by Nick M Lloyd
The Deputy stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair, which clattered off the back wall of the alcove. He leant over the table and strained in a harsh whisper, with spittle emanating for every well-enunciated word. ‘Never. Never. Never. We do not kill people, pervert justice and destroy planets for power. The current prevalent Gadium behaviours are an abomination to nature, the longevity, the break-up of the family unit and the degradation of natural selection. Without our interventions most of the species would not have emerged successfully. Our meddling has given power to these species long before they have any concept of how to account for it. Our desire to shepherd in other planets is wrong. It must be stopped and never in the name of some galactic overlord role.’
The Deputy swept out of the restaurant and Jenkins was alone.
Back at his desk a few hours later, Jenkins played the next video diary from Katrina. He should have left it for at least 6 more months but…He was under orders to escalate the Vantch team activity, and Earth was about to intensify. It was a lot for his soul to bear. He needed the strength.
He opened the file and Katrina’s blue eyes filled the screen, slowly the camera panned back to show her scaly face sporting a very new and significant scar.
‘Video Log 4—Katrina to Daddy. Notice anything new?’
Jenkins’ eyes went wide, and he leant in towards the screen. The scar came very close to Katrina’s left eye. The video log continued.
‘I’ve only spent 20 more days awake in the last year, so I’m well on target. But as you may see, it’s been eventful. All is well now…I’d hardly leave you a message with a cliff-hanger.’ She laughed a little ruefully and continued. ‘So I made a joke, her ladyship Commander Kuper didn’t like one bit. We were sitting in the crew room, just observing some of the Trogia activity and she said—Commander Kuper–’ Katrina paused. ‘She said the Trogians were at least three hundred generations away from having the controls released. And I said it may just start happening. And then she said she was ready to convert an Alpha to a Triple Alpha and then put it back to ensure Alpha rates were held down for a few thousand more years. And I asked why, and she told me to shut up and not to question her.’ On camera, Katrina looked left and right; then she leant in to the lens so her face filled and overflowed the screen. ‘Then I said…’
Jenkins shook his head, he knew Commander Kuper; she was not someone to toy with. He returned his attention to the video.
Katrina continued. ‘Then I said I hope another Trogia gets better treatment from Gadium out in one of the Parallels.’
Jenkins paused the video and swore under his breath; any reference to the Parallels was considered borderline heretical. The SISR—Single Instance State Reduction—was the ultimate doctrine. Stupid girl, she’s lucky to keep her eyes. Jenkins restarted.
‘Anyway, I got twelve months’ stasis and the scar was specially treated so it wouldn’t heal. And I got a massive beating…which was allowed to heal. When I was revived the Commander had already executed her actions.’ Katrina paused. ‘Over a period of nine months, Commander Kuper had kidnapped around 300 Trogians and held them in a secure facility. She was working on the assumption that even in a stuck Partial Emergence there would be a few Alphas in a group of 300. She put each of the Trogians through the standard Alpha to Triple Alpha operant conditioning. The Betas were unaffected, but there were a few Alphas in the group. Kuper managed to create two new Triples. In fairness to Kuper, the Betas were released without much clue about what happened. They never saw any Gadiums.’
Katrina looked off-camera for a few seconds, she looked pensive and her trademark smile slipped into a frown. ‘But it was a different deal for the Triples. They’re being held at the secure facility. They’ve been lobotomised and are held in semi-comatose conditions. Their subconscious will keep regenerating their cells, and they’ll live for 50 generations. Just brains in jars.’
Katrina started to cry. Her voice got harsher. ‘She said she’ll take a few more hundred next year to make sure. She said she regretted letting the Betas go—too much risk of discovery—and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.’ Katrina took a few moments to pull herself together, wiping her tears away. ‘I’m sorry Daddy, I’ll try harder, I’ll do my best—I promise. I won’t make any more trouble. I’m just praying to avoid soul death.’
Jenkins paused the screen. His own tears were now washing down the front of his highly medalled military uniform. He checked the message logs—the video was nine years old. She had recorded it only days before the transport ship had returned the video logs to Gadium. Jenkins checked the last few QET messages from Katrina. She’d been in stasis for much of the last nine years. I could send the order for her to return…but I don’t want to shame her.
Jenkins penned a QET message. ‘Katrina. Trust your instincts. I am very proud of you.’
It wasn’t just the active kills that bothered Jenkins. With Gadium artificially restricting Emergence on Trogia, there were billions of Trogians who would live pitifully short lives; 50, 60, or 70 years, whereas, had Trogia successfully navigated a Full Emergence those same people would be living for thousands.
Then he sent the orders for Vantch, with a second set to the back-up cell.
Chapter 40
Jack Bullage’s trauma counsellor had suggested he get back in a car as soon as possible so, after a quiet but tense week of recuperation at home, he took to the streets. He drove randomly around West London for most of Thursday morning.
As lunchtime approached, the roads got busier and the road users less friendly. The gradual build-up of passive aggression began to take a toll on Jack’s sense of peace. He could feel the tell-tale signs of a panic attack creeping up. He was very aware of his breathing, almost to the point where it was a conscious decision, rather than reflexive. He was gripping the steering wheel too tightly. His hands were sweating. I need to get home now.
Jack got his bearings and took the next turning to head homewards. I just need to get over the M4 and I’ll be home. The traffic was heavy and the going was slow. Jack revved his car in frustration but it was bumper to bumper. Ahead, Jack could see the railway crossing looming. Please, no train!
He edged forward, closing in on the railway crossing. But the car in front was dawdling. Jack could see the driver fiddling with the car stereo, making no effort to keep up with the car in front. Suddenly the level crossing lights began to flash and the barrier lowered. Jack’s car was the last one not to make it across. Shit! He waited, the barrier obstructing his way. Several minutes passed, and there was still no train. From his position, his view up the tracks was blocked by houses, but he couldn’t see any hint of a train. He waited. His breathing began to speed up. His heart was beating more quickly. I can’t breathe.
Jack loosened the first two buttons on his shirt and wound the window down, concentrating on his breathing. I have to get home. There was a group of about five pedestrians waiting for the barrier to raise. One pedestrian looked into Jack’s car. ‘Are you all right love? You’re looking very pale.’
Jack forced out a smile. ‘Just in a hurry to get home.’ A baby in a stroller started to cry. He tried to block out the noise. An argument broke out between two school kids. Their mother tried to intervene. The shouting increased. The baby cried louder. Still no train. I have to get away.
Jack looked at the signal posts next to the barriers. The red light was flashing. He craned his neck forward. Still no train yet. He tried to listen for it but the baby’s cries and fighting kids made it impossible for him to hear anything. He was finding it difficult to breathe. I have to get away from here.
There was a shout from the pavement. ‘Fuck you!’ Jack turned sharply towards the shout. A man had come out of a shop straight into the crowd of pedestrians. He’d barged into the crowd, knocking the baby-buggy. There was pushing. Jack eyed it nervously. Could they get angry with me? His pulse was racing. There was a whoosh inside his head as blood rushed to his brain. His hair seemed to st
and on end. Adrenaline coursed through his system. His hands started to shake on the steering wheel—he gripped harder.
Jack observed the scuffle, trying not to appear interested. Turning away, he looked around the car. A flashback—a cracked windscreen—another—Sarah’s sleeping face. I have to get away from here. Another loud scream came from the pavement, a baby’s scream. He turned reflexively. Shut up! Jack looked at the baby, now in its mother’s arms. The baby looked directly back at him—screaming. Shut up! Jack turned back to look at the barrier; it was still down. He turned back to the baby and their eyes locked. Shut up! The baby’s head jolted slightly and the screaming stopped. A few seconds passed. Jack fought to get his breathing and mind under control. He turned back to the barrier. The baby’s piercing shriek cut through all the other sounds again, a cry of rage. Jack felt himself losing his battle over his breathing. He suppressed a retch, but a small amount of vomit and bile refluxed up into his mouth. Oh, God!
Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw the signal flashing and the barriers in front of him starting to rise. He moved the car forward, half hearing one of the pedestrians say, ‘But the train hasn’t come yet.’
The barrier on the opposite side of the rail track was also raised and Jack accelerated. He heard a shout from behind him and half turned, in doing so he got a glance down the railway track—there was a train coming. It was close. He could see the fear in the train driver’s eye. His stomach wrenched with fear. It was all he could do to keep his hands on the steering wheel. He wanted to throw his arms across his face and let oblivion take him.
But self-preservation won over, he gripped the wheel and, yet again, time seemed to slow as he pushed his foot full down on the accelerator. The car leapt forward. He crossed into the middle of the tracks. The train was bearing down, was too close. And then…and then he was over the other side of the rail track. His car shook violently as the train passed noisily behind him. Holy shit!
Jack did not stop the car, but drove straight on, hardly daring to think about anything except getting home—and remembering to breathe. In, hold, out, wait.
Twenty minutes later Jack lay on his back in his bedroom, with the curtains shut and the lights turned off. He remembered back to only a few years ago when he’d been at the Grand National. He’d scoffed at the fact that thoroughbred horses appeared to be happier when wearing their blinkers. He understood it now; the darkness was comforting, kindly, warm…safe.
He used calming exercises and controlled breathing to bring his fear under control. Two hours later he still lay there—breathing—counting—breathing—counting—not thinking—not thinking of anything—breathing—counting—breathing.
By late evening Jack felt calm enough to venture into the kitchen and make some toast and a cup of tea. He looked out of his kitchen window on to his silent garden with a wry smile alternating between a mindless grimace and caring self-admonishment. Rule 1—Never leave the house.
Even later, Jack lay awake on his bed. Did I do something to that baby? I felt a connection.
Justio sat in his cabin smiling ruefully to himself. He’d been waiting for a few days for Jack to get back in his car so he could engineer a crash. In the end, Jack had almost killed himself unassisted. As it was, with Aytch watching the whole event sitting next to him, Justio had had to sit back and watch; still, he had plenty of time.
Chapter 41
Just as Jack was driving home from his railway incident, James Chambers drove sedately down a quiet country road in Surrey. The fact that the handwritten reports he had received from the MOD archivist were so obtuse, and incomplete, smacked of intrigue. The fact that Project Hedgehog was rated Ultra Black smacked of intrigue. This hadn’t been enough to spur him into action, however. No, it was the paradox of the FibonacciEddie username that had got him intrigued. Such unparalleled technical access.
There was an indication of some additional primary source material held in deep storage somewhere. Unfortunately, it would require senior budget approval to initiate a search of those places, and James felt an acute need to keep out of sight of the budgetary bean counters. Well, my job title is Head of G60, and this is a G60 programme; so I’m going to investigate.
Driving carefully, James wound the car through postcard villages with cricket greens and parish churches. What could Project Hedgehog have really been about? I need to control the information—protect my patch. James grinned. Protect my 30-hour week and two-hour lunch breaks!
James had tracked down Dougy Raddlestone, Molly Saunders’ deputy from the 1960s, to a retirement home near West Byfleet in Surrey. He was ushered into Dougy’s small sitting room. The room was lined with books and family photos. ‘Mr Raddlestone, thank you for making time for me. I’m not here officially, but I’m James Chambers, the head of G60.’ James showed his security pass.
Dougy was dressed casually in cords and a heavy jumper. He looked at James with a smile. ‘Please call me Dougy. Are you not here officially?…Or…Are you officially not here?’ There seemed to be a twinkle in Dougy’s eye as he spoke.
‘Ah, well…a bit of both really. I would prefer you didn’t go out of your way to tell anyone of this visit, but I’m definitely not asking you to lie on my behalf.’
‘It’s nice of you to consider my conscience.’
Settling into an armchair, James set out his stall. ‘Firstly, thank you for agreeing to see me, and secondly…what I’m about to ask you may be a little unusual.’ Dougy nodded and waited for James to continue. ‘Recently, there’s been some…some internal interest in a project from the 1960s. Project Hedgehog.’
Dougy opened eyes wide for a few seconds and then he grinned, stretched his arms, scratched his leg, still waiting. James waited too. Dougy broke the silence. ‘After you, James.’
It only took James a few minutes to summarise the little he did know: the government agencies were triggered to react to anyone investigating it, there was almost no written information, it seemed to have something to do with telekinesis, or telepathy, and it had fallen foul of some type of Cold War action. James looked around the room before returning his gaze to Dougy. ‘And so, here I am. I don’t know much at all.’
‘It certainly seems like bugger-all squared to me.’ Dougy paused. ‘Well, on the assumption you have internal clearance for this, albeit I don’t really give a damn if you don’t, since you are the Head of G60…There are a few things I remember about Project Hedgehog. I have to confess I have thought about it quite a lot in the past twenty years. Every time an aeroplane goes over this place late at night.’
‘So you can help?’
‘Perhaps I can share some information. Whether it helps or not…Well you can be the judge. I was in G60 during the time, but there was still such severe security I knew very little. However, a rumour emerged from the labs; a few people I greatly respected believed it.’ Dougy waited for a few moments, took a sip from his tea cup and then continued. ‘Are you ready, James?’ James nodded, took out a pencil, took out his notebook and opened it. Dougy leant forward, closed James’ notebook, and gently shook his head. ‘Well, the research experiment was trying to develop super-soldiers with extraordinary mind powers…and it got closed down due to alien sabotage.’
James tried hard to stop himself from gasping, but didn’t succeed. ‘Aliens?’
‘Let me continue…there was no explicit proof. But there were a few very competent scientists I knew well who genuinely believed it. The stories were quashed and the experiments were closed down. There were a few significant disappearances. Blamed on Russia, but I’m not so sure.’
There was a long pause as James collected his thoughts. ‘Why did you think aliens were involved?’
‘There was a test participant who showed special mental abilities. He disappeared. There were persistent rumours of abduction. The MOD pushed the story that it was a Cold War tit-for-tat, but internally there were groups of scientists and military who believed
he had been taken by little green men. Some of them disappeared too. The rumours dried up.’
‘Well, any alien species with technology to travel across the galaxy would probably have no problem stealing a few humans.’
Dougy shrugged and so James continued to talk. ‘Dougy, when you say special mental abilities, I saw a paper on Hedgehog which made little sense. It said something along the lines of…Subject G has shown success in the tests with a drug-induced trance and strong FT. Can you shed any light?’
‘I don’t know what the actual tests were sorry. But they were definitely focused on making an individual influence an event simply by thinking about it.’
‘But what about FT?’
Dougy arched an eyebrow. ‘FT…well I don’t remember seeing the note you’re talking about, but they used two stimuli, drugs and fear; perhaps FT relates to one of these.’
‘F for fear, maybe, or something along those lines, maybe being scared focuses the mind. Although we’re just guessing really.’
‘No. We’re not guessing…Sorry, I didn’t realise you didn’t know.’ Dougy looked hard at James. ‘Perhaps I misspoke earlier. The key trigger was not fear, it was terror, and not terrified of spiders. Genuine terror, when the blood drains from your face and your stomach knots, and your bowels evacuate…or churn at the very least.’
James remained silent, enrapt.
Dougy looked at James and chuckled. ‘You thought it was all about smoking pot and meditation in the 60s, didn’t you? We did have tests trying to unlock the power of the mind solely through the use of drugs but, depending on the drug used, the test participant either went to sleep, attacked the door or started rutting with the furniture.’
‘And you say some of the experiments were successful?’
‘I heard there were successes, particularly regarding the guy who went missing. As I said, the disappearances weren’t limited to one guy. I can’t remember exactly who else.’ Dougy tapped the side of his head. ‘The theme is fresh but some of the details have evaporated, most of us knew to keep quiet.’
