by S. T. Boston
Lost in bloodthirsty thoughts, Namtar almost didn't feel the slight nudge as the boat docked. Blinking away the images of Oriyanna under his blade, and with the imaginary echoes of her screams slipping from his twisted mind, he impatiently checked his watch and started the engine. A number of other motorists shot him disapproving looks, but then like sheep they all followed suit, all fouling the air up when there was nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait. He hated them, hate wasn't even the right word, more despised, hated and despised, yes, that was it. Soon they would pay. Finally the front of the bow dropped, producing a ramp onto the port. After beeping at a few idiotic humans who seemed hell bent on slowing him down, Namtar rolled down the ramp and onto British soil.
* * *
Six thousand two hundred miles away, Hawker paced his way down the long corridor that lead from his very ample quarters to the bridge of the Arkus 2, his very human Air Max moving silently on the hard, metallic alien flooring. Despite being Earth-Breed and technically a child of this advanced alien race, and having never been on such a craft before, it amazed him how very human it felt. The general design and layout of the craft could have come straight from some Earth-Human's concept pad. The lengthily corridor down which he paced was around seven feet from floor to ceiling. The walls were brushed metal effect whilst the floor was onyx-black, like the outer hull. Intermittent lighting donned the ceiling but there were no visible light fixtures. The bright white material seemed to have a natural luminescence every ten or fifteen feet, but the light somehow did not seem artificial, it was natural, and like that of the sun. It even seemed to radiate its own subtle heat that kept the craft at a perfect twenty degrees centigrade. Every thirty feet the outline of a door broke the brushed metal wall, spaced out either side of the passage. These doors lead to the living quarters for the more senior members of the crew, and this particular part he'd come to call Bridge Approach. The thirty or so private state style rooms were designed to house those essential to the running of the craft, ensuring that in an emergency any member of the bridge crew could be called upon and in post within two minutes. Nowadays, though, Arkus 2 wasn't quite so well crewed.
Hawker's quarters consisted of what was very akin to a two-bedroom moderately sized apartment. In her day, Arkus 2 had been a long range exploration craft, much bigger than conventional short trip scout vessels she was designed to carry whole families, allowing her crew to spend longer away from home.
Now, and for the majority of the past six thousand years, her many rooms had been empty spaces, a reminder of a time when the Arkkadian people had been as one, before planet Earth hammered an immovable stake between them.
Reaching the end of the corridor, Hawker placed his hand into a recess in the wall causing the door to hiss open.
“I trust you are rested?” asked Asmodeous as Hawker reached his terminal and brought the holo-display to life.
“As rested as you can be at five AM,” Hawker replied, wishing that somewhere on this hulk of a vessel there was a coffee machine. “I've only had a couple of hours' sleep.”
“It's overrated anyway.” Asmodeous stood next to him, his suit looking fresh, clean and ready for a catwalk show. His sandy blonde hair still looked a little messy, yet somehow stylish. The first thing that had struck Hawker on meeting his boss and master was that if he lost those very alien, yet somehow captivating amber eyes, and let his blonde hair grow a little, with a vest and a pair of boardies he'd almost look like a beach bum surfer. However, with his well-tailored look he was a formidable character that oozed a magnetic charisma that could charm the birds from the trees.
Hawker blinked, feeling like his eyes were full of desert sand. His Woody Allen look-a-like colleague was busy monitoring chatter on hacked government phones whilst he studied the news and tracked the progress of the American and Soviet subs and ships, as they played a deadly game of standoff in the northern pacific. A stupidly risky game, considering it was all over the supply of oil. The location of the boats was of interest to him, for they held a bunch of nukes that he would be using, at zero hour he would need to know the exact location of each craft, so as to make sure Enola didn't target its weapons on a city too far for it to reach. He trusted she wouldn't, once he set her free she would run fully automated, however, like an expectant parent with a child going to school for the first time, he wanted to be there to hold its hand.
“How is Kwangmyŏngsŏng, coming along?” Asmodeous asked, watching Hawker work, bringing various screens to life with the ease of a person who'd been using holo-screens for years.
Hawker found the screen tab he needed and flicked it to life. Frowning, he studied the 3D image with interest. Turning away from the screen he looked at his boss and said, “Looking at the lines of code that they are running I would suggest they are in the start-up phase. The system will go live and reboot a few times before it's online and working, but I would estimate no more than five hours.”
“So they really did beat the others to it,” he summarised.
“Looks like it. The others won't be far behind, and every system should be back in the next twenty hours or so.”
“If we wanted to raise the tensions a little in the East, what city would you target?”
“Tokyo, sir,” Hawker replied immediately. “That will stir up a right hornets' nest.”
“Well, in five hours, as soon as Kwangmyŏngsŏng goes live, be ready to launch a strike. I think we need to test this program of yours out.”
Hawker snapped the screen closed and opened a fresh one. Within a few seconds he had a satellite view of Tokyo before him, allowing himself a thin smile as he nodded his head in agreement.
* * *
Thirty minutes after docking in Portsmouth, and with time slipping away from him faster than seemed rationally possible, Namtar watched as the English countryside whipped by. He'd abandoned the rental X5 at the port, favouring instead the Volvo XC90 driven by Peltz and Croaker that had its steering wheel on the correct side for this country, another oddity of the Earth-Human world that pissed him off.
“We will meet the Gulf Stream at Netheravon,” he said to Peltz, who was concentrating on the road ahead. “There are more weapons on there.”
“Very well, sir. However, we are pretty well armed.”
“If you're that well kitted out, then how did two escape?” Namtar boomed, fixing his eyes on Peltz who instantly looked like he wanted to shrink into the cream leather seat. “Just what firepower do you have with you?”
“One Colt AR15 machine gun, one USMC M40A1 sniper rifle, three Glock G26 9mm semi-automatic handguns, a M26C Taser and a few knives,” Peltz smiled. “So you see my point, sir.”
“You were on a kill squad, we need to take Becker and the others alive, not pepper them of lead. Do you have any tranquiliser rounds?”
“No, sir, just killing machines. I do have the Taser.”
“It may be of use,” said Namtar thoughtfully. “There should be a secondary tranq-pistol in the Gulf Stream, we had two but I couldn't find the other so I'm guessing it was left behind.”
“We should be there in about an hour, sir.” Peltz left the motorway and pointed them north toward Salisbury.
“Excellent,” Namtar praised. He fired up the hand-held computer and felt relieved to see the green dot that represented Samuel Becker was still in the same place, a cottage just off Honey Street in a tiny village in Wiltshire, which looked to be the arse end of nowhere. He closed the window and brought up the street image of the cottage and studied it with interest, wondering where the link was that connected Becker, and hopefully the others, to this out-of-the-way place.
Chapter 25
Sitting around a moderately sized table in the lounge area of The Barge Inn, Sam popped the last mouthful of toast (his third slice), into his mouth and washed it down with the last of his lukewarm, sweet tea. Putting the cup onto the lacquered pine table, which was now showing some signs of age, he exhaled in satisfaction and said, “Now I think I can concentra
te on that task in hand.”
“Are you sure you don't want to finish my scraps off, too?” asked Adam, not quite able to believe that Sam had managed the Gut Buster Breakfast and three slices of toast. His plate still had half a sausage on and two grilled tomatoes. He'd been as ravenous as he could ever remember, but the portion had beaten him easily.
“Nope, I'm good thanks,” he smiled, patting his belly proudly. “It's good to see the old place is still in business, and,” he gestured to the ceiling that was beautifully hand painted in a mosaic of crop circle designs. It had been like this for a long as he could remember, the paint was starting to show its age now but it was still an impressive bit of work, “it's lost none of its kooky charm.” Matching the ceiling the walls were decorated with countless photographs of the local phenomenon, many of them dated back years.
“It's fascinating,” said Oriyanna as she stood up and studied some of the more impressive designs.
“It's amazing what a few guys with some rope and a few planks of wood can achieve,” said Sam sceptically.
“I'm not so sure,” said Adam. “I think the majority are fake, yes. But a few I'd say are a real mystery.”
“It's not your lot, then?” laughed Sam. “Landing your spaceships here and leaving pretty pictures in the corn?”
She looked at him, not quite certain if he was being serious, unable to fully work it out she shrugged and said, “There are still many things in this universe that we will never know the truth behind. This whole area is naturally rich in Earth energies, there are a number of sites like this around the planet. I'm afraid I have no answer for you, I just don't know.”
“We need to get moving,” Adam cut in, changing the subject. Whilst in the pub eating the much needed breakfast and rehydrating he'd felt safe and detached from the events that were unfolding outside. He didn't know why but it did feel different than when they'd been together in the States. Maybe it was down to the fact that this time they were on home turf, in places that they'd grown up in, loved in and lived in.
“I'm still not certain that splitting is such a good idea,” Lucie complained, as she squeezed herself out from the back of the table. Sam opened the door at the far end of the lounge bar that lead out onto the canal towpath and ushered her through. “I mean, we only just got everyone back together.”
“We don't need to go,” he defended. “Let Oriyanna and Adam handle it. Besides, I have not slept in over a day and if I don't get some shuteye I'll be fit for nothing.” Up until the point he'd sat down for food, Sam had been running on adrenaline, bolstered up by the caffeine from his can of Pepsi. Now with his belly full of stodgy food, tiredness was hitting him hard. “I just need to grab a few hours' sleep whilst they are gone. As soon as they get back we will figure out what we need to do. Just like I said, one step at a time.” He smiled at her encouragingly, turned and nodded in thanks to the bartender who looked far too old to be working. His long, greying beard and wiry frame gave him an almost hunched over appearance. The aged man raised an arthritic, clawed hand in appreciation whilst Adam and Oriyanna slipped past Sam who was holding the door that led out onto the towpath.
Outside the morning had warmed a little, but not much. If you ignored the wreck of the partially sunken, narrow boat that was resting under the road bridge, around fifty meters upstream, in this part of the world it was almost possible to forget that anything had happened. Unlike London which was still littered with the remains of burnt out and looted shops, here, where folk enjoyed a slightly more relaxed pace of life and the hoodlum population was virtually non-existent, it had been left almost unchanged.
The walk back to the cottage took them five minutes. As planned, the stolen Nissan Juke was left parked at the rear of the pub, in a field that had once been used as a campsite. Before leaving for the pub they'd searched the boot of the little 4x4, the only real thing of use had been a pair of tatty old Reebok trainers that Sam had laid claim to immediately, they were even his size. They looked slightly more fitting with his dirty and battle scarred Craghoppers, cargo pants and granite black fleece. The patent leather pilot's shoes he'd saved and left at the cottage.
As they crossed the crumbling tarmac forecourt of the old sawmill, opposite the cottage, Sam held them back for a few seconds and looked. Trying to see if anything had changed. Satisfied that things looked to be as they'd left them, he beckoned them on.
At the front door he studied the jam and was relieved to find the small pin still wedged in the bottom of the frame. An old trick that he'd learned years previously to tell if anyone had been in whilst you were out. Of course anyone worth their salts would know and look for the well-used ploy, but it was better than nothing and just might give you the heads-up that shit was about to go down. But here, in sleepy Wiltshire, that sort of thing didn't happen.
In less than two minutes Adam had the engine on his Mazda ticking over whilst he listened to Lucie telling him to be as quick as he could and not to stop for anyone unless he was sure it was a police car.
He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, she had a little more colour in her face now she'd slept and eaten, and had her husband back. However, they were all in desperate need of fresh clothing and a good wash. Her brown hair was still held in an untidy ponytail, smudges of dirt were just visible on her cheeks. They all looked as if they'd been through the wringer. “See if you can get the old boiler fired up,” he said to her as he prepared to leave. “It would be nice to get clean when we get back.”
“I'll get Sam on it after he'd had some rest,” she replied. “He looks beat, he's already in bed.”
“And remember to tell him about -”
“I will, I need to find the right time. If I tell him now he will just want to wrap me up in cotton wool.”
“Maybe he should,” Adam said seriously.
“Be quick,” Lucie encouraged, forcing a smile onto her lips.
Adam planted a last kiss on her forehead, “I plan to be.” He gave her a wan smile and walked to the car, his shoes crunching on the gravel drive. Oriyanna was already in the passenger seat, waiting patiently.
Lucie watched as her brother carefully reversed the Mazda between the two concrete gate posts and out onto Honey Street, revved the engine slightly and vanished behind the overgrown hedgerow. Lucie checked the time, it was just past nine AM. They should be back by half past three, four at the latest. She checked her phone, no service. Great, she thought, I won't know about it even if they do need to call me. Not relishing the prospect of six more hours' of painstaking worry, Lucie turned from the door and closed it. Inside the cottage, Sam was already laid on top of the damp double mattress in the master bedroom, asleep. He must have literally been lights out as soon as he'd laid down. Bending over, she kissed her husband on the side of his face and brushed some of his sandy blonde hair to the side of his forehead. As he began lightly snoring she collected up his jacket, which he'd hung up on the floor. No change there then, she thought, and draped it over an occasional chair in the corner of the room. The two handguns he'd managed to arrive with she left in place, on the old oak bedside table, where he'd left them before climbing onto the bed.
With anxiety running free riot, Lucie knew there would be no more rest for her, so she left Sam to sleep and went to the boiler cupboard. If she could get the thing started, at least she could enjoy a nice relaxing bath and get herself clean, if only she had some casual jeans and a fresh top. Her work skirt was looking battered and her blouse looked as if she'd scooped it out of a bin. Her thin blue jumper also looked like a charity shop reject now. It had been one of her favourites.
* * *
Adam whipped the pokey little Mazda away from the cottage, over the canal bridge and began the climb up into the hills on a road that would eventually bring them to the town of Marlborough. Below them he caught a glimpse of the King Air that Sam had escaped in. The broken plane was halfway across East Field and now a single police 4x4 sat by the wreck. He could just make out two more yellow jackets by
the main gate which was some three hundred yards away across the roughly ploughed ground, on the road that he'd taken the previous night.
As the road rose higher and the small village dropped further behind he lost sight of the crashed plane and focused his attention on the way ahead. It was narrow and twisty, but he knew it and could drive it fast. Pushing the pedal into the floor he asked Oriyanna, “So, what do you plan to do when you get this device?”
“Ultimately, I need to recall the craft and we need to head to Peru.”
“I was afraid you were about to say that,” Adam chuckled. “I'm guessing that there is no one else here and by the time you get a message home….”
“It will already be too late,” she cut in. “I'm not sure what kind of timescales we are working to here, but I doubt very much he will hang around, as soon as he can gain control of those live launch systems he will use them.” Oriyanna eyed him with a deadly serious look before continuing. “Last night, just before we were attacked, President Hill was giving an address to the American people. He believed that their systems would be going live in the next twenty four to forty eight hours, but they might be faster.” She looked at him with her wide blue eyes. “If we can stop this now, Adam, it's over. Do you understand that? Sheol is under Arkkadian control, there is nothing left of his army or people, other than that ship that is out there in Peru. Nothing! Unfortunately, that's also what makes him so much more dangerous. He has nothing to lose.”
