by Mark Lingane
There was a distant thud that shook the ground.
Braxton shouted his frustration as the lights flickered and went out. “The equipment’s been fried,” he said as his face flushed. “The generators are on their last legs. The longer we stay here the less progress we make.”
“What progress have you made on the weapons?”
“None. Other than existing technology.”
“What existing technology?”
“Normally, if we detonate a nuclear bomb in the atmosphere, it’ll send out an EM pulse that disables anything electronic or electrical,” Braxton said. “We’ve had that for fifty years. But now it’s impossible for us to use it.”
“Why is it an impossibility?”
“In the atmosphere,” Braxton reminded Hubbard. “How do we launch when nothing’s getting off the ground?”
“But the enemy’s doing it on the ground.”
“And we’re developing similar weapons, although exceedingly slowly because of these attacks. But we have nothing of this caliber. It’s an order of magnitude a hundred times stronger than anything we’ve seen.”
“How do you know this?” Hubbard began to get visibly twitchy.
“The latest research results are often published in the scientific journals. The Russians were doing particularly well.”
“You said that we have this weapon.”
“Er, yes, well, because of the funding cuts we have contractors who research these things for us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. It’s kept very secret.”
“Well, find out,” Hubbard shouted. “What kind of idiot are you if you can’t have the merest notion of initiative?”
Braxton shrank back against the verbal onslaught.
One of Braxton’s colleagues raised his hand hesitantly. “I-I have heard rumors,” he said tentatively, “about a company called Candle Fire.”
“Where is it?” Hubbard snapped.
“North London, I think. I don’t have the security level to know more than that.”
Hubbard laughed and tapped his shoulder. “I do.”
The scientist let out a thin smile and nervously watched the general’s facial tick as Hubbard laughed. The general checked his watch, turned, and gleefully made his way out.
Braxton patted the scientist on the shoulder and sighed with relief. “Well done, Ronnie.”
Hubbard checked the transcribed address against the dull and innocuous building. There were several CCTVs, but nothing unexpected for a corporate office. The granite walls looked impenetrable, and the front entrance was locked and barred. Several rounds had been fired into the bulletproof glass, but had failed to break it. Two soldiers had found a large piece of masonry and thrown it at the glass, which finally cracked after half a dozen attempts. But it revealed an imposing steel sheet.
Hubbard and Williams looked at each other.
“Is it suspicious that a building in central London is this heavily fortified?” Williams said.
Hubbard placed his hands on his hips. “I want to know what’s inside. We need a battering ram.”
“The Imperial War Museum is about ten minutes away. They’ve got a Little Willie.”
Hubbard gave him a puzzled look.
“A Mark I tank. A World War I tank with no electrics,” Williams said. “It’s all mechanical. It could still work.”
“Are you going to jumpstart it?”
“They crank. It’s basically an old diesel tractor. We’ll need to rig up a mechanism to turn it over, but it’s doable.”
“Get it sorted. The men can rest.”
Captain Williams set off with a small task force. While they were waiting, the remaining soldiers smashed the window of a corner store and scavenged for processed food.
Half an hour later Williams returned.
“Where is it?” Hubbard asked.
“It’s coming. Its top speed is two miles an hour,” Williams replied.
“Two?”
Williams shrugged. “It’s war. It was handy and you get what you get. Any successes from the front lines?”
Hubbard grunted. “They’re useless. Norton made them soft.”
“I heard some are deserting.”
“We’re better off without them.”
Around the corner crawled the ancient tank. Its movement was agonizing to watch. Gears ground and metal shrieked as it slowly ambled over the wet and broken terrain. It shuddered to a halt. The hatch opened and the sweating head of a young soldier appeared.
“Fresh air,” the young man gasped. “The fumes are killing us.”
“Get a move on,” roared Hubbard. “Smash the door down.”
The soldier reluctantly disappeared back into the tank. The engine rumbled, gears shrieked and the tank inched toward the main doors. In slow motion, the sixteen-ton machine crashed into the building, smashing glass and bending steel. The tracks fought for purchase on the slippery pavement. The engine exploded, sending a large black plume into the air.
The soldiers emerged from the tank, coughing and covered in black soot. The machine was dead, but it had buckled enough steel for the men to clamber into the building.
“Call for the brainboxes, Williams,” Hubbard told the captain.
58
THE SCIENTISTS GASPED as they entered the Candle Fire research chamber, six floors underground, through the large concrete doorway, then became nervous as they heard the ominous clunk of the round door closing behind them, followed by the grinding of metal on metal as protective bolts slid into the walls. The chamber was securely and definitely locked. No one was getting out that way.
Hubbard stood in the middle of the excavated tunnel with his hands on his hips, beaming. His eyes roamed over the vast array of equipment and weaponry.
“Oh, this will do nicely,” he said. “Merry Christmas, people.”
“General, this place has power,” Braxton said in amazement. “It hasn’t been affected by the attacks.”
“It’s a giant Faraday cage,” said one of the scientists. The others stood to one side and Distracted Ronnie came forward.
“How do you know?” Braxton said.
Ronnie pointed up at the ceiling of the chamber. “You can see the steel mesh making up the perimeter.”
“Well spotted. Crank it up. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”
Lights shone down on various Ministry of Defense insignia and security reminders. The scientists began looking over the equipment stored in the chamber and accessing data.
“What are these big hunks of junk, Braxton?” Hubbard said.
“If I’m not wrong, you’ll find they’re EM weapons.”
“This is a dirty little secret of a place. A perfect hell six floors down. I wonder what else they have here. What was it called again?”
“Candle Fire,” Braxton said.
“It’ll be a name to remember.” Hubbard stroked his hands over the enormous pieces of machinery. “This is going to be our Little Willie.”
“Do you like ‘Little Willie’?” Jones said as she walked past. The scientist let out a little smile.
“What are you implying?” Hubbard snapped at her.
“I’m not implying anything. You’ve got a Little Willie stuck halfway in the entrance and now you’re giving the same name to these. Are you a history enthusiast?”
“Listen, pleb, I’m not any kind of enthusiast. I’m sending you to the front lines.”
“Hey, stop trying to bully her,” Ronnie said.
Mason Jones swung around to face him and raised her finger. “Hey, two things. One, I can look after myself, and two, that was a pretty lame defense.” She turned back to Hubbard. “Hey, stop trying to bully me.”
“Mason is the sharpest mind on the floor,” Ronnie said. “She has contributed more than anyone to the weapons development. Without her we’d be months behind.”
Hubbard stared at Jones and relented. “Get out of my sight,” he hissed at her, “before I change my mind.�
��
The scientists settled into the facility, identifying their own areas and examining the equipment. A safety area surrounded by steel-reinforced glass was set up as a control hub.
Jones examined the machine Hubbard was caressing. A large CF-1 was painted on the side. Several thick cables flowed out from the base and away. She followed them through the facility until they ended at a small steel cage. She opened the squeaking door and entered. Someone had been in here recently. There was food, a notepad, and several sheets of paper. Jones spread the sheets out and skimmed through them. She picked up the last one and scrutinized it.
“Oh, my.” She turned and made her way directly to Braxton. “Look at these readings,” she said.
Braxton scanned the figures on the paper. He got to the bottom and turned the sheet over. It was blank. He handed it back. “And?”
“It’s a person.”
“What?” He snatched the paper back. “How is that possible?”
“Freak of nature?”
“Who is it? ‘Test subject: Cally. Researcher: Randeep,’” he read. “It’s nice that he left us the details.”
Braxton moved over to the general, waving the piece of paper. “Hubbard, we’ve found something quite extraordinary. There’s someone out there who is known by one of the Candle Fire researchers. The subject is male, his name is Cally, and he emits gamma radiation naturally.”
The general glanced up from scrutinizing his watch. He appeared to be muttering. He wiped his hand across his forehead and focused on the scientist. “In simple terms that humans can understand?”
“This person Cally is a walking EM weapon. With these readings, he could easily withstand the blasts from the enemy, and possibly attack them back.”
“We need to find him. You,” Hubbard shouted, pointing to the Indian scientist. “You all live together in the same area don’t you?”
Ronnie looked panicked, and stepped away hurriedly. “I-I live with my family, not with other scientists.”
“What’s your name?” Hubbard said.
“Me?”
“Yes, of course you. I’m pointing at you. Are you an idiot?”
“I’m, er, Ronnie,” the scientist replied.
“We call him Distracted Ronnie because he never answers his name until you poke him in the arm,” Jones said.
“Do you know where this Randeep person is?” Hubbard asked Ronnie.
“No!”
Hubbard glared at him. “How about this Cally person?”
“How would I know where the child is?”
“A child?” Hubbard’s face went white and he started to mutter. He rolled his wrist and examined his watch again. “I don’t have time for this. Find him.”
Braxton gathered the scientists together.
“Do you think this Cally could be used as a weapon?” Jones asked Ronnie.
“Experiments would need to be carried out. The readings spike occasionally. How far they spike would need to be measured, and then we could determine if it can be controlled.”
“I feel sorry for him. How are we going to find one person in a ruined city?”
“Check the readings again,” Ronnie said. “He’s a contradiction. And in physics there can’t be contradictions, only a single truth. At the moment they’re looking at Cally from the point of quantum mechanics—the very small.”
“What’s the contradiction?”
“The theory of relativity. On the relativity side he’s warping space-time around him.”
“Gravity.”
“Yes. And did you notice the box in the control cage where you found the papers?”
Jones glanced over at the box, where a sheet covered something square-shaped. “What is it?”
“They’ve got a portable detector from LIGO,” Ronnie said.
“Why would they have something like that here?”
“I think they were starting the first steps of understanding time warping. With that box we could look for, say, a test subject that’s creating a gravitational pull.”
Ronnie smiled at Mason Jones. She was highly intelligent, and pretty. But one question worried him. What damage would a walking black hole do?
Jones was impressed with Ronnie. He was remarkably smart and charming. But one question worried her. How did he know Cally was a child?
59
“WE SHOULD FIND her,” Cally said.
“We’ve been looking.” Chambers sighed. “You don’t need to remind me at the start of every day.”
“Night.”
“Whatever.” Chambers rolled his eyes at the teen-pedantry.
“We haven’t had to sleep in the sewers. That’s something.”
“I’m not sure I’ve enjoyed lying in dead people’s beds.”
Chambers looked up at the night. The seasons had changed and rain clouds dominated the sky. The familiar London drizzle settled over them. He pulled up his hood. Cally followed suit, and the rain ran down his coat and over his survival satchel.
“Don’t walk like you’re a G,” Chambers grumbled.
“But this is our territory. We’re up here when everyone else is afraid.”
“You’re thirteen. Get over yourself. You’re not playing ‘Watchdog’. And I’m not impressed with you stealing clothes.”
“Who’s going to buy it? It’s all going to burn anyway,” Cally said.
“Stop with the doomspeak. It’s getting real old.”
“But we really need to find Tracy.”
“How about this. Today—tonight—we’re going to do something different. I’ve got an address I want to check out.”
“Whose is it?”
“A person of interest.”
“Is it a friend?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Your crew?”
“No.”
“Your girlfriend—oh, that’s right.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. We should find Tracy.”
“If you say that one more time today I’m going to slap you.”
“Tonight,” Cally muttered.
“Why can’t you just do that thing you do and find where she’ll be in the future?”
“It hurts. And it doesn’t work like that. What’s the most painful thing that’s ever happened to you?”
“I was attacked once and hospitalized for three months,” Chamber said. “Painful enough for you?”
“Oh.”
They made their way along the dark, deserted streets, scrambling over rubble, occasionally stopping at small shops to collect supplies. They crossed a small common that had been wrecked beyond use by local gangs. Cally stepped closer to Chambers as they walked over the open ground.
“When are we going to get there?”
“Now,” Chambers said.
They looked up to an old council flat, gray and bleak. Slogans of doom were sprayed plentifully over the visible surfaces. Apartments had been burned out, their black remains fading into the rough concrete.
“It’s a bit of a dump,” Cally said.
“It was key-worker housing for nurses, police, military and the like. It’s a great place to hide if you want to keep a low profile. And we’re looking for the top floor.”
Cally groaned.
They slowly made their way up the stairwell. Twisted bodies lay slumped on the stairs, some slaughtered brutally by enemy fire, others wiped out by gangs. Chambers felt sorry for Cally. His youth was being ripped away by the horrors of conflict.
“You ever kill anybody?”
“I’m a police officer. Why would I kill someone?”
“I thought the cops were always doing that kind of stuff. Then people riot.”
“Shut up.”
Chambers knocked on the door. There was no response. He looked out over the surrounding buildings and saw giant robots roaming the streets, dark and menacing in the blackness of a rainy night.
He knocked again. No response. He tr
ied the door handle. It was unlocked and opened easily under his grip. “Careful, what’s inside may be pretty ill,” Chambers said.
They entered the apartment.
“It’s totally dark in here,” Cally said.
Chambers opened the curtains.
“Still dark,” Cally said.
Chambers searched the top of a table, but couldn’t make anything out. “Shut the curtains and strike a flare.”
Cally took out a flare and broke the seal. A pale blue light filled the room.
Chambers lunged at the curtains and dragged them closed. “Curtains first. Jeez, Cally, anyone could be out there.”
“I was going to do it.”
Chambers glared at him.
“What are we looking for?” Cally said.
Chambers looked around. The desk was clean. The bed made. Books were stacked alphabetically on the shelves. The room was squared away with military neatness. He looked in the refrigerator. There were some defrosted ration packs on the shelf, now lumps of mold.
“He was coming back but never did. Look for a diary or a calendar.”
Cally flicked idly through the books looking for Xbox games. “There’s a page of numbers,” he said. “Comes across a bit mental with the way they’re scribbled around in a circle.” He flopped down in an easy chair. “This is a pretty dull place.” He squirmed in the chair. “And not very comfortable. What’s so special about this guy anyway?”
Chambers looked up. “He’s Lieutenant Alan Henderson. He’s the person who killed your parents.”
“What? Are you crazy bringing me here?” Cally bounced in his chair. “What’s up with this piece of crap?” He stood up, ripped up the cushion and threw it across the room. A journal was jammed awkwardly into the springs.
Chambers extracted it and opened the cover. “It says six months ago he picked up a package. ‘The device is dangerous,’” he read. “‘It guides you in devious, calculated ways … No truth or duty or honor, it only wants its own destiny … I don’t want to do this … the zero stares at you like an eye. It doesn’t blink. Just watches all the time … it takes over your life, twisting you … they whisper in your ear … I found its weakness, I can be free … I spoke with my commander. He shows interest and is capable. Shame about the child.’”
