by Chris James
The Repulse Chronicles
Book One
Onslaught
by
Chris James
www.chrisjamesauthor.com
Also by Chris James
Science fiction novels:
The Repulse Chronicles, Book Two: Invasion
Repulse: Europe at War 2062–2064
Time Is the Only God
Dystopia Descending
Short story collections:
Stories of Genesis, Vol. 1
Stories of Genesis, Vol. 2
Stories of Genesis, Vol. 3
Available as Kindle e-books from Amazon and paperbacks from Lulu
Copyright © Chris James, 2017. All rights reserved.
Chris James asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are a figment of the author’s imagination.
ISBN: 978-0-244-93113-1
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Coming from Chris James in 2018
Chapter 1
10.07 Monday 19 December 2061
WITH ONLY MOMENTS left to live, Kaliq Zayan crouched by the hot, hard metal container and shivered despite the heat. Terror chilled his body as the port city of Jeddah receded and the vast ship on which he stowed away proceeded towards open sea. He’d heard the rumours; he knew the risk. He felt the pulse in his right temple pound against the small data-pod sewn into the agal that held the traditional keffiyeh headdress on his head.
All of his life, Kaliq had wanted to know why. His memory replayed childhood recollections of his exasperated mother and confused father. Kaliq was different from his siblings, but only his parents grasped this. After problematic schooling, an uncle secured a place for the young Kaliq at the leading Tehran technical university, and from there he’d been ‘spotted’ by a lecturer who was also a covert member of the alkhidmat alssrriat al’uwlaa, the near-mythical department of the Third Caliph’s personal secret service. This service covertly monitored Kaliq for months until, a few days before his matriculation, the lecturer had called him into his office. Two other men flanked the lecturer.
Thereafter, Kaliq regarded that day as The Day: the last day he saw his family, his friends, his fellow students. The day his life changed irrevocably in the service of the Third Caliph. His relentless inquisitiveness, and chance that his lecturer was a member of the secret service, had altered the direction of his life to ensure it would end much sooner than it should have. The men took him from Tehran along the new network of highways which crisscrossed the entire terrain of the Caliphate. On the way, they explained the vast honour Kaliq had been fortunate enough to receive: he would be set to work with the most sophisticated artificial intelligence yet created, for the glory of the Caliph. At that time, Kaliq relished his good luck.
They took him to Tazirbu, an oasis deep in the Sahara desert. Rumours of such places had abounded at his university, unconfirmed secrets whispered late in the evening, but the shock Kaliq felt when he arrived at the sprawling weapons’ production facility equalled his confusion at being removed from his studies mere days before he would complete them. The men from the alkhidmat alssrriat al’uwlaa handed him over to another man who, Kaliq later found out, was the director of the entire complex.
Kaliq’s speciality meant his responsibility would be to monitor and interrogate the super AI tasked with overseeing construction. On the second day, he underwent a medical examination which included the doctor warning him that he should not question his orders, and should know that if he ever left Tazirbu, he would not be the only one to suffer. This veiled threat unnerved the young man, but a voice deeper in his mind whispered that the threat was empty, because the benevolent Caliph would not stoop to such measures.
A few weeks after his arrival, the facility began producing hundreds of autonomous combat aircraft. Through the super AI, he found out that this facility was one of a number spread throughout Caliphate territory, and in tandem with manufacturing arms on an immense scale, millions of warriors were also being trained, and a vast army would be created to invade and fight the infidels wherever the Third Caliph decided. In combination, super AI, Chinese raw materials and modern production techniques would be used to create a martial force greater than any the world had previously seen.
As the days turned into weeks, Kaliq met others like him and formed fleeting friendships with young men who had also been removed from towns and cities across the Caliphate. These friendships cut through Kaliq’s naivety like a butcher’s knife through lamb. Soon, he understood that the veiled threats carried more than a grain of truth. His faith in the Third Caliph’s benevolence wilted before finally dying when all of them concluded that their lives were indeed in the severest danger.
Denied contact with their families and friends, they realised that what was happening at Tazirbu had to remain absolutely secret; so secret, in fact, that very soon an air of fatality settled over the young men. Conjecture became rumour which became believed as fact. They knew the Caliph himself regarded Tazirbu as one of the first and most important steps on a journey which would make him the most powerful global ruler in history. Against such a destiny, these young men thought, and then talked themselves into believing, they played an important yet ultimately terminal role in the Third Caliph’s designs.
One hundred and twenty-three days after The Day, Kaliq decided he would see his family again, whatever the risk. The volume of ACA production increased as a second and then a third production line were added to the mass of weapons being manufactured, and Kaliq sensed the governing super AI required less and less interrogation. Among his colleagues, recent rumours of their likely fate once their work was complete included everything from benevolent removal to distant mountain villages to summary execution.
Through some small subterfuge, he managed to acquire a cleaner’s uniform to aid his escape. In retrospect, he would come to see his attempt as the most futile act of his short life, but at the time he considered the four-and-a-half-thousand kilometre journey via Cairo, Damascus and Baghdad, to be achievable. Before he left, he elected to load data regarding current ACA stockpiles and the production rate, along with a few restricted reports he’d accessed concerning the extent of warrior training programs at other facilities, into a small data-pod. He sewed this into the agal which held the keffiyeh on his head. He wanted to prove to his family all in which he had been in
volved.
He left after the roll call at sundown to give himself as much of a head start as possible. He hoped they wouldn’t investigate his sudden absence too keenly, and he’d have time to reach his home province. However, Kaliq’s problems began before sunrise the following day as the transport approached the Siwa Oasis, still some seven hundred kilometres southwest of Cairo. Inspectors from the Transport Ministry boarded the multi-carriage autonomous vehicle and began checking identifications and questioning passengers on the purpose of their journeys. Kaliq had anticipated this, but when the moment came he doubted they would believe him, and he panicked. He overrode a lock between two of the spacious carriages, clung on to the outside grips, and pulled himself up onto the roof. He stayed there for the hour for which the transport remained at the oasis, breaking back in just as it accelerated towards its next destination.
The journey to Cairo saw the panic inside Kaliq grow like bacteria in a culture. He caught casual glances from strangers which made him think they were watching him. As the transport approached Cairo, his dread solidified, hardening into a perception that danger lurked around every partition. He walked back and forth along the length of the transport, from carriage to carriage, becoming more terrified at what awaited him. He realised the futility of his decision to leave Tazirbu, and briefly entertained the idea of returning. But in his panicked state, Kaliq only saw the potential for disaster in each of his limited choices. The belief that he would see his family again faded with the hot sunlight.
The transport arrived at the Cairo terminus, at which point fate intervened. Spotted and then chased by two Mutaween agents, Kaliq ended up hiding in the toilet of a transport bound for the port city of Jeddah. During the four-hour trip along the coast, Kaliq formulated a new and radical plan: to escape the Caliphate altogether, and warn the rest of the world of the vastness of the armaments and armies the Third Caliph had in hand. This was a novel idea in the young Kaliq’s head, but his relentless inquisitiveness had led him along other, far less safe paths of thought. For in his childhood he’d even questioned the existence of Allah, and of everything that everyone around him believed without question.
In his hour of panicked flight, he understood what he had to do, what he’d always had to do. The billions of souls in the rest of the world could not all be infidels and unbelievers. They could not all be contemptible. They had to have lives and loves and passions and dreams and families and friends and a desire to live in peace. If the Third Caliph wanted to become the most powerful ruler on Earth, millions would have to die at the hands of all those ACAs and warriors.
When the transport arrived in Jeddah, Kaliq hurried to the port by following road signs and dodging autonomous vehicles, their occupants taking no notice of him. He felt better as soon as he vaulted a chain-link fence and landed on the hard, dusty concrete among endless rows of giant metal containers. He stared at the enormous cargo ships as he walked around the docks and wharfs, his cleaner’s uniform now giving him a strange sense of anonymity.
Three hours later, Kaliq Zayan crouched by the hard metal container and shivered despite the heat. He looked out past the aft rails at the port as it receded, and felt exhilaration and terror and disbelief at what he’d done. He also felt a strange kind of freedom: he didn’t know the ship’s destination, although he guessed it would probably be a port in China, but his spirit exulted at being outside Caliphate territory. He had no concept of what he might do when he got to his destination, and he did not even know how he would survive the voyage undetected.
For several hours, Kaliq’s heart had been beating very hard in his chest, and he wondered why it should continue to do so as the immediate danger faded with the coastline. Abruptly, his heart stopped and he fell onto his back. Kaliq’s final thoughts revolved around the single word that had defined his life: why? He didn’t understand why he could no longer breathe or why he could no longer move. He stared at the deep blue sky above him as the word ‘why?’ remained at the centre of his fading mind. The blue deepened to black, and at the last, Kaliq understood his life had reached its end.
Unknown to Kaliq Zayan, Caliphate authorities had followed his progress from the moment he stepped outside the facility at Tazirbu. They tried to apprehend him on the transport to Cairo, but both of the agents declined to follow him onto the roof, their controllers deciding that since the bulk of Zayan’s work had been done and he was scheduled for liquidation shortly in any case, it would not have mattered if he fell to his death. A further attempt to capture and liquidate him was made at Cairo, but when he escaped on the transport to Jeddah, the authorities realised he intended to make a foolhardy attempt to leave Caliphate territory, and stopped all attempts to apprehend him. Everyone involved in the operation knew that as soon as the Chinese container ship left Caliphate territorial waters, the nano-bots injected into his body during the medical on his second day at the facility would shred his heart.
Chapter 2
00.33 Friday 13 January 2062
THE ENGLISHMAN CURLED up in the bed and smiled to himself. He knew Marshall Zhou had finished for the night, for in the darkness he could hear his lover’s breathing slow as Zhou’s body relaxed. In a few moments, that familiar growling snore on the inhalation of each breath would begin, and the small yet heavily built form of Marshall Zhou would sleep soundly until it was time for his 4.00 am pee.
The Englishman pulled the sheet up to partially cover his face and chewed on part of the seam, a habit which had comforted him since childhood. He glanced out at the polished wood floor and at his and his lover’s clothes strewn over it, dimly lit by broken silver moonlight. The Englishman knew they were safe here in Zhou’s private quarters in the compound, and the faintest exhilaration gripped his heart when he thought again how far he’d come in the few short months since his diplomatic posting to Beijing.
He and Zhou had been lovers for six weeks, and the Englishman worked hard to maintain for Zhou the elation that a married, middle-aged family man felt when, after a lifetime of lying to himself, he finally released his deepest, truest feelings for the first time. For the Englishman, too, pleasure reigned as the last few weeks had seen so many nights dissolve in a whirlwind of sweat and desire. Zhou’s passionate enthusiasm still left the Englishman taken aback, and he wondered if, when he would be Zhou’s age in twenty years’ time, he might find a similarly young stallion who would yield to allow him to reach such plateaus of ecstasy.
Unfortunately, Zhou did not know the Englishman’s secondary role inside the English diplomatic mission, although, he reflected, it shouldn’t have been difficult to guess. China was the richest and most powerful country in the world. It had the largest and best equipped armed forces, and its social prosperity was held up as a beacon of progress in lesser countries around the globe. In addition, the Chinese government maintained the most widespread network of covert operatives of any nation state—and every other nation state knew it. Thus, other countries wanted very much to keep an eye on China, and so Beijing was a hotbed of covert surveillance and spies masquerading as business people and diplomats.
In this environment, the Englishman’s success in seducing Marshall Zhou could objectively be considered an outstanding achievement, but this night had given him something far more satisfying than the Marshall’s semen, which had begun to escape from the Englishman in a slick dribble. One night during the previous week, Zhou had mentioned the shocking news in military circles that the New Persian Caliphate had created a vast army, despite the Caliph’s constant declarations of peaceful intent. The captain of a container ship transporting goods from the Caliphate to China had discovered a data-pod in the clothes of a suddenly deceased stowaway, and transmitted the contents to his masters. Zhou told the Englishman the data contained in it had caused a shockwave in the Chinese military. According to his lover, the Caliphate was secretly constructing an army of ACAs and warriors to rival that of India’s. But while China might not consider this a potential threat, the Englishman realised t
hat London needed to know about this unwelcome development in international affairs.
This evening, after their ritual drinking and drug-taking, the Marshall had given the Englishman a present: the contents of the data-pod. The two men had shared a glance, and the Englishman felt certain that Zhou must have realised he was a spy. Zhou had kissed him and declared his love. This gave the Englishman a twinge of guilt, for he felt no emotion for the Marshall beyond enjoyment of their shared physical pleasure.
Now, as he lay facing away the moonlight and Zhou snored behind him, the Englishman closed his eyes and twitched a small muscle in his left eye. This activated the lens and displayed the data he’d waited all evening to see. The contents of the mysterious data-pod splayed out as an overview menu, in Farsi. The Englishman breathed slowly while the Persian characters were overwritten with Roman ones, and he could read the menu headings. With more subtle movements of the six tiny muscles around his left eye, he explored the sub-categories. Over the next twenty minutes, his heartbeat slowed to a cadence almost in time with the Marshall’s snoring. He read about armies and battle groups and ground transports and air transports. He read about vast ACA manufacturing plants in transformed desert oases which, the data insisted, were producing up to three thousand ACAs a week. He read about orders of battle and a new, super-AI produced military doctrine which obviated the need for heavy artillery. But none of the items gave any hint of planned deployment or future use. At length, the Englishman considered that such a force could not have been created if it were not to be used, but no matter how thoroughly he searched the data, he could find no clue as to how the Third Caliph would employ this army.
Finally, the Englishman collapsed the files and deactivated the lens, so he saw only darkness when he closed his eyes. Of all the titbits of information and gossip he’d gleaned here, in the capital city of the most powerful nation on Earth, the contents of the data-pod made him feel as though he’d won the espionage jackpot. First thing in the morning, he would encrypt it and send it to London.
