by Chris James
His thoughts came back to the present moment with some unwillingness, as he arrived at the entrance to the single-storey building that housed the meeting room. Duncan placed the pad of his left thumb on the scanner and the door beeped and clicked. He pulled it open, and only when he entered and felt the warm air did he appreciate how chilly it was outside.
“Such things,” he mumbled to himself, “are always relative to the position of the observer.” He advanced along the corridor towards the meeting room, still muttering to himself: “And what about super artificial intelligence, eh? How they said that would change the world. And when was that? Twenty years ago? Twenty-five? Just the same: didn’t see the snags. Bloody fools.”
He pushed the door open and entered the small auditorium. He walked through a break in the tiers of empty benches and stepped up on the small stage. In front of the large screen sat a podium, and Duncan went to it and looked around.
“Hello, Mr English,” he called out at the only other person in the room, a colleague from the same department.
“You’re late, Professor,” Mr English replied.
“Yes, yes. Well, I’m here now.” He prodded the small screen on the surface of the podium a few times. The light from the ceiling increased as 3-D projectors activated and the benches filled up with the audience. Some of the holographic projections fidgeted as the attendees settled down. Duncan recognised several faces: all of the service chiefs were present, including General Sir Terry Tidbury; the head of the RAF, Air Chief Marshall Raymond Thomas; and Admiral Rutherford of the Royal Navy. In addition, other high-ranking men and women from the regional police forces of all three Home Nations sat in the lower rows, and at the top were a number of civil servants. Around the edges Duncan saw a few US Air Force uniforms sipping at drinks and munching what looked like doughnuts.
“Ah, yes, right. Good. Welcome, everyone,” Duncan began in a loud, direct voice, oblivious to the looks of impatience his audience displayed at his few minutes of lateness. “I’m going to bring you up to speed on what the, er, Caliphate has been attacking its, er, enemies with. Do please allow me to describe what we know so far, and then I’ll, er, take questions… If you, er, have any, of course. But no interruptions, thank you.”
The screen behind him lit up. Duncan took a breath and plunged on: “Right, the first thing to say is that whoever, or rather whatever, is designing the Caliphate’s autonomous combat aircraft certainly prefers the ellipsoid. On the screen, you can see the design of the first ACA that attacked the two navy battle groups in the early hours of Tuesday morning, and whose reporting name is, er, ‘Blackswan’.”
An outline image of a compressed ellipsoid appeared on the screen, in black lines on a turquoise background. Several sharp, angled fins poked out from the body. Numbers resolved detailing its length, height, maximum radii and other dimensions. Duncan continued: “In essence, the Blackswan is a flying bomb transporter, carrying a quite lethal cargo of fifty bomblets that have the reporting name, ‘Spider’. I will come to those in a moment. The Blackswan’s superstructure is unsurprisingly composed of 3-D ultra-Graphene, which I assume you’re all familiar with. Now, what did have us confused was the power source.” He looked up at his audience. “However, after intensive research and in combination with its aerial performance statistics, we now believe that an extremely small but powerful fusion unit must be involved.”
The Professor paused as he wanted the attendees to appreciate the significance of this fact. “This is extremely interesting, because here in Europe and America, fusion-based power sources were thought to be impossible to develop at anything like the volume sufficient to power an ACA of this size. You might have seen them in hospitals where they have several small-scale surgical applications. But it is this power which not only makes the Blackswan so dexterous in the sky, but which also allows the machine’s shielding to absorb so much energy. I would like to stress that, currently, NATO Forces have nothing that can stand up to this device.”
Duncan stopped again to ensure his audience realised the importance of what he was telling them. When satisfied, he went on: “When the Blackswan arrives on target, the Spiders break out of the superstructure and attack.”
Behind him, the outline of the Blackswan receded and smaller, ellipsoid-shaped objects emerged from the body. One advanced to the middle of the screen, enlarging as it did so, and similar dimensional data appeared around it. Duncan said: “It is important to note that each Spider has its own super-AI unit, and it is reasonable to assume, although it has not been proven, that Spiders are able to work in unison. When the Spider lands on, or rather crashes into, its target, eight articulated arms break out from the surface. Coupled with its own power unit, these give the Spider a quite remarkable dexterous mobility so it can then travel to the most appropriate location for detonation. You’ll appreciate that the chance of a Spider being damaged on colliding with its target is highly unlikely given that it, like its parent, is also constructed from 3-D ultra-Graphene.”
On the screen, the eight, triple-jointed arms snapped out from the device, having been folded seamlessly into the surface. Duncan continued: “Initial analysis indicates that a Spider could reach speeds in excess of a hundred kilometres per hour travelling in a straight line on flat terrain. The arrangement and articulation of the arms has, needless to say, been designed to maximise the Spider’s dexterity in the most lethal manner. Analysis of blast data picked up by other NATO ACAs involved in the actions in the Mediterranean and Arabian Seas suggests the Spider is also powered by a fusion unit, and utilises a heightened RDX variant explosive with a yield of approximately seven megajoules, or roughly thirty percent more explosive energy than the Equaliser bomblets that the PeaceMaker carries.”
The images on the screen withdrew and a new outline emerged; smaller, more elongated, and displaying a clear front and back, but also with sharp fins on the top and bottom and at the sides. The Professor spoke: “Now I want to move on to, er, the device which the Caliphate first deployed during the attack against Turkey, and then with rather brutal effectiveness against Israel, and which has been given the reporting name ‘Lapwing’. Here, we see quite a remarkable thing: a laser-equipped ACA with a similar power availability as the Blackswan. Thus far, effective lasers have been quite bulky. We use them on ships, tanks and as autonomous, self-propelled weapons. But the received wisdom at NATO has been that a laser powerful enough to be militarily effective, yet light enough to be mounted on an ACA, was at least five years away. In addition, analysis of SkyWatcher data recorded during the battles over Turkey and Israel showed that just three shots from this ACA are sufficient to give an unprotected civilian a fatal level of burns.”
Duncan paused and scratched the side of his face. “To summarise: it is safe to assume that both Caliphate ACAs use the same or a very similar power unit, probably fusion based, which affords them performance abilities substantially in excess of the abilities of the SkyWatcher and PeaceMaker ACAs which NATO currently deploys. Here at the English government’s key research and development facility, we believe there is an urgent need to develop a new range of ACAs which could respond to the threat that the New Persian Caliphate can now deploy. Thank you for attending. I will—”
Duncan stopped when the American attendees unexpectedly applauded at the conclusion of his presentation, which, given its subject matter, had been the last thing he expected. His brow creased in confusion at what he considered an unnecessary and frivolous display of appreciation, and then he continued: “I will answer any questions you have. Given the urgency of the day’s developments, however, I’m sure we all have many other issues to attend to, so does anyone have a question?”
An American Air Force major immediately raised a hand: “Sure, I do. So, seeing as the dumbass raghead has said he’s going to invade Europe, if he really does, how many of our ACAs is it gonna take to knock out one of theirs?”
“Difficult to be precise, I’m afraid. So far, our computers have kept on run
ning simulations but initial results are not encouraging. In straightforward air-to-air combat, it could take over thirty PeaceMakers to defeat a single Blackswan, assuming its shielding can be burned through and it releases its Spiders. But unless and until combat occurs, we won’t know for sure if a PeaceMaker’s Equaliser bomblet has enough punch to burn through a Spider’s shielding, let alone actually stop the thing. We still believe that the Pulsar is up to the job, if it can be given the time.”
A senior police officer with a craggy face raised his hand: “How long do you think their power sources last?”
“Long enough in a combat situation, I should imagine. If they do employ a fusion power unit, it will depend on a number of variables which we won’t know unless and until we obtain and analyse a relatively undamaged device. But it is reasonable to assume the lifetime of the power unit has been designed to be sufficient for most battle situations.”
Another hand went up at the back, from among the civil servants. Duncan nodded and a woman with straight brown hair asked: “You said we need to develop a new range of ACAs, but how long will that take?”
“That’s really not for me to speculate, madam, but it would certainly take a few years, I should expect.”
A gruff male voice shouted out: “But they could invade us at any moment.”
Duncan frowned and replied: “And, apart from stating the blindingly obvious, your point is what exactly?”
Some attendees smiled, but Duncan was becoming frustrated. “Any other questions?” he asked the auditorium in a tone which suggested he hoped there would not be. He waited only a few seconds before concluding: “Very well. We will continue our research into these machines and possible countermeasures and such like. Obviously, I don’t need to tell you that what you have seen is classified top secret and should not be discussed with anyone with a lower level security clearance than you. Thank you for attending.”
The holographic attendees all vanished quickly, and the sole remaining person in the room said in a loud voice: “Very nice, Professor.”
“Thank you, Mr English,” Duncan replied as he deactivated the podium and left the stage. “I was worried I might get a bit of a grilling there.”
Mr English left the seat and fell in beside Duncan. “Oh, not a chance, old boy. There’s still quite a bit of shock and I got the feeling they just wanted to know what we know about this new enemy.”
“Well, the media are being quite unkind to the politicians.”
“That’s the media’s job. Besides, the Caliphate hasn’t actually invaded Europe.”
“Yet.”
“But I believe things might get disagreeable for us if we don’t come up with some answers soon.”
Duncan stopped at the door to exit the building. He looked down at Mr English and said: “I think we won’t have too much trouble finding the answers as to how the Caliphate have got such advanced tech, but coming up with suitable countermeasures is an altogether trickier proposition.”
Chapter 27
22.01 Thursday 9 February 2062
CRISPIN WEBB WATCHED the screen on the wall in front of them, disliking the feeling of irritated indifference he sensed from the US President.
Napier spoke: “I’m sorry you weren’t able to attend the Paris summit, but it wasn’t a very good atmosphere.”
Coll said: “I was briefed that it went well given the circumstances. The European governments are reacting to the threat.”
“Which appears likely to be insurmountable. All of the forecasts are for our annihilation in a matter of weeks.” Napier’s eyes pleaded with the President and she said: “Please, Maddie, we need everything you can spare.”
The corners of Coll’s mouth turned down. “Of course the United States will stand by its commitment to NATO, Dahra, but it’s going to take time to organise air and ship transportation.”
“We don’t have time. The Caliph has made his intentions quite clear. He could launch an attack on mainland Europe at any moment. We’ve begun increasing ACA production but it will take time to build new facilities. We need all the material you can supply. You must begin air transports now.”
President Coll said: “Sure, sure. I’ll see what I can do,” and the screen went blank.
The Foreign Secretary, Charles Blackwood, got up from the couch and paced around the spacious living area. “PM, I don’t think you need worry unduly. I’m in almost constant touch with Bill at the State Department, and he’s going to make things happen over there however lackadaisical Coll seems to be.”
Napier leaned her head back and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Perhaps she’s just feeling the pressure a little?”
Crispin got out of his chair and asked: “Glass of white wine, boss?”
“Yes, semi-dry, thank you, Crispin.”
“How about you, Charles?” Crispin asked.
“No, thank you, I need to return to my department.” Blackwood turned to Napier and said: “Everyone’s feeling the pressure, PM. But we’ve achieved quite a bit in the last couple of days. All of Whitehall and other departments are alive and actively working. John is having outline civil defence plans drawn up to see how we might best protect civilians. On the home front, I think we’re getting our act together quite well. We’re also working with our European partners to estimate how best we can manage the flood of refugees we expect any invasion to generate. And…” he paused as Crispin delivered the glass of wine into Napier’s hand, “I can say with some certainty that your cabinet supports you very much, PM.”
Napier sat up, sipped her wine, and said: “They should do when you think about it. After all, the odds aren’t looking very good, are they?”
Blackwood nodded in consideration. “On the surface, no. But the Third Caliph may yet be dissuaded from his adventures.”
“Yes. Update me in the morning on diplomatic efforts in Beijing, would you?”
“Of course. See you in the morning.” Blackwood nodded to Crispin and left the room.
When the door closed behind him, Napier looked at Crispin and said: “Ten years ago, in the leadership race, I came second and he came third in the first round of voting. We went for a walk in the gardens of the conference centre, and he offered his support in return for Chancellor, Home Office or Foreign Office. I declined and told him I wasn’t prepared to get into trade-offs which could cause rifts that might damage a future government. He just nodded and walked away, and I thought that was the end of my run. Then, he supported me anyway and I won leadership of the party. When we won the next election, I gave him a junior post in the Foreign Office, and promoted him when that idiot Justin let himself get entrapped at that orgy at the Russian embassy a few years ago.”
“Yes, I remember,” Crispin said, happy to share memories of simpler times.
Napier looked at him and asked: “He’s the only one in the party who has the popularity to replace me. Do you think he’ll try?”
Crispin didn’t hide his shock at her suggestion: “God, no. Not at all, boss. Your approvals among the party faithful are better than fine. He’d never get the support, not now. The back-benchers have no appetite for anything like that at the moment. Besides, who’d want your job today, in this situation? The position of Prime Minister of England has got about the same career development prospects as a sanitary worker in Lahore who’s just caught bubonic plague.”
Napier gave him a weak smile which quickly faded. “But we’re getting ripped to pieces in the media, Crispin, with eighty percent of outlets baying for blood, thinking we the government should’ve known what was happening sooner. They’re looking for a political scalp, and I’m not prepared to sacrifice Philip at Defence because I need his advice now. And anyway, no one could have seen this disaster coming.”
“I and others are putting a lot of pressure on the media, boss. This won’t last. They need to get over the shock and then it’ll be the ‘we’re-all-in-this-together’ line. We can’t risk a breakdown in civil order, and I’m making sure editors and
proprietors know that.”
“Thank you… I want to call it a night now. I haven’t spent more than five minutes with my family since Tuesday morning, and I’d quite like to read my youngest a bedtime story before she falls asleep. What’s the first order of business in the morning?”
“I’ll brief you on overnight developments at seven, as usual. Then there’s a COBRA meeting at nine. But there’s going to be a lot to get through in addition to the international drama. We’re due more high tides, all down the east coast. The usual alerts are being sent out, but we can expect some casualties, not least because the Army has started pulling units out to consolidate in preparation for potential deployment on the continent.”
Webb saw the stress and fatigue in Napier’s face. She said: “The way this week is going, those casualties could end up being the lucky ones.”
Chapter 28
22.43 Thursday 9 February 2062
TERRY TIDBURY WATCHED the twinkling London skyline from the modest height of his office at the Ministry of Defence in Whitehall. Behind him the door opened and closed.
“Here you are, Sir Terry,” his adjutant John Simms said.
Terry turned and looked at the steam rising from the fresh cup of tea Simms put on his desk. “Thank you. You know, it’s been a few years since we’ve been obliged to stay so late at the office.”
“We could let Squonk deal with quite a lot of the logistics,” Simms answered.
Terry shook his head. “It makes a good calculator, but I want to crosscheck its results, Simms.” He picked up his tea and leaned against his desk. “Squonk, what’s the latest intel on Israel?”
The asexual voice answered: “The country’s entire surface area is subject to Caliphate interference, but available data gives a ninety-three percent probability that the Caliphate’s objective is annihilation rather than assimilation.”
