'Why don't you tell me about your day?' Sam asked gently.
Jay told her as much as she could, glad of the opportunity to think about it properly for the first time. Sam was amazed by it all. Seeing the events unfold live had not really made it real for her. Hearing her own mother recount the events from a first-hand perspective was different, very different. Her feelings on hearing the news of their arrival. Being the first human to talk to them, to hear them speak. Discussing with their representative about their reasons for coming here. Finding out what they were offering and that for very little in return. Her mother's place in history had been assured, the first interplanetary conference.
Sam started telling her mother about what she had thought, seen, and heard others say. Jay tuned it out slightly. She desperately wanted to tell her about the secret organisation just to hear her thoughts on it, but it seemed to her that now, more than ever, it was critical to keep the secret. They had been quite specific, in their own vague way; things are not what they seem.
13 Gold
11:15 11 December [16:15 11 December GMT]
Office of the Secretary-General, United Nations, New York, USA.
'They are not being at all subtle about it.' William said to his boss.
As personal assistant to Jayanti Kapoor, it had been William who, more than a month ago now, had delivered the news that aliens were going to land on Earth. Some things had changed a lot since then, but most things hadn't. People still went about their jobs, paid their bills, and worried about the future. Global peace had failed to materialise as factions still fought one another. Jay was still head of the UN and the aliens were still here, now well ensconced in the countries they had first ventured out to on the day of their arrival. One thing had changed dramatically though. The price of Gold. The first two weeks it had stayed quite steady, and then it started rising on the futures market, where gold is bought for promised delivery over the coming months. Then last week it started moving up on the spot market as well, where real gold is bought and sold in the same day. In two short weeks, the value of one troy ounce of gold had increased four-fold. The futures market was higher than that. It seemed that there was an urgent and increasing need for gold. It didn't help that the central banks were holding onto their gold reserves rather than take the opportunity to sell when the price is high. This was contrary to their stated aim of maximising the value of their reserves whilst simultaneously helping to stabilise the market.
Unfortunately, all the nations that had received Diplomatic Missions from the aliens were not disclosing anything to anyone. Not even the country of her birth, India or her country of residence, the USA. There was no official comment by any visited nation. None. Not that it really mattered to Jay, not now it was so clear what was happening. The aliens were requiring payment in gold. A lot of it. Countries were desperately digging for it, existing mines were being expanded, and old mines re-opened. Alien craft were in evidence at most of the major mines, she had the photographic evidence. However as every government with photo capable satellites had said they were “not available” William had sourced these from a “friend”, Jayanti hadn’t pressed him on that one.
William laid the satellite photos down on Jay's desk. After a cursory glance, Jay passed them across her desk to Jane. Jane and George had become her more or less constant companions at work. Jay had invited them to stay on to cover the alien story in-depth, offering them direct access to her and a promise to be as open as possible. Jane picked up the photos and looked through them. Her keen journalistic eye casting over every detail. It wasn't necessary this time. The most obvious feature was the most important. She asked the question anyway, passing the photos to George.
'What are they building?'
'We don't know is the honest answer.' Jay replied.
'What we do know,' said William re-entering the conversation 'is that they are anywhere up to a kilometre in diameter, half a kilometre in height and over three in circumference.'
'So they are half a sphere then?' George asked rhetorically, his eyes not leaving the photographs in his hands.
'Yes, that's correct.' William replied unused to leaving any question unanswered.
'What is it made from?' Asked Jane.
'We don't know. It appears that they are being manufactured on site. If that's the right phrase. It seems that it starts out as a ring drawn on the ground, which grows ring-by-ring, smaller each time until it becomes a complete dome. We have no one who has seen one up close.'
'Why are they building them?' Jane asked. "The what" and "The how" go on the inside pages, "The why" and "The who" on the front page. The why in this case is the most important.
'We don't know that either I'm afraid.' Will replied.
'We don't know much do we?' George spoke aloud but this time there was no reply.
'I need more information.' Jay said, looking directly at Jane. 'It seems to me that this would be an interesting story. One which any journalist would be keen to take on. What do you think?'
'But I don't work for you.'
'I know.' Jay replied. 'I'm not suggesting that you do. It's just that this seems like the sort of thing a journalist such as yourself would take on and if you were to find out some information I would be grateful if you would share it with me.'
'How grateful?'
'I would be in your debt.'
Those were magic words to Jane. Owing a debt to a journalist was something no politician entered into lightly, especially one so closely connected to international diplomacy as the UN. To have the Secretary-General owe you a debt was a prize indeed.
'OK. I'll get approval to proceed. It'll take a few days and in the meantime there is someone I want to speak to first.' Jane shook Jay's hand, unsure as to whether the bargain was even and if not who was favoured by it.
The door closed behind Jane and George. Jay turned to Will and asked,
'OK. What's next?'
'Well we still haven't heard anything about the Israeli-Palestinian talks. The representatives simply disappeared. The bodies of the American host and the security guards have been flown home, quietly. The Mexican's are still insisting it was a drugs bust, and a good one at that. They probably skipped town and have returned home, even though both governments say No, or they died in the raid and the Mexican's are being coy. Lastly, they might be stuck in the Mexican penal system under their assumed identities. God help them if that's the case.'
'Fine. Next.' Jay said, aware that this was one more thing she couldn't do anything about.
08:10 11 December [14:10 11 December GMT]
Reclusorio Norte Prison, Mexico City, Mexico.
There was unease in the prison. Leroy estimated that a quarter of the prisoners had been transferred already. The talk was of more to come. No one knew where they went, not even the guards apparently, but speculation was rife. The timing of it coming so close to the arrival of aliens could just be chance, but most prisoners didn’t have much faith in chance. Leroy was not one of them; he knew that he was here because of chance events. Even so, a part of him knew it had to be connected to the aliens. How, he didn't know, but he doubted that it would be in a good way.
He had managed to stay fit, relatively. He knew his diet would benefit from more fresh food, especially fruit and vegetables, but he was getting the best anyone could in the prison. He was also unmolested. The protection offered by his new “friends” Saeb and Benjamin, was both fair and genuine. He had seen one man dragged off by the “girls’ gang” in his first week and had no intention of being one of them. The “girls’ gang” were mostly lifers, some already preferred men when they went inside, others went that way through frustration and anger. Gang rape was one of the most challenging aspects of prison life.
Time for roll call. Leroy stepped outside of his cell onto the landing to be counted. The other inmates were not as numerous as when he had first arrived. The roll call done they marched down the stairs and assembled on the ground floor. Time for work detail. A
round one in five was called forward, Leroy amongst them.
'Vaya a la yarda del ejercicio.'
Report to the exercise yard, Leroy translated in his mind, this can't be good, that's where the others went. The exercise yard was a large concrete affair, marked out for various sports and having a free-weights area; it lacked any charm or warmth. It baked in the summer and froze in the winter, but it provided respite for any inmate from the confines of their cell. Leroy wanted to be back in his cell right now. Safe. It was a strange thought to feel that his cell provided safety, but it provided familiarity and that was the only safety that he could feel in this place. Two prisoner transfer buses pulled into the prison. Leroy and his fellow inmates fell silent, all too aware that they would be getting on them, destination unknown.
It felt strange to Leroy to be leaving the prison behind. He didn't like the prison, its regime, or anything much about it. The fear of the unknown was much worse though. His was the second bus, travelling behind the first on the remote and dusty roads. Two hours into the journey, they pulled into a lay-by behind an unmarked van. The tension on the bus rose, even the hardened lifers were worried. The seconds ticked by. A tall, fit man, who looked in his thirties, wearing what appeared to be a dark suit without a tie, walked to the door of the bus, the driver opening it for him. Next to the man was a prisoner, he climbed onto the bus behind him, his demeanour was of someone on death row. Afraid yet resigned to his fate. A short conversation ensued with the result that the driver left the bus, the prisoner taking his place. It was then that they appeared. Two armed aliens. Just like the ones, which they had seen on the news a month before. The ones in body armour and full face helmets. They looked over the prisoners on the bus and the bus fell silent. They looked to the back of the bus where Leroy was sitting; it felt like a cold dark shadow had passed over him. He had never felt so alone. So far from home. So helpless.
The prison guards left the bus, the door hissing closed behind them. One of the prisoners sprang to his feet, shouting.
'Where the hell are you taking us?'
The alien closest to him hit in full in the face with the butt of his rifle. The prisoner's face exploded in a sea of blood as he fell backwards, slumping unconscious into his seat. The man in the suit spoke to the prisoner driver, who stood up and spoke to the bus.
'You need to be calm and not resist. These guys do not follow any of our rules. Just relax and follow instructions.'
Leroy could feel the tears welling up inside him. He had never felt this afraid before, not even when the robber had his gun pointed at him. Then he knew what the robber wanted. He had no idea what these aliens wanted. The bus pulled off without further incident. No one attended to the injured prisoner.
10:45 11 December [16:45 11 December GMT]
La Guitarra Mine, Nr. San Simon de Guerrero, 60 miles south west of Mexico City.
The prisoners saw the huge glittering dome a long way off; as they drew closer, it became apparent that it was to be their final destination. The sunlight reflected off the dome bathing the surrounding area in reddish, golden light. The convoy paused briefly outside whilst an opening resolved itself in the side of the dome.
Now they could see where they had arrived. It was unmistakably a working mine. Muted conversations broke out amongst the prisoners. They could see that most of the workers were prisoners like them. There were also a lot of aliens. They have to be soldiers, Leroy thought. It was obvious really as they were organised in units, some marching around, others manning posts. There also appeared to be civilian mine workers there as well. The scale of the operation was immense. Whatever the aliens want, they want a lot of it. The bus drew past a gang of prisoners, recognisable in their prison issue clothes. Those on the bus could now finally see their faces. They didn't look well; all looked exhausted without a glimmer of hope in their eyes. The shadow of death lingered over them.
As the convoy came to a standstill, the driver stood and ordered them to get off the bus and assemble in two rows. A mineworker stood in front of them, a suited alien, recognisable from the translation device in his ear, next to him. Leroy noticed that the mineworker also had the same device, partially obscured by his hard hat; he guessed that the alien was going to monitor what the mineworker said.
'I am Manuel and I am the foreman for this mine. You are no longer on Mexican soil. This has been designated a diplomatic site under the authority of the Sunarr. You have been leased to the Sunarr by the Mexican government. You will work here and remain here until you have served your sentence. You have no rights here. No one can visit you here, not even your lawyer. If you work hard, you will be fed. If you resist in any way, you and the man next to you will be killed. Work hard and fit in. Now follow me to your work detail.'
Leroy's day had just gotten a hell of a lot worse. Diplomatic status means no Geneva Convention. No protection of any kind. He was at the complete mercy of these aliens, these Sunarr, and he doubted whether they would show any mercy. He followed the prisoner in front, as they were led away. He was relieved to see some familiar faces, especially those of Saeb and Benjamin, even that of Chuck in a strange way. He couldn't yet speak to them though, too far away for a whispered conversation, which seemed to be the only type permitted, he knew instinctively not to move from his allocated work place. He told himself to wait until there was a food break, hoping that it would provide the opportunity he sought.
'How long have you been here?' Leroy asked Saeb and Benjamin.
'A week. I think.' Benjamin answered for them both, Saeb guzzling some much-needed water.
'You know,' Leroy continued, 'that we are most likely going to die here.'
'We have thought about that.' Said Saeb, joining the conversation. 'Whether it is through hunger, disease, maltreatment or worse, I would say that none of us will leave this place alive.'
'Have you managed to contact anyone on the outside?'
'No,' replied Saeb sighing deeply, 'none. We have tried to negotiate getting a message out with a couple of the mineworkers, but neither of them wanted to know. It seems that they are very well paid, their pay is linked to the gold price, and that has gone up hugely, apparently. That's what this place is by the way, a gold mine. I don't know what the Sunarr want it for but it seems that they won't let anything get in their way. Tell me, is it day or night?'
'It's day time.' Leroy replied, taken aback. He looked around. There was no sun in the sky, no clouds; he had forgotten that he was in a dome. The light had not changed since he arrived.
'I know it seems funny.' Saeb continued, 'but they run a three shift system and it always appears to be daytime. We assume that each shift is eight hours and we have done seven shifts so we have probably been here for seven days. But it's hard to be sure.'
'We've got to get out of here.' Leroy said, pleading with them more than anything.
'Great,' Benjamin replied, 'you call a taxi and I'll pack a lunch.'
The gallows humour sunk Leroy’s spirits further.
'Seriously,' Benjamin continued, 'just look around you. We are in a dome, made of some alien material, with no doors or windows and there are dozens of armed aliens here. We can't communicate directly with them, so we have no idea what they say. Moreover, if we did get out, where would we go? We would be escaped prisoners, on the run with nowhere to go.'
'So we just sit here and rot.'
'No, we wait, observe, and plan. We also organise. If we are ever to break out of here, we will need the help of other prisoners, a lot of them. We will also need outside support and that means getting a message out. We need to get the cooperation of at least one of the mine workers.'
'Who are you guys?' Leroy asked, for the first time seeing their steely resolve and precise planning.
'We are,' Saeb began, searching for the right words and looking for Benjamin's unspoken agreement, 'We are friends who share a common aim. We are men of conscience. We are men of war.'
Break over they returned to their respective work assignment
s. Benjamin's mind reflected on the conversation, mainly on Saeb's final statement. He thought about the secret journal he was keeping. He and Saeb both had pads smuggled in when they were in the prison; Benjamin had simply had two brought in for himself. One was his copy of their peace negotiations. The other was a personal diary; how he had come to be here, how his relationship with Saeb had developed and continued to develop. If other Jews could see the humanity in this Palestinian, then they maybe they could see it in all Palestinians. He was embarrassed about the early entries, but rather than erase them he kept them and corrected them as his attitude changed. It was important, he felt, that if anyone ever read it they should understand not only his background and that of Saeb's but of the journey, the two of them have been on together.
When I first met Saeb Tibi, he was exactly what I expected. An arrogant, self-important Arab who, undoubtedly responsible for the deaths of many innocent Israelis, showed no remorse. Had I not been chosen to represent Israel in the secret negotiations, ordered really, I would not have sat in the same room as he, let alone converse with him. He gave no significant ground at any of our meetings. He saw no viewpoint other than his own. He showed nothing but contempt for me.
The raid by the Mexican police and the death of the Americans changed all that though. He had only myself, and I only him. We started to talk a lot, some negotiation, some conversation. We talked openly for the first time about our pasts. Neither of us, I think, bragged about those we killed; the body count put mine higher than his by a considerable margin, something that still troubles me now. We also talked a lot about those we had lost to the conflict, friends, relatives, and colleagues. I had always felt that the fight was right but the cost was too high. I had no idea that a Palestinian felt the same.
When it came to the negotiations, we hit an impasse. It seemed that thousands of years of religious history conspired against us. Out of sheer desperation, we hit upon the idea of drawing our ideal map, agreeing to ignore the stance of the other and only expressing our genuine but realistic wish for ourselves. The results were predictable. Each map showed the areas expected that each claimed. It seemed that it had gotten us nowhere. Then we hit upon the idea of merging the two maps. However, instead of the two state solution we expected to see, we saw three distinct states contained within one country. The State of Israel and The State of Palestine would both be self-determining the third state would be the State of Jerusalem; this would be a tripartite self-governing state that would also govern the country as an external entity.
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