'How would I proceed?'
'Well, if you are genuinely interested I would submit an application on your behalf, if they thought you worthy, which I'm sure they would, they would then be a round of interviews before down selection at which stage you and the other candidates would submit your research proposals.'
'I see' Sam reflected, somewhat down cast, 'I didn't realise that there would be such a rigorous selection process, silly I know, but I just sort of thought that something would be there waiting for me to say I want to do it'.
'Try not to worry I'm sure you'll do just fine.'
They talked for nearly an hour; she left still unsure as to whether she was doing the right thing. I have to trust the professor though, she thought.
19:20 28 October [00:20 29 October GMT]
Residence of the Secretary-General, East 57th Street, New York.
Jay arrived home tired, confused, and not a little angry. She poured herself a drink and sat down in the drawing room. She hadn't been able to concentrate all day. Not since her trip to the windowless room. That changed everything. Everything. Had the previous Sec-Gen been told? Who else knows? Who are the group? So many questions, she had no one to talk to about them, this was for her alone. She refilled her glass. She tried to think about what she could do positively with the information she now had in her possession. I am to tell no one. They made that very clear. The implied threat to her life had lingered in the air, tainting the conversation. I cannot change the UN's activities based on what I now know. Why had they told her, she had asked. Because we need you to know, but they refused to say why. Their message was that there was more to know and that she might be told at some unspecified point in the future. Great, she had thought, fantastic. I am privileged with the most important information in human history and I can't tell anyone or do anything.
Jay refilled her glass again and thought about what she could do, rather than that which she had been told she couldn't. I need more information, she thought, I need to understand this better, to understand how this happened and what effect it has had. My every move is probably being monitored, she realised that from what they had said, how others in her position had not been told. That could only mean that the group had determined some of her predecessors to be unsuitable based on first-hand accounts. This means they must have a team of people at their disposal. People, she laughed out loud at that, who report to an organisation outside of any single country's authority. Just like the UN, she realised.
Jay drained her glass, and setting it aside resolved to learn everything thing she could, secretly, that would help her make sense of what she now knew. As she headed up the stairs to retire, she couldn't help reflect that just twenty-four hours earlier she was almost overwhelmed by her new role as Sec-Gen, now she was nostalgic for its simple complexities.
20:15 29 October [01:15 30 October GMT]
Residence of the Secretary-General, East 57th Street, New York.
The following evening saw her chauffeur draw the Mercedes alongside her house. Jay reflected on her day, it had been even more fraught than previous days. Department and committee heads had been holding off on flooding her diary with appointments, allowing her a generous couple of days to orientate herself in her new role. The unofficial honeymoon was now over and her day had comprised almost entirely of back-to-back meetings. At least I've made a start on my research, not much of one but it's something, she thought. The truth was that she had achieved precious little in real terms. The trouble she had found was that there is so much to learn and she didn't know where best to start, every question answered brought up five or ten more questions, and each of those the same. Jay just wanted some basic information, just to be able to get a handle on where she needed to focus her energies. Her chauffeur opened her car door and carried her briefcase up and into the house. Jay followed, lost in thought.
As Jay walked through the lobby she was greeted by the aroma of freshly cooking Spanish sausage, Chorizo, she thought, that means Sameena is cooking Jambalaya. Jay suddenly remembered the message that she had received from her daughter, I'm making dinner tonight have great news. Jambalaya was Sam's speciality, she had her own recipe adapted from many others and refined over the years, Jay realised her mouth was starting to water at the thought and smell of it. She slipped off her coat and headed for the kitchen.
Sam, she saw, was perched on one of the breakfast stools, her right leg crossed over her left, her right foot wrapped into her left ankle, coiled as if she was ready to strike. Jay knew this position, Sam was excited about something and combined with the cooking and the cigarette she was smoking it had to be important. Jay picked up the second glass of wine from the table sniffed it noting that Sam had opened one of the better wines. This must be something very good indeed.
'I want to thank you.’ Sam said simply.
'What for?’ Jay replied, aware that there was an awful lot for which her daughter should be grateful.
'I went to see my old professor yesterday, you remember Professor Bonas right? Well I have applied for a PhD only I didn't realise how long they normally take, but, well....'
Jay could see her losing her thread. 'What is it dear?'
'Well, I've actually been accepted to research the effects of sensory deprivation on deep space travel for NASA and the JPL.’ Sam finally blurted out. 'It usually takes several months with interviews, submissions, selection days and the like but the Professor has some friends and they just went with his recommendation.' Sam beamed at her mother, her self-confidence, and plain joy manifestly evident.
'That's wonderful dear' Jay replied, 'you must tell me all about it.'
In all her deliberations, Jay had forgotten the fountain of scientific knowledge that lived under the same roof as her. Jay would have stayed up anyway to listen to her daughter talk about her new research project, but now she had both a personal and a professional interest in what her daughter said.
They talked all though their meal and late into the evening. Jay was eager to hear everything, the size of the universe, the relative distances between stars, galaxies, and other heavenly bodies. Sam was surprised at how interested her mother was, but seeing the opportunity, she talked at length. Jay did her best to keep up, but when she got lost, Sam would pause to explain that subject better. At last, sleep called to them and they retired to bed.
Jay couldn’t sleep her mind processing all the information she had gleaned from her daughter. She was amazed at how much her daughter knew; more amazed still at how much there is to know and how much nobody knows. Not quite nobody, Jay corrected herself. The distances were overwhelming. Jay had raised the question of UFO's. Sam dismissed them completely.
The first point is the distances involved. They are so large, Sam had told her, they cannot be counted in kilometres, or miles, scientists use light years or parsecs. A light year being the distance light travels in one year, which at three hundred thousand kilometres or one hundred and sixty eight thousand miles a second is very great indeed. A parsec, apparently and for some reason Jay didn’t follow was equal to three point two six light-years. Distances in our galaxy, Sam had explained, are generally measured in kilo-parsecs, that is, thousands of parsecs.
Sam’s second point was speed. Given that the distances are so incredibly large and that nothing can exceed the speed of light then travel times at that speed are going to be long, literarily years to travel even to our closest star. However, the speed of a rocket is much, much less. They travel at around sixteen to seventeen kilometres per second against light at three hundred thousand kilometres per second. This would mean that at rocket speed our closest star is in excess of seventeen thousands years travelling time away.
Sam’s third, and she considered conclusive point, was energy. The energy required to propel a vessel at a speed that would make a journey practical over the distances required would be truly immense. The energy, or fuel, required to propel that same vessel and all the fuel it required to carry for the journey would be
orders of magnitude greater. Sam had likened it to a person driving a hundred times around the world, never stopping to re-fuel, the extra weight of the fuel required to drive three hundred thousand miles would necessitate more fuel, and that extra weight more fuel still. Then the engine would need to be huge to pull the weight of all that fuel plus the tanker in which it would be stored. Then there would be the weight of all the food and water, again as the driver would not be stopping. The energy required to move all that food and water. The energy required to heat and light the vehicle. Then all this would have to be multiplied by the number of people, which on a space vehicle could be significant.
Sam had left Jay with the distinct impression, “fact” Sam called it, that UFO's are not from other worlds, they are just unexplained. Jay was left to ponder either aliens are very advanced or we have gotten some fundamental things wrong.
5 Negotiations
17:42 27 October [14:42 27 October GMT]
Kubinka Military Airbase, Kubinka District, 82 km outside Moscow, Russia.
The plane taxied along the landing strip, guided by the ground crew to a specially allocated spot, it came to a rest away from most of the Russian Air Force planes based there. General Sam Colt looked out of the window, not really expecting to see anything special, but he thought what the hell, I'm here anyway...
Sam had seen satellite photos of Kubinka, detailed maps of the airbase and the surrounding area. He knew the approximate number of personnel stationed here. In short, he knew a lot. This however was his first visit to this airbase. Whilst its proximity to Moscow made it convenient for travel, they could have been scheduled into one of the civilian airports Shermeytov or Domodedovo. The Russians are making a point, he thought, allowing a US aircraft to land at one of the most prestigious Russian military airports was declaring, we are not frightened and we have nothing to hide. Sam made a mental note to thank them for the permission to land here and on the efficiency of the airport.
General Sam Colt is a soldier’s soldier; tough, keen, fearless. ‘The Hammer’ as he is known, has that rare ability amongst enlisted men to be equally capable on both the tactics and strategy of war. Never one to walk away from a fight, he had never been one to start one either. Starting fights, he had always contended, was the job of the politicians, they decide who the neighbourhood bully is, and the Hammer pays them a visit. The Hammer’s visits were supported by his Army Group and normally occurred after an initial visit from the 102nd Airborne, but the Hammer always liked to get involved, personally.
Sam turned his attention back to his British counterpart, General Sir Charles “Call me Charlie” Beaconsfield. Sam could never quite figure him out. Charlie came across to most people as the typical English gentleman, reserved, polite, and “soft”. Sam knew this was far from true. Although Sam had known Charlie for some considerable time, he always read up on all of the people with whom he would be negotiating. Charlie's file always made for interesting reading. The second son of the Duke of Hampshire, relations between father and son had always been quite strained, although they had softened recently. Married to Elizabeth with three children, Mark 17, William 16, and Gemma 11. A career officer, he stood out from the rest by three remarkable events. Charlie had twice been decorated for bravery under fire by risking his own life to rescue wounded colleagues. Indeed, he had never left a man behind. There was also talk of a black op he had been involved in where he had personally killed six sentries; four with a garrotte wire, one with a knife and the last with his bare hands. All of this lay beneath the surface with Charlie. His men also respect him a great deal, if Charlie took on a job there would be no end of volunteers. He also takes care of his men making sure that their kit was always up to date, and where necessary quietly purchasing out of his own pocket, just to ensure his men were always properly equipped and protected. Now one of the most senior officers in the British Armed Forces, he spends an increasingly large amount of his time fighting with government bureaucrats to try to ensure that all enlisted men have the equipment they need and deserve.
Sam could never understand this about Great Britain. The British government expected so much from its armed forces but never gave them all the necessary resources. The average British soldier was half equipped by American standards and yet, Sam was ashamed to admit it, was the better of his American counterpart in most if not all respects. Size made all the difference, he knew. The American army was just on a different scale to the British, indeed in terms of personnel only three countries could match or better America; India, China and Russia. When you factored in quality military training, you were left with Russia. Then add technical superiority and you are left with America as the superpower.
Sam knew that this couldn't last though. As a student of military history, he knew that whilst Russia was modernising, India and China were training hard, modernising as well and increasing the technological bias of their fighting forces. Global manufacturing centres, they are also pushing to the front of the technological innovation queue. Already nuclear powers, space superiority beckons them both and as their ambitions grow so too does their military-industrial complex. The next world war, thought Sam, will be fought in Asia. And in space.
The aircraft finally came to a halt and shortly after the stairs were moved to the aircraft door. Sam and Charlie disembarked, leaving the matter of their luggage to their batmen. A smart Russian salute greeted them at the bottom of the stairs, the Russian Colonel rigid, his voice regretful as he spoke.
'I am sorry to inform you that General Ivanskiy could not be here to greet you both himself.' He continued ‘I am to take you both to your hotel; the other car will take your men and luggage.'
The Colonel nodded towards a Russian Zil limousine and then towards the aircraft. 'I will come for you both in the morning at 07:45 and take you to meet the General.'
Sam and Charlie returned the salute and then shook the Colonel's hand as well. They departed the air force base in the back of the first limousine. The Russian Colonel sitting in front next to the driver thoughtfully turned on the radio. The speech by the new Secretary-General of the United Nations was being carried live, her English being near-instantaneously translated into Russian. Sam listed intently, a fluent Russian speaker it was giving him trouble listening to two languages that he spoke well, relaying the same information but in a different way and out of synchronisation. He looked over at Charlie and could tell he was having the same problem.
'What do you think to the new Sec-Gen then?’ Sam asked.
He was curious for his counterparts view but conscious that it would be stilted given their current situation. Charlie looked at the two Russians in the front of the car, then at Sam.
'She has all the credentials. When she speaks, it’s both as a person and as a politician. I think she'll do her best, but given all the history between the members of the U.N. I suspect her ability to achieve real change may be limited in scope.'
Sam acknowledged this and couldn't help think that there was a lot of the politician in Charlie, in all Brits actually.
'I guess you're right.'
08:30 28 October [05:30 28 October GMT]
MoD Building, Frunzenskaya Embankment, Khamovniki District, Moscow.
General Gregori Stephonovich Ivanskiy stood and offered his two counterparts a glass of vodka. Russians cannot mark special events without vodka, and for the General this was such an occasion. His counterparts accepted the proffered drinks and downed them in one, Russian style. They both expected that most of what would happen here today would be like an awkward first date, not much actual progress and a few, often embarrassing, misunderstandings. They had never met the Russian before, although they both knew him by his reputation, which was formidable by any standards. However, theirs were not just any standards. They were all highly respected professional soldiers, men who had reached the pinnacle of their careers by commanding men on the battlefield, and not through political connections or writing reports.
The three of them
walked over towards the conference table, a nice solid wooden structure with a mirror glass finish.
‘It’s Hungarian Oak,’ explained the General, ‘A particular favourite of mine.’
As they took their seats, the Russian General activated a switch under the table the lights dimmed and a map appeared on the table, actually projected onto the glass top. The map appeared to be extremely comprehensive, showing the topography of the countryside, roads, railway lines, towns, villages, and farms; in fact everything one could have wanted of a battlefield map. All of the labels had been thoughtfully subtitled in English.
'Very nice General,' offered Charlie in English. Charlie could have spoken in Russian, but it had been agreed that English would be the first language for this meeting.
'As you know gentlemen' General Ivanskiy continued 'the aim of this exercise is two-fold. The first is to establish how our three armies can fight effectively together and the second is to find a strategy for both defending our oil establishments and to re-take them should they be seized by hostile forces.'
General Sam Colt only just managed to stifle a laugh. The identity of the expected “hostile forces” was of no great secret, with the world’s largest standing army and sharing an enormous border with Russia, the Chinese were the only force that could be of any concern to the Russian General.
The political will needed to bring about the exercise had been immense. Military exercises are never popular with national politicians, diplomats, or bureaucrats. Politicians do not see the value in them, diplomats take the view that they can exacerbate or precipitate aggression, and bureaucrats just can’t stand their imprecise nature. They also cost money, a lot of money. Next to an actual war, a full-scale military exercise is the single most expensive activity a country can undertake. The transportation of tens of thousands of men, vehicles, equipment, and supplies to sustain an exercise of two weeks would roughly equal the entire national output of some of the world’s smaller countries for an entire year.
Dark Matter Page 7
