by A J Marshall
“But can’t you resuscitate viruses, Matthew?” Professor Nieve asked, as microbiology wasn’t his field. “Certain strains have been known to survive for millennia and in extremely inhospitable conditions!”
Professor Varela shook his head. “Unfortunately that is no longer possible,” he replied. “When we realised what we were dealing with and to prevent any accidents, we radiated the cells with gamma rays to ensure all life processes were terminated.”
“To sum this up then,” Richard interjected. “The Ark of the Light, before it was recently cleaned and renovated, contained a dormant strain of influenza virus that humankind has no resistance to and also samples of the bacteria that causes bubonic plague?”
Varela nodded. “That is correct,” he said.
“Okay . . . let’s go further with this.” Richard rubbed his brow and then ran his hand over his head. “The Ark was built by the ‘old people’ . . . we know this because the materials used in its construction are not to be found on planet Earth. The old people were colonists and believed to originate from a planet in the Sirius B system – let’s not mention the irrefutable historical evidence at this point – and the Enigma, a spacecraft controlled by the malevolent computer EMILY, is now in orbit having returned from a round trip to Homer, the planet referred to by the old people as their home planet.” Richard paused at the realisation. “Then you were right to raise the alarm, Professor Varela. I’d say we have a problem alright . . . a big problem . . . one the size of the Enigma in fact!”
General Roper raised his hand. “Hold on!” he implored. “Before we press the button on this and cause worldwide panic. We do not know why these ‘colonists’ left the planet they called Homer.” He looked at Professor Nieve.
“We know that Sirius B was a normal star that gradually turned into a red giant. Radiation output from stars undergoing these death throes increases markedly and the physical dimensions of the star similarly. But this does not happen overnight. It is a gradual process taking many thousands of years. However, as we understand it, all life on a planet such as Homer would die quite early in the process.”
“How long would a civilisation survive after discovering that their star was becoming a red giant?”
“That is a very difficult question to answer, General, because there are so many variables; much depends on the complexity of the civilisation.”
“Make a qualified guess please, Professor.”
Professor Nieve thought for a moment. “The atmospheric temperature would increase at a prescribed rate – slowly at first and then accelerating as greenhouse gasses increased. Radiation levels would also increase. Eventually the protective layers, such as the Van Allen belts around our planet, would break down and high energy cosmic radiation would reach the surface. Thereafter everything would die – even at relatively deep subterranean levels.”
“So how long?”
Professor Nieve shook his head. “How long is a piece of string?”
“Please Professor,” pressed the General, “give us a ball park figure . . . five hundred years . . . ? More? Less?”
“In the case of the Sirius system, where we have a good deal of astronomical data, I would estimate a century at most.”
“So if the civilisation inhabiting such a planet has not already ventured into Space at that point, you would expect there to be a concerted effort to do so.”
“We are ourselves living proof of what can be achieved in a mere century, General Roper.”
“If it was to take longer than that . . . say, five hundred years,” someone else started, “then what would be the first effects?”
“We have run numerous simulations over the years in an effort to ascertain the effects on Earth should the solar radiation output from our sun increase. We found in all cases that there was a blooming of microbiological activity as a result of the initial increase in temperature. An increase of one to five degrees Celsius is all it takes and then the micro-organism populations go viral, so to speak.”
“You include bacteria as well as viruses in that group?”
“Yes, of course. Here on Earth, for example, our environment would be swamped by harmful as well as helpful bacteria and viruses. The most deadly strains of pathogens would increase proportionally to other micro-organisms, perhaps more so. The present human population of this planet is more than sixteen billion, infection would spread very quickly.”
“Is that why these colonists left their home planet?”
“It is possible, General, yes. But more likely they left because of the temperature and radiation increase. As I said, the viral and bacterial manifestation would be consequential, and this higher concentration is essentially, and probably quite accurately, recorded in the sample from the Ark.”
“Could we get back to our specific concern?” asked the UK’s Health Minister. She was a woman in her late fifties. “What confronts us has the potential to be more than a pandemic. From your simulation, Professor Varela, should such a pathogen be released in our atmosphere, what would the results be and in what time frame?”
“That’s an easy question, Madame,” replied Varela. “The entire population of the Earth would be eradicated within a month.”
There was a collective gasp.
“Sorry, but that’s my position on it,” Varela continued. “As I said, there would be no time to acquire immunity or develop a vaccine. As a virulent strain of flu the infection would sweep through the world’s population unabated. There would be no place to hide. The subterranean colonies would be incubators.”
“And that’s it?”
Professor Varela shrugged. “Some small mammals may survive; those who live in isolation – probably on islands. It would be like the end of the dinosaur era, when the meteorite collided with the Earth and formed the Gulf of Mexico. This planet would eventually repopulate with other species that had a natural immunity. In time a new dominant species would evolve – they may be like us, they may not.”
That disclosure kicked off numerous conversations – some between members of the panel and some in their vicinity. Gradually, the volume increased. Richard checked the time; it was less than an hour to his planned take-off. He would have no influence on the meeting’s outcome. Even if the panel made a decision it would need to go to the Federation Council for final approval. Damned bureaucracy, he thought, unless something was done quickly, EMILY will have her revenge.
Richard pressed a button on his panel that called Peter Rothschild. Rothschild, in London, gave Richard his attention. “Peter, I’ve got a humanitarian flight at twenty-one hundred hours,” he explained. “Over to the Cityport – patients for specialist treatment in Guy’s Hospital. I’m not required here anymore so I’m leaving . . . okay?”
Rothschild nodded his approval and then turned back to his previous conversation.
As Richard established a high orbit and reprogrammed the navigation computer with coordinates for the re-entry phase, he suddenly saw the Enigma appear on the horizon from behind the Earth. She was an impressive sight; her massive, ominous, dark grey hull and those long, thin, characteristic thrust tubes. She was far too distant for Richard to pick out any detail and with the sun behind her she was primarily in silhouette, but he somehow sensed that EMILY had her laser initiator trained on him and he began to feel decidedly uneasy.
Richard was about to call Canaveral in order to coordinate his re-entry when out of the corner of his eye on the left side of the Ares, and way below, he saw a small servicing vessel zoom past. The vessel was on a direct course for the Enigma. He was surprised. Clearly no decision had been reached by the Federation as to the contamination issue and a rendezvous was still on the cards. He tracked the small spacecraft as it passed from the Southern Hemisphere to the Northern Hemisphere and sped towards the great hulk. A bright white stroboscopic flash every ten seconds made the vessel stand out against the reflective cloud as it neared the edge of the Earth’s disc.
Richard selected the frequency alloca
ted by Space Control to the Enigma – a dedicated frequency for orbital coordination and general communications. He listened for a few minutes, but all was silent. He knew how important the Enigma was to the Federation for ongoing research and future Space missions, and also there was the prohibitive cost of replacing her, but surely their intentions were not to placate EMILY – or humour her for the sake of her technology and experience. Surely they couldn’t ignore the fact that she had swept through the atmosphere of the planet Homer, and may now be contaminated with a deadly virus. Delaying a move against her – even a precautionary move – is like playing with fire, he thought. Richard looked at Yannick, his co-pilot, and nodded his approval to commence the re-entry profile. Moments later the autopilot selected five degrees nose down.
Passing over the East Coast of Iceland at 86,000 feet on a course for London, and with Enigma’s Space frequency still selected, Richard was paying attention to his instruments when suddenly there was an anxious radio transmission: “Terminate Docking Sequence. Initiate Abort Code 666. No contact. Do you copy? No contact.”
Richard knew exactly who that transmission was directed at. Something had happened! Someone on the Federation Council seeing sense at last, he speculated. If so they had certainly left it late, as Abort Code 666 was an emergency directive. Richard turned his attention to the approach phase as the Ares disappeared into cloud. They would land in fifteen minutes and Richard would call Rothschild.
No sooner was Richard in the terminal building when his telepager rang. He pulled it from the breast pocket of his flight suit and looked at the small screen to see Rothschild’s name flashing.
“Yes, Peter.”
“There’s a car waiting for you – outside ‘Arrivals’. Come to my office please . . . quickly!”
Richard attracted the attention of his young co-pilot, Yannick Vuylsteke, who was arranging a refuel with the handling agent. Richard pointed to his chronometer and raised a finger indicating one hour. Yannick nodded and Richard promptly left the building.
There were three black sedans outside the Arrivals Hall. As Richard approached them, the hazard lights on the leading vehicle flashed a few times and Richard quickly climbed into the back of it. The sedan’s wheels screeched as it pulled away. Richard was settling in for the twenty-minute drive when his pager rang again.
“I’m on my way, Peter . . . What’s happening?”
Rothschild seemed uncharacteristically flustered. “The Council decided to abort the rendezvous,” he answered. “Until the contamination question could be clarified. The servicing vessel was alongside when it aborted the docking sequence. As it changed course, EMILY vaporised it with her laser.”
“What!”
“Nobody could believe it. General Roper has declared it an open act of aggression and launched an attack!”
“Bloody hell! But with what?”
“There’s not much available. Sentinel Wing has around five Delta Class fighters remaining; they are already engaging.”
Richard closed his eyes and held the bridge of his nose. “Not Doug Winton . . .” he mumbled.
“What did you say?”
“I said it’s suicide, Peter. We all know it’s suicide.”
“And there is something else!” said Rothschild, after a pause of realisation.
“What is it?”
“There had been no answer from EMILY on the radio, despite frequent calls by Space Control on a dedicated frequency – but EMILY spoke a few minutes ago.”
“Go on!”
“I’ve got a recording . . . I’ll play it to you.”
Richard listened intently.
“You may now know my intentions, but you cannot stop me. Soon the entire human race will be eradicated.” EMILY’s synthetic voice seemed surreal, but it was also laced with spite and malice.
“That’s it?”
“That is all of it. She has said nothing else since. Look, Richard, the Federation are unsure of their next move – we are very poorly placed. Do you have any ideas?”
“Is there another way that she can get the virus to the surface?”
“The Council asked the same question . . . Professor Nieve told them that there are atmospheric sample pods on board.”
Richard leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. When Richard had his attention he turned his finger in a circle and pointed back the way they had come and gestured with his head, and then he flopped back in his seat and thought for a moment.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, Peter, I’m here. I’ve got a plan. It’s a long shot, but it’s better than nothing. We are turning around. I’m going back. Call the Handling Agent at the Cityport. Get a message to my co-pilot to prepare the Ares for flight. I’ll call you back!”
CHAPTER 31
Powerless
Richard was already halfway out of the door when the sedan screeched to a halt. He ran towards a set of double doors that had a bold sign overhead reading: ‘VIP Departures’. He leaped the three sets of stone steps leading up to them in as many strides. A security guard stepped aside as the doors opened automatically and Richard ran into the building. He stopped momentarily to get his bearings but Peter Rothschild had made the requested call and consequently an executive approached Richard immediately.
“This way, sir,” she said and pointed to another door on the opposite side of the foyer. It had a sign over it that read: ‘Royal Access’.
The route through security and immigration lay wide open and when Richard cleared those departments the woman opened a staff access door that allowed Richard onto the apron. He sprinted towards the shuttle. The auxiliary power unit was already running and Richard knew that Yannick had already commenced the flight prep. It will be difficult to say no to the young man this time, Richard thought. He quickly glanced at the structure of the S2 as he approached, checking for any obvious panels left open, or ground equipment still attached, but all seemed in order and he subsequently leapt up the short flight of personnel steps. Turning to press a button that raised the steps, Richard shouted: “Yannick, get onto the tower, we need to start clearance . . . and an unrestricted climb to fifty per cent elliopheric!”
“Aye aye, sir!” was the reply.
Richard checked the door mechanism and the green light that signified its correct closure and then he rushed through a doorway and along the short, narrow, corridor that led into the flight deck. Yannick was in his seat on the right-hand side, fully kitted and with his helmet on the cowling next to him. He turned. Richard knew that expectant expression only too well.
“This is going to be dangerous . . . we may not . . .”
“Prestart checks completed, Commander. All systems green. And I have start clearance . . .”
“Okay, Yannick, you’re on – start the engines!” said Richard, nodding his approval. Richard climbed into his seat and began strapping in.
“I’m to call back for take-off clearance, sir.”
Richard nodded again. “Copied,” he said, and made a selection on his communications panel that opened a satellite telecom link. He pressed a series of keys on the panel and dialled in Mubarakar’s mobile telephone number. It rang for several seconds but there was no answer. “Damn it!”
“Starting number two,” said Yannick.
Richard pressed another key on the panel and selected “Open speaker”. He redialled Mubarakar’s number – again there was no answer. This time Richard let it ring. He set about connecting his life support system and checked his oxygen supply. The double ringtone reverberated around the flight deck. To Richard it seemed to grow louder each time, like an assertion of failure. He shook his head. “Damn it!” he complained. Yannick looked at him with a troubled expression. Richard quickly dialled another number. After a few ringtones someone picked up.
“Rothschild!”
“Peter, Richard here, lift-off in two minutes but I can’t get hold of Mubarakar . . . What’s the situation?”
“General Roper has sent
what’s left of Sentinel Wing against EMILY, but she’s destroyed three fighters and sent two home badly damaged. There’s not much else . . .”
“For God’s sake, why? It’s suicide against that laser system, we all know that. It’s designed to pinpoint Space debris in the ship’s path when she’s travelling at light-related speeds; it’s the most potent weapon system ever . . . all he’s done is played our hand . . . and it’s a losing one!”
“This is life and death! They will throw everything they have at her.”
“Where is the Enigma now?”
“Wait a minute . . . I have a monitor linked to mission control in Canaveral and an open line to the General.” There was a pause. “Apparently, she is over the United States at seventy-two per cent elliopheric. Her orbital concentricity is decreasing. Roper says that when she reaches fifty-eight per cent she will release whatever it is that contains the pathogens.”
“Both engines started and in the green, sir,” said Yannick.
“Good, start the retros! Go on, Peter.”
“Professor Nieve has recalled the serial numbers of the atmospheric sample pods that Enigma carried on her inventory during her maiden voyage. I’m told that they are a Type Four. For such flightless vehicles to reach the surface without overheating there is a specific re-entry profile. However, this type of profile has very narrow parameters. It was originally devised to return satellites to Earth when their power cells were depleted.”
“Yes, I know of it . . .”
“Canaveral Centre has recalculated those re-entry coordinates . . .”
“And . . .”
“The S2 cannot track a Type Four, Richard, the profile is too steep – your ship would break up.”
“What about the laser? Selected to manual?”
Rothschild paused again to check data. “Canaveral has run the simulation. They said it would be a lucky shot – the fate of humankind on a lucky shot!”
