“Well, Morann, is he one of those we seek? the woman said addressing the robot, who reached up and removed what John now realised had been a close-fitting helmet, revealing a female face with short silver-coloured hair.
“You’re a woman too!” John declared.
“No, John, I’m an android,” was the reply and John realised that what he had thought was a robot was now speaking in a less mechanical tone.
“An android?” John had heard of androids, having read about them in science fiction novels, but to the best of his knowledge none existed on the Earth that he had just left behind.
“Yes, I’m an android,” Morann confirmed and then addressed the woman. “To answer your question Medb, yes John is one of those we were seeking.”
“Are you an android?” John now turned and addressed Medb.
“No, I’m not an android,” Medb answered smiling.
“So, who are you?” John asked her. Medb looked human, but the technology both on the Deltoid and at this base on Iapetus looked far beyond human capabilities. She had to be an alien he decided, but a very human looking one and how could that be possible.
“It’s a long story John and it’s one that you need to know. First however, you’re no doubt hungry and also in need of rest.”
“No, it’s ok, I’m not tired. I am hungry though,” John confirmed, guessing that it had been a long time since he’d had the fish and chips in Penzance. “I can wait, however.” He wanted to know who these people were.
“All right John, if you’re sure,” Medb said. He nodded. “Well, firstly it needs to be explained to you why you’ve been brought here. My race, the Aos Si, once had colonies on the planet you call Earth and what we call Sol 3.”
“So, your race weren’t the indigenous people of Earth,” John interrupted, his mind racing.
“No, we weren’t indigenous to the planet. Our race evolved on planets in what you call the Orion Constellation,” Medb paused and looked directly at him. “You, John are a descendant of one of the original colonists from our colony on Earth.”
Chapter 2
Cornwall, June 1985
Kate groaned as soon as she saw who had just come into the lounge bar. It was Roger Clayton, a fat, dreadful, boring man, who thought the sun shone out of his backside. Kate couldn’t stand him, and could no way stomach his far-right wing politics, but he was a good customer, Phil, the landlord said. As Kate needed to lie low and keep this job, she had to smile sweetly and serve him the gin and tonic he always ordered.
“The usual sweetheart and make it a double,” Roger ordered Kate as he swaggered up to the bar. “See those commie miners are still up to no good, Phil,” Roger bawled across to the landlord, who stood at the other end of the bar counter, pulling pints for a group of lads who were on holiday from London. “Bertie has said they’ll soon be sorted out though!”
“What are you on about now?” Phil wearily asked, looking across to the former bank manager.
Phil Jackson, the pub landlord was all right, Kate thought. He was a tall, broad shouldered man in his mid-thirties. From Coventry originally, he’d served in the navy before retiring on medical grounds after the short-lived South Atlantic Conflict in 1982, had left him disabled. He now had a prosthetic leg to replace his left one, that he’d lost when his ship, the aircraft carrier HMS Hermes had been hit by an Exocet missile and had been sunk with considerable loss of life. Phil considered himself one of the lucky ones however, as he’d been picked up by one of the remaining ships of the British task force and had not ended up in an Argentinian prisoner of war camp like so many others. Now he ran the Admiral’s Arms in the small Cornish village that Kate had ended up in. Why Phil and Roger got on so well, Kate didn’t know, unless it was because they were both originally from the Midlands. Roger, who was originally from Birmingham, had been a bank manager and had come to live in Cornwall, when he’d retired.
“Those commie miners, they’re trying to blockade that power station in Yorkshire, what’s it called, Ferry something, it’s just been on the telly again,” Kate looked across from the optics where she’d been filling Roger’s glass with gin.
“Ferrybridge?” she suggested, her ears having pricked up now.
“Yes, that’s the place. They’re trying to blockade it, but the police have forced them back across the river. Bertie was on the TV too,” Roger announced. “He said he’d send the troops in if he needed to.” Albert Brown, popularly known as Bertie, was the leader of the far-right United British Patriots Party and was now the UK’s Prime Minister.
Kate thought back to how that had all come about. Following the loss of the Falklands Islands, or the Malvinas as they were now known, in the disastrous and short lived South Atlantic campaign, the ruling Conservative Party had limped along for a while. The campaign should never have happened Phil said, it being madness to have sent the task force to the Falkland Islands only protected by one aircraft carrier, but HMS Invincible had been sold to Australia the year before the campaign and HMS Illustrious hadn’t been completed in time. The Tories and Britain’s first female P.M. were blamed for the debacle and the considerable loss of life which had occurred. Phil said it would have been far worse had not the US President warned the Argentinians to break off military action and to not pursue the remnants of the task force as they retreated from the war zone.
With the British Public incensed with the French, for selling the Argentinians the Exocet missiles which had contributed to the high casualties and the lack of support that had been given by Britain’s alleged European partners, calls had come for the UK to leave the European Economic Community. A leadership challenge had then also been mounted within the Conservative Party and an old Etonian had won the contest. He however, had turned out to be a bumbling, blithering idiot and his Government had eventually lost a vote of no confidence and a General Election had been called in October 1984.
Originally formed just before the Second World War by some disaffected supporters of Oswald Moseley, the United British Patriots Party (UBPP) had rapidly gained popularity. Albert Brown had presented himself as a man of the people, an ordinary working man, though in truth he came from a more privileged background than the Conservative Prime Minister he’d eventually deposed. To most people’s shock and utter surprise, Albert Brown and his Party had narrowly won the election with an overall majority of ten seats.
Whether the Labour Party might have won the 1984 election with a different leader was still a matter for some conjecture. In their leadership contest, just after the Labour Party had lost the 1979 General Election, a young former barrister and M.P. for a constituency in the South East of England had won the contest and had swiftly moved the party to the centre right, deserting its traditional supporters and instead courting the middle classes. In the General Election they’d come in third place, only just beating the discredited Conservative Party for that position.
“What do you think sweetie?” came Roger’s obnoxious voice. Why did he always have to call her Sweetie! She hated being called that but had to bite her tongue and keep her cool. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper. “Do you think Bertie should send the troops in, my dear?”
“I don’t do politics,” Kate muttered turning to serve Ken Tregoning, a former farmer who now ran a holiday caravan park, a mile or so outside the village, south of the Penzance road and near to the beach. Kate rented a caravan from him, at a reduced rate. Whether she’d got the rate in the anticipation that Kate would supply Ken, a divorcee in his forties, with sexual favours she’d never quite been sure, but there was no way that was going to happen. She didn’t fancy him at all for a start.
“That’s the trouble with young ones today, no interest in politics. That’s how the country got into the state that it did.”
“Never mind Roger, when there’s good patriots like you, it doesn’t matter whether the young ones are interested or not.” Phil interrupted him; he’d seen that Kate was getting angry. She was a good kid, but he knew she did
n’t suffer fools lightly and there was no question that Roger was a bloody fool.
“You’re right, Phil and now we’ve got a Prime Minister who’ll stand up for Britain. We’ll be far better off now we’re coming out of Europe and can concentrate again on the Empire, er I mean the Commonwealth.”
Kate was political, however, and politics had got her into the unfortunate situation that she was now in. The daughter of a coal miner, Kate was a very intelligent young woman and had won a scholarship to Cambridge University where she had studied history and politics. After graduating from University with a 2.1 Degree, Kate had spent some time at the Peace Camp at Greenham Common to protest with the other women there, against the siting of nuclear weapons at the RAF base there. After her experiences at the camp, Kate had decided to embark on a career as a freelance investigative journalist and had written an acclaimed article on the peace movement in the UK.
Over the next couple of years, Kate had made a steady living from her freelance journalism. She wasn’t an avaricious, or materialistic person and had no need for the symbols of status others so very eagerly sought out. In April of 1985, Kate had decided to make a return visit to Greenham Common. Her best friend from University, Maggie Jones, a Labour Party activist and an assistant to a traditional Labour Party MP in the North East of England, had asked if she could come with her. Kate had agreed, but it was a disastrous mistake as she later found out.
Unbeknown to the two friends, Albert Brown, coming up to the six-month anniversary of his tenure as Prime Minister had decided that the Peace Camp at Greenham Common should be cleared once and for all of protesters, or as he put it “those bloody awful women”. The previous Tory Prime Minister had had Mobile Police Units set up, to deal with the many protest marches and rallies, after the South Atlantic Conflict, or Falklands War, as it was now being popularly called. Upon taking his office, Albert Brown had had them refined, ensuring that they were staffed by officers, who would not shy away from violence if it was required and Albert Brown had decided that violence was most certainly required in the case of Greenham Common
Albert Brown had been coming under increasing pressure from the US President, to do something about the Peace Camp. He’d been told in no uncertain terms that pay back was due from Britain, for the USA’s intervention with Argentina, that had saved the remnants of the Falklands Task Force. Britain didn’t have many friends left in 1985, with the process of withdrawing from the European Economic Community well under way in an atmosphere of hostility from the French and also the Spanish. The Spanish emboldened by support from Argentina and other Latin American states, were also now demanding that Gibraltar be returned to them. So, Albert Brown had thought it best to do what the USA demanded.
Kate and Maggie had only been a day at the camp when the Mobile Police Units sent in by Albert Brown had made their dawn raid. Utter mayhem had ensued. The police had been equipped with riot shields, not normally seen then in mainland Britain and were wielding their truncheons indiscriminately. The police were also wearing gas masks, as canisters of CS gas had been used. Maggie had been knocked to the ground by the blow from a truncheon and when the officer responsible had begun to kick her, Kate had intervened. She was a Judo black belt third Dan and had very quickly disarmed and put the perpetrator of the attack on Maggie to the ground.
Smoke from some of the tents which had been set on fire had aided Kate and Maggie’s’ escape from the camp. Maggie had suffered a broken collar bone and cracked ribs from the assault on her and Kate had insisted that she go to hospital. Kate had gone with her and both of them had had to answer some awkward questions. The nurses had been sympathetic, but one of the doctors, probably the grey haired, upper-class consultant in the casualty department, had obviously tipped the police off as they had soon arrived on the scene. Maggie had told Kate to leave her and Kate had reluctantly done so, managing to get out of the hospital without being caught. Kate had been on the run ever since.
Kate was polishing some glasses when Jack Venton, one of Roger’s cronies and another dreadful bore came in.
“That showed them, Roger old boy,” Jack Venton’s posh voice boomed out, causing several people to look across to him. “Bloody miners picketing Ferrybridge, were trying to cross over the old bridge across the River Aire, trying to carry out a flanking manoeuvre,” Jack Venton claimed he’d been a major in the British army, but only Roger who was a snob and bought Jack’s double whiskies for him, believed that story. Kate thought he was a fraud, some London wide boy, who lived off the money the rich widow he was shacked up with provided him. “Well it didn’t work out so well for them. The police drove an armoured Land Rover at them crushing three of the bastards against the bridge walls and then the mounted police went in.”
“Language! I’ll not have that in here, Jack!” Phil warned.
Kate felt the colour draining from her cheeks and putting the glass down she’d been polishing had to grip the edge of the bar counter to steady herself. Her dad and brothers were going to picket at Ferrybridge today, her mum had told her when she’d phoned home last night. Kate knew that she would now have to ring home when she finished her shift. She didn’t normally ring home every day, usually only twice a week and on different days each time, but Kate couldn’t bear to wait to find out if her dad and brothers were all right.
There was a phone for public use in the pub, but Kate never used that, as it was far too risky. Not only from being overheard, but she’d heard that MI5 tapped telephones as a matter of course these days and her dad who was a National Union of Miners official, was sure that his phone was tapped. There was sometimes a funny clicking noise on the line, which he thought indicated that possibility. Kate therefore always used the public phone box not far from the caravan park. Yes, Kate decided, she’d go there as soon as her shift ended and ring home.
“Another pint please, Kate,” Ken Tregoning’s voice intruded her thoughts. “Are you all right, Kate? You look a bit pasty.”
“Yes, I’m fine Ken,” Kate answered a little sharply. Ken meant well, but at times was rather too solicitous. “Sorry,” she quickly apologized. “Just feeling a bit off it today.” Ken nodded his head sympathetically.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It would have seemed like an eternity before Kate’s shift ended, but Phil had let her go early. Kate had seen Ken have a word with him and a moment or two later Phil had come up to her.
“Ken doesn’t think you’re very well.”
“It’s just a headache,” Kate lied.
“It’s quiet in here tonight, Kate. I can manage on my own. Get yourself off home.”
“Thank you, Phil, I really appreciate that.”
“Just make sure you’re back here tomorrow. Dominoes team have a big match with that lot from ‘The Anchor’ and they’re a thirsty lot as you know.”
Kate left the pub soon afterwards and headed off down the road that led towards the main Penzance road that split the village in half. The road wasn’t very busy at that time of night and she easily got over it at the cross roads and continued down the road through the south end of the village. Kate was a fast walker and soon she’d left the village behind and before long had reached the turn off to Ken’s farm and the caravan park beyond it. She carried on down the road though and before long she could see the castle up ahead of her. Well, it wasn’t a castle really, more a fortified manor house, but for some long-forgotten reason was called a castle by the locals. It was in the next village and the public phone box was just outside the entrance to its grounds.
As Kate neared the phone box, she saw that a car was parked up further down the road but thought nothing of it. She went into the phone box and dialled the number for home. It rang out for quite a while and Kate began to think that no-one was there. That would be most unusual, as her mum didn’t go out at night, except on a Friday and Saturday night with her dad. Then the phone was answered, not by her mother as she expected, but by her younger brother, Steve and he sounded upset.
�
��Steve, it’s unusual for you to answer the phone, is everything all right?”
“No Sis, it’s not bloody all right, Dave’s been hurt bad,” he said, sounding close to tears, Kate thought.
“I heard the news about Ferrybridge, please tell me he wasn’t one of them, that got crushed up against the bridge wall by the Land Rover.”
“No Sis, he got knocked to the ground when the mounted police charged at the picket line and then got trampled on. He’s in the Hospital. Mum & dad are with him. I wanted to go, but they told me to stay here, in case you saw it on the telly and rang home.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
“We don’t know yet. Dad rang not long ago to say that Dave was in the operating theatre. His pelvis and shoulder were crushed, and he’s got some internal injuries. They don’t know how bad those are yet.”
“Are Dad and you all right.”
“Dad’s all right. I got a black eye, but you should see the other bloke.”
“Steve! You didn’t assault a copper, did you?”
“He wasn’t no copper Sis, had army boots on and I got his ID card off him. He was Military Police. I only knocked him out, he’ll be all right.” Steve, her youngest brother was three years younger than Kate and had learned to box at the boxing club. He didn’t do any boxing these days, thank god, his girlfriend Tracey had put a stop to that.
“Steve, you shouldn’t say that over the phone, you don’t know who might be listening in.”
“You’re as paranoid as dad is, thinking that MI5 is listening in to all his calls. Anyway, I don’t care anymore, people were killed today, miners, at least four. People need to know what’s going on. I’m meeting John later and I’ll show him the badge and tell him what really went on today.”
The Sol 3 Agenda Page 2
