn’t be much I could do. I’ve isolated the whole unit from the rest of the ship to avoid contamination. That’s the price you pay for getting there faster than rockets.”
DT nodded. Edgar exhaled. Remnant stepped towards the engine, then suddenly felt the floor beneath him rising. He looked down to see the tile on which he was standing elevating towards the ceiling. Instinctively he ducked.
“What’s going on?” he shouted, looking down to Edgar.
Edgar looked up at the roof as two panels in the ceiling separated. Remnant gingerly stood up on the rising platform, and as he rose onto the roof of the ship, he was encircled by a cylindrical, perspex tube.
“That’s airtight,” he shouted up to Remnant. “It’ll give you time to get your oxygen mask on and ready to go out onto the surface of Mars if you ever need to. Just press that red button on the cylinder to open it.” Remnant did so and the cylinder rapidly lowered itself back into the ship. Remnant stood tall on the roof, the ceiling of the lock-up within reach. “This is fantastic,” he called down.
“Imagine yourself loaded with diamond, coming down into the ship,” Edgar called up. And that’s exactly what Remnant did, as Edgar pressed a button on the wall of the hold which lowered the plinth back into the ship.
“So that’s the tour over,” Edgar said.
“A phenomenal effort, my friend,” said DT. “Unbelievable in fact. I am sure it will be a successful mission. Whoever is on it.” DT looked at Remnant before walking with Bettis back to the cockpit.
Edgar shook his head at his friend. “What were you thinking?”
“Thanks for sticking up for me,” said Remnant, who then scrambled for his pho
ne after feeling it vibrate. His eyes lit up when he read the message. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and jumped off the ship and ran out of the lock-up.
DT called after him. “Where are you going? We’re not finished yet. We’ve got to decide on a name for the ship.”
19
It had been nearly a year since Remnant had been round to where Chloe now co-habited with her husband-to-be, as invites to their impressive house had been thin on the ground.
Bayswater was a bit rich for his blood anyway and a two hour walk from Leather Lane. It was knowingly trendy, serving up food he’d never heard of, and drinks he couldn’t afford in cafes with seats he couldn’t get comfortable in. Worst of all, you couldn’t find any ordinary food to steal. It was always from somewhere overseas: Belgian cheese, Lebanese milk, Chilean bacon, Madrid Slow Cooked Tomatoes.
Remnant didn’t care where his food was from, as long as he had some. But it obviously mattered to people in Bayswater. Not for them plain cheese or tomato. Every item had to be accompanied by some location specific description.
Porchester Terrace was a street taken straight out of picturesque suburbia and neatly arranged in the middle of central London, within a valuable stone’s throw of Hyde Park which had only recently been closed to the public and the height of its perimeter fences extended by coils of barbed wire. The park had unwittingly played host to numerous launches, its vast, open spaces and well kempt pathways ideal runways. But the surrounding areas of west London had borne the brunt of the failures. Marble Arch had taken a couple of direct hits, its west side charred and scarred and buildings on Queensway were no longer insurable, so many having been destroyed by crashing ships.
Chloe’s home on Porchester Terrace was still standing, obstinately quiet, self-consciously quaint, and incredibly expensive. Remnant arrived breathless having jogged some of the way, attracting frowns from passers-by who presumed he must be running from the police. He didn’t enjoy visiting the area at the best of times, and with the guilt he was carrying with him like a sack of (Ghanaian) potatoes, this was far from the best of times. He hoped her other half was out. Working, drinking or whoring up his last days of freedom as he himself had done.
