‘Where was I shot?’ I asked painfully.
‘A bullet passed through your neck missing your carotid by millimetres. Two in your left shoulder, two were lodged in your upper back.’
‘No! Am I paralysed?’ I said, fear momentarily coursing through my body.
‘No, but another was lodged below your heart and it only narrowly missed your spine. There were also two which passed through your left arm and one went through your left leg. You have no right to be alive.’
‘Wow, guess I was lucky,’ I said quietly as the full horror of the shooting sank home.
‘You’ve been in a coma for a while, Dame Evelyn.’
‘Evelyn or Eve, please,’ I said.
‘Well, Eve, be thankful for your luck.’
‘How long have I been out?’
‘Nearly six weeks,’ she said.
Six weeks. Six weeks! No wonder I was so weak. What had been happening? Goonhilly? AD1? AD2? Mars? God, the wedding? It all cascaded through my mind.
‘Your recovery will take a while,’ the consultant said. ‘We need to get you eating and drinking properly. Your neck and throat were critically injured, and you might find your breathing impaired, but it will improve with time and physiotherapy.’
‘How long will I need to stay here?’ I asked, knowing it could be an extended recovery.
‘At least another couple of months by the time we get you fully mobile.’
My gaze returned to Mum and Dad who were both sitting beside the bed now. Dad was holding my hand again.
‘Mario? Where’s Mario?’
Dad’s gaze dropped to the floor. Mum took on a pained expression as she, too, looked downwards. What did it mean?
‘He didn’t make it, Eve. We’re so sorry,’ Dad said, gripping my hand even tighter.
‘But how? He was in the audience. He can’t have been shot.’
‘He was. Sorry, darling. Twenty-two were killed including Godfrey Armstrong and another fifty-one were injured. He had two automatic weapons.’
‘But why? Why would anyone do this?’
‘He has been charged with murder and is on remand.’
‘But why did he shoot us?’
‘He was a religious fanatic. He was shouting “blaspheming devils” as he fired. It was all seen on television.’
I burst into tears. The fact Mario was gone struck home. My life was over. The enormity of it was overwhelming. There was nothing left to live for. My darling Mario gone, with our new lives in Cornwall only just beginning. Mum was standing again, her hand caressing my cheek while I heard Dad crying too.
I cannot remember a worse time in my life than the next hour as I struggled to come to terms with my loss and failed absolutely. My loving parents trying to comfort the inconsolable.
Eventually the nursing staff sent my parents away and tried to settle me for the night. I continued to bawl every few minutes. Some religious idiot had taken my Mario from me and the lives of all those other innocent people. It was incomprehensible. Surely a nightmare from which I’d awake and find Mario safe and well, his curly hair on the pillow beside mine.
As I was being given my last tablets for the day, I asked the nurse, ‘Who was he? This man. An Islamic terrorist? The man who did this?’
‘No. No, he was in some sort of right wing fundamentalist Christian group, I believe,’ she said. ‘Well supposedly Christian, but also a white supremacist. His mother said he was claiming he recognised Allen as the devil incarnate and had to protect the world. He was mad. Try not to get het up again, Eve, please.’
Het up. Het up! I was livid. A fanatic had taken my Mario from me. Neither of us had ever wished anything but love upon others. To be killed by someone who is supposed to be a Christian was dreadful. Madness.
The nurse was about to leave, and I grabbed her arm. My mind was beginning to work again.
‘Have there been other hate crimes because of Allen?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry to say there have, but you need to rest now.’
‘Can you please get my Dad to bring in my reflexlet tomorrow. I must get up-to-date. Six weeks. I can’t believe I’ve been out for six weeks.’
‘I’ll try to call him for you.’
I thanked her and tried to sleep, but Mario’s face kept appearing before me and I woke up constantly in tears of sheer anguish. Had it been quick for him or had he had a lingering death? There was so much I needed to know.
Although I drifted off occasionally, I slept for less than an hour the first night.
The next morning, Dad was in early with my friend Jane. He left my reflexlet for me and told me not to spend too much time on it, then departed, leaving me alone with her.
‘Jane, do you know if Mario suffered?’ I stuttered and was in tears again, but I had to know.
She reached over and hugged me gently, ‘No, it was instantaneous. He had stood to rush forward and was hit by the first volley into the audience.’
My Mario. Trying to rescue me. ‘It’s good it was quick,’ I said and was bawling once more.
Jane sat with me for a couple of hours and we talked about what had been happening in the world. It was a welcome distraction, even though the grief kept fighting its way back to the surface. When lunch arrived, I asked her to leave. I wanted to spend some time with my reflexlet this afternoon before my parents returned.
Of course, what we want and what we get are two different things. Firstly, eating and drinking was still painful as if I had a raw throat, even though most of my food was the consistency of semolina. My left arm was constrained too.
I unrolled my reflexlet to start a search when an immaculately suited young man came into my intensive care cubicle and peered around. It was odd, as if he was searching for someone but not interested in me. I became nervous. Was I in danger? Was he a gunman come to finish the job? I was about to shout for help when he ducked back out and in came Roger Clarke.
I tried to sit up, but pain stopped me. ‘Prime Minister, sorry, I can’t get up.’
‘As you were, Evelyn,’ he shook my hand and bent over to kiss my cheek.
Emotion rose again. I knew I couldn’t hold it in if he mentioned Mario.
‘I am so sorry about Mario, Evelyn.’ I was instantly in floods of tears.
The Prime Minister grabbed some tissues and helped me dry my eyes.
‘It’s so unfair,’ I cried, ‘we had so much to live for.’
‘Yes, I know. Can I sit awhile?’
‘Oh, yes, please do.’
He sat down and held my hand. Gosh, I liked this man and his caring attitude. The bodyguard was standing in the doorway, alert and continually glancing in all directions. God, were we still under threat?
‘What’s been happening? Has the world gone mad?’
‘No, Evelyn. We always worried it would stir up fanaticism, but not so quickly. I’m sorry we weren’t better prepared; we have been since. I wish I'd listened to you. Your idea of drip-feeding the news about aliens might’ve prevented this.'
There was no point in crying over spilt milk. 'Goonhilly?'
‘Tim Riley is doing a great job and your post is safe for when you’re fit, but no hurry on that score.’
‘What else has been happening?’ I waved my reflexlet at him. ‘I was about to find out.’
‘The Mars mission vehicle is under construction. It will depart in two months.’
‘Gosh, that’s quick.’
‘The new fuel has made a huge difference and so has this polarised electricity. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they’ve been able to do with it. I’ll let you read about it for yourself.’
‘Have we learned more from AD1?’
‘Yes, lots. Tim will brief you. I’m told he’ll be here tomorrow if your doctor gives permission.’
‘I’ll be sure she does!’
He laughed and said, ‘Yes, I’m sure you will, but I’m going to leave you now. I have a Cabinet meeting
shortly, but I wanted to see you as soon as you came out of the coma. Your clear thinking and enthusiasm for everything to do with Allen and his craft has been sorely missed by me and Jenny. Anyone who didn’t appreciate the importance of a good presentation is now converted. Even so there are many fanatics out there.’
He stood, I got another kiss on the cheek, and he squeezed my hand.
‘Thank you for coming, Prime Minister. Very much appreciated indeed.’
‘Now, try not to worry too much. We know it’ll be a couple of months before you have fully recovered. I’m enjoying the sojourn – Tim is so much less argumentative than you are! Try not to rush it.’
I smiled at his jibe. ‘I’ll try, sir.’
He left, accompanied by his security detail. I noticed an armed, uniformed policeman now stood outside my room. How long had he been there? I didn’t remember seeing him earlier. I wasn’t sure if the extra security reassured me or added to my anxiety. I tried to put it out of my mind.
I opened the reflexlet. Where to start? I googled my own name and read about events.
The gunman, a fanatical fundamentalist Christian, was born and brought up in Preston with ordinary working-class parents and a good education. He’d somehow managed to acquire two automatic rifles, almost impossible with UK gun laws. He was also a member of a white supremacist group from where the weapons were obtained. He’d run onto the stage shouting about blasphemers, but the news media videos showed no more until the rescue services arrived. I had to dig into the depths of the dark web to find an illicit unedited video of the entire event.
I heard him shouting, ‘Blaspheming devils’ and ‘The world is for mankind,’ and watched as he sprayed bullets across the stage, catching Godfrey first in the head and neck. I slumped forward towards the floor when first hit and he sprayed the bullets left and right across me. He suddenly turned towards the audience and began firing with sweeping volleys, aiming higher with each blast as he worked his way back up the rows. I knew Mario was at the front, so he must have leapt up towards the man and died. The distraction might have saved my life. The gunman changed magazines and fired again. I didn’t cry this time when I thought of Mario. Was I already getting used to the loss of the love of my life?
Two figures ran on from behind where I was lying inert on the stage and brought the gunman down with a rugby tackle. The film stopped thirty seconds later. The last sequence showed Godfrey in a pool of blood and me, crumpled forward partly on the floor, with blood oozing from my multiple wounds. I watched it through several times. The doctor had said I was lucky to be alive; I now realised what she meant. I’d never seen so much blood.
The news channels picked it up from there as the death toll grew. Paramedics carried me and other survivors into ambulances. One of them was pounding someone’s chest. Later sequences showed body bags being removed. Twenty-two dead because I’d agreed to do this television show. Guilt washed over me. It was my fault. Mine. If I’d done a better job of presenting the discovery, perhaps all of these people would still be alive.
There was a photograph of the perpetrator in custody. A young man in his mid-twenties. Someone you wouldn’t pay attention to if you passed him in the street. There were no scary eyes or intimidating tattoos. A young man who could have been anybody and would probably otherwise have remained a nobody.
If we’d been able to drip-feed the news about the discovery of AD1 from the very beginning, extreme views like those of the gunman, might never have arisen. I should’ve been more forceful from day one – telling of the device, revealing its age, showing the alien city, then Allen himself – if it had been spread over the whole year all of these people could have still been alive. Mario would have been alive! It was all my fault for not trying harder. The Prime Minister admitting I'd been right all along didn't help Mario or any of the other victims.
I continued to follow the news stories, seeing the construction of the Mars ship in orbit. It was so like some of the science fiction ships of the past. There was a circular module which would provide artificial gravity at two-thirds Earth normal, making exercising much easier and removing some of the problems with being weightless. Its flight time to Mars would be weeks rather than months – all down to Allen’s fuel.
I read about the revolution which was beginning in electronics with the discovery of how the polarisation of wires functioned. It was extraordinary. A single wire could conduct electricity both ways. There was zero resistance, so no loss of current in the new wires and they would soon be burying mains transmission cables because there would no longer be any power leakage. I smiled at the thought that the countryside would be freed from its tangle of cables and pylons. Companies were working on how the new technology could be used on domestic appliances and commercial equipment.
The fuel had revolutionised space travel and during my extended coma a second moon-base had been built. The dream of the 1970s was finally realised. I saw that Yuri was returning from the moon to command the Mars ship. So wonderful for him.
Two private space companies had plans for large passenger vessels capable of taking up to a hundred people into orbit. Four well-known social media and Internet search companies were ploughing billions into plans for an orbital hotel resort not at all unlike the fanciful space station from 2001 A Space Odyssey. The dreams of every young space adventurer were becoming reality in double-quick time. The ISS would be saved from the long-overdue decommissioning and would become just a component of the new Earth Orbital Platform.
News from Goonhilly was more difficult to track down online, but I’d get the important information from Tim the next day. I found some new images of Allen’s home world and some more close-ups of Jupiter’s moons, Europa and Ganymede, presumably taken in antiquity. There was little about the work on the alien language or their computer programs. Again, Tim would update me.
More disturbing was the activity of religious zealots and xenophobic factions.
There had been a serious number of terrorist actions undertaken by Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, and other faith groups, of which the fundamental Christians and Islamists had been the most fanatical. The factions had grown rapidly after the announcement and were preaching doom, gloom, and imminent invasion. An irrational and frightening paranoia.
Some fanaticism was to be expected and I made myself feel somewhat better by wondering how much worse it might have been if I hadn’t finally got permission to release the news after the Paris conference. Hopefully, my determination to try to do it right had saved at least some lives, but I’d forever wish I’d been allowed to release the original discovery shortly after it happened. I was certain it would’ve defused hatred of Allen if people had gradually had it all brought to their attention instead of in this single rush. I’d have to put the matter out of my mind, or I’d become neurotic about it.
I read there’d even been an attempt at sabotage of the Mars ship in orbit. Unbelievably, one of their number had been trained as an astronaut a decade earlier and managed to get herself onto one of the construction details. An explosive device was found on the outer wall of the main living quarters and had been timed for three months. Given bad luck, it could’ve exploded during the AD2 collection process. Fortunately, it was discovered by two astronauts in the Scaffy Wagon just before the outer skin was attached which would’ve hidden it from view. My baby was still showing its usefulness to the ongoing exploration of space.
As for the religious fanatics like the man who killed my Mario, why did these people, who supposedly believed in a loving God, carry out such awful deeds in the name of their religion? I could never understand such targeted hatred and violence. Mario and the others at the TV show, including me, had done nothing but demonstrate a healthy interest in the most extraordinary discovery of modern times.
My last contact with him had been when Mario gave me a tiny kiss before he was taken to his seat. I tried to remember the softness of his lips and their warmth, but couldn’t. It was so sad.
So dreadful. So unnecessary. Was I bitter? You’d better believe it!
Nurses took the reflexlet away from me mid-afternoon when it was time to change my dressings. I asked for a mirror to observe my wounds. They were all pretty shocking, but my leg was in a dreadful state between my hip and my knee, as they’d had to perform several operations. The gash in my neck was enormous and I truly realised how lucky I’d been.
My drip was removed, although the nasty, painful gadget was still left in my hand for some reason. Why do they do that? I was disconnected from the other monitors and they propped me up in bed. I was told I’d be helped out of bed the next day and allowed to sit in an easy chair. The day after, I’d begin physiotherapy to get my muscles working once more. It would be good simply to escape the bed pans, but they dashed that hope by telling me I’d have no use of my leg for at least another couple of weeks. The bone had been too badly shattered.
The next morning, I was given a massive backlog of mail – plus loads of newly delivered flowers and get well cards from people who’d probably given up on me, and one from the King which was a real surprise. There were too many to read in one go and I resolved to keep them all to read at leisure when I eventually returned home.
Home? What would home be like? Our beautiful thatched cottage in Helford which we’d only owned for a few weeks. Would I ever be able to live happily again in the creek-side haven we’d chosen together while so much in love and with so much life to look forward to? I remembered our last walk along the creek on the morning of the Armstrong show. The holding of hands, the hug on the wooden bridge, the taste of his lips. My tears flowed freely.
««o»»
My meeting with Tim the next day was a pleasure. He quickly got his sympathies out of the way and we were soon talking about wonderful developments and discoveries.
‘The language team have found documents in cylinder two. No interpretation yet, but it’s certainly language,’ said Tim.
The Visitor Page 20
