She turned around, and the screen changed again, this time showing the famous DNA double helix. “At the time, several blood samples were taken from the patient, but despite an extensive search of the Hospital’s database, no record was found of them, nor could we locate the patient’s records. Under the pretext of an audit, on visiting the Hospital, our agents recovered a backup data disc which had the information. It does look as if someone deliberately wiped all Hospital records appertaining to this Adam Doone. Fortuitously, one of the blood samples was miss-labelled as being for HIV testing by the Phlebotomy Department and had been stored, instead of the usual seven-day discard.”
She noted one or two questioning looks around the room.
“For the less medically aware, Phlebotomy is the department where blood work is undertaken. Samples are normally discarded after a week, but when taken for HIV or virus testing, are kept for six months. We were very fortunate someone made a mistake. This sample, along with his medical notes, were sent for analysis and examination at Porton Down. Their findings were quite remarkable. On the screen is a normal strand of human DNA.”
She clicked, and the image changed again, this time showing a triple-helix.
“This is the sample taken from the patient, who gave his name as Adam Doone. Porton Down confirm it is viable and, apart from the third strand of DNA, almost completely human, the differences being negligible and in keeping with what would be expected from genetic drifting of separated groups. This third strand, however, is unique and completely unknown to us. We believe it to be artificial, for its atomic structure is incredibly complex. Despite this, it appears to exist in a totally symbiotic relationship with the host DNA.”
The room was now deathly silent; everyone focused on what would be said next, the implications now obvious to everyone there.
“Focusing our efforts on finding out more on Ms McLeod, we checked through the internet search history of the computer she was using for the period she was on Skye. In your notes there is a full list of the sites searched from the house she was staying at. In the opinion of the security services, the pattern of searches is indicative of a stranger trying to obtain information to enable them to obtain an understanding of world history. The speed at which sites were accessed also indicates an ability to retain information at a remarkable rate, less than one second per page viewed. Of immediate concern to us is the unusual interest in our Royal Family and its role in our society, possibly indicating the searcher might have intended to meet or try to communicate with them at some point.”
Like the previous speaker, she paused for a moment to take a sip of water. Despite this opportunity to interrupt, no-one did, the silence in the room deafening.
“The final, and perhaps most disturbing conclusion from our findings, is we believe our national security systems have been compromised. Whoever, or whatever is doing this has not done any harm, nor has any attempt been made to access systems which would be of interest to an enemy power, for example, launch codes or lists of overseas operatives. Frustratingly, we are unable to catch them in the act and can only detect where they have been after the event, and only then by the minuscule traces they have left behind, for example, tiny reductions in read/write cycles of the solid-state drives. For the less technically minded amongst us, GCHQ has provided a layman’s explanation in Appendix F. These breaches began around the time the suspects arrived on Skye and are ongoing even as we speak.”
Sir John hadn’t known this last piece of information, in itself a strong indication of how serious the problem was. It too fell into place in his mind, changing his analysis of what was happening here from a strong possibility to a certainty.
A knock on the door broke the silence, and several of those sitting nearest to it jumped in surprise. Julia switched the screens off as several officials came in with trays, setting down jugs containing tea and coffee, next to a stack of white porcelain cups already set up on a table in the corner. Job done, they left as silently as they came, closing the door behind them.
No-one moved from their seat, an indication of how seriously everyone was taking the revelations. Julia switched the screens back on and asked if anyone had any questions.
Sir John thought for a moment, then asked his first question. “If these people could remotely wipe the Hospital’s records and hack our systems, why didn’t they also alter the Bank of England’s records? They’ve proved themselves to be professional and able to think ahead.”
“If I may answer this, Julia?” interrupted the Deputy Governor of the Bank. “For security reasons, our number database is kept separate from the mainframe and is not linked in any way, Sir John. It is less than fifty years since we stopped crossing them out of a big ledger by hand. We tend to take a belt and braces approach to security at the Bank.”
A middle-aged man in an expensive Saville Row suit asked another question, Sir John recognising him as an up and coming senior civil servant representing the UK in the Five Eyes intelligence sharing network.
“If our systems are still compromised, what precautions are we taking to ensure these persons are not aware we know of their interest in us?” he asked.
“Good question. Until we can be certain the threat has been neutralised, all data relating to this enquiry is to be maintained on systems disconnected from both the Internet, our internal intranet, and servers.”
No-one else spoke, none wanting to ask the obvious question and potentially make a fool of themselves, hoping someone else would do so. Frustrated, Sir John decided to speak up, shaking his head as he did.
“So how many aliens are we dealing with and who do we have that is cleared for First Contact?” He looked around the room, finally catching the eyes of the Prime Minister. Everyone held their breath, waiting for her to respond.
“We don’t know for certain, Sir John” she replied. “But we believe just the one. There are no indications that Ms McLeod is anything other than a human who has become caught up in something of national importance. This Adam Doone, however, is a complete mystery, appearing suddenly out of nowhere and disappearing just as quickly.”
Now that he had identified the elephant in the room and spoken the unspeakable, everyone began asking questions, enabling Sir John to sit back and watch everyone's reaction, his incisive mind hard at work formulating, then breaking down, various scenarios of how they were going to find and deal with these two individuals, assuming they were still on Earth…
Late into the evening, the room’s air conditioning was still struggling to cope with the body heat of so many stressed individuals and the residual heat that had permeated the building from the hot summer day outside. For most of the occupants in Briefing Room A, the day had been a surreal one with one or two still refusing to accept the evidence presented to them. However, in the end, it had been decided that Karen McLeod and Adam Doone were to be placed onto the private apprehend list maintained by the security services. However, neither the regular Police nor any foreign agencies would be involved or informed, the matter having been deemed to be of national importance and on a strict “need to know” basis.
To Sir John’s surprise and obvious relief, far-reaching decisions had actually been agreed, not least that a watch would be maintained on Karen McLeod’s family in case she tried to contact them. All mail would be intercepted, along with intercepts of both land and mobile telephone lines. Under the pretext of manoeuvres, a substantial number of soldiers and support equipment would be stationed on Skye, near its small airfield, along with a less obvious force in Inverness. As a precaution, security around the Royal family would also be increased, and their formal engagements reduced, using ill health as a pretext. At Sir John’s insistence, in addition to trying to locate the prime suspects, authorisation was given for a manual search of records to determine whether there were similarities with other events since the turn of the last century. Thanks to high-resolution images obtained from CCTV in the initial investigation, several recent photographs of Karen and Adam
were available and would be used in the cross-referencing. Manually searching would take far longer, but with the mainframe potentially compromised, they had no choice other than to do it the old fashioned way. Inevitably, and as Sir John had planned for it to be all along, as these investigations into possible previous visits or events had been his suggestion, it was only natural that he was put in charge of them.
Of immediate concern to Sir John was the controversial decision around the potential use of deadly force in the event either of the suspects was found and refused to submit. The leader of the opposition had vehemently opposed it, for once siding with Sir John, but had been reminded that in times of national emergency Habeas Corpus and the normal niceties of law could be suspended by the PM. She had politely reminded him that going public would see him jailed for Treason as everything was covered by the Official Secrets Act. By the narrowest of margins, deadly force had been approved, despite Sir John’s vehement opposition and warnings. Assurances had been sought and given that every effort would be made to capture the two suspects through peaceful means, but from personal experience Sir John knew only too well how easy it could be for accidents to happen in the heat of the moment. Of major concern to him was what would happen should any serious harm befall either of the two suspects and what the inevitable consequences of this might be, for he considered anyone capable of what he had seen demonstrated a potentially formidable enemy. “Far better to catch an elusive wasp with honey, than swat it and attracts all its friends to find out what’s happened,” he reasoned. Sadly, not enough people had agreed with him.
Finally, the long meeting was over. Sir John got up from his seat and stretched, trying to get some blood into his legs, which felt stiff and tired after having sat still for so long. Wandering over to the food table, he helped himself to several of the least dog-earned sandwiches that remained from lunch, knowing that by the time he arrived home, all the nearby takeaway restaurants would have closed. Various experts had come and gone throughout the day, providing analysis into their technical specialities, even one well-known science fiction writer who had been retained years earlier as an expert on First Contact. Sir John found himself thinking how everything had suddenly become a hotbed of activity, with action plans and sub-committees set up and reporting directly to the PM and the Cabinet. One of the most hotly contested debates was about when, or indeed if, any of our closest allies would be informed. Eventually, everyone agreed that nothing would be communicated or shared until after the two suspects were safely in custody and we had solid proof to show them. The PM, in particular, was worried what might happen should the Americans demand the suspects were turned over to them for questioning, hence the caution.
He sensed a presence behind him and turned around, coming face to face with Julia Westfield, one of the few people remaining, the PM and her advisors having left immediately the meeting ended.
“Any any of those still worth eating?” she asked, pointing at the remaining sandwiches and smiling warmly at him, “I confess they don’t look at all appealing.”
“Depends on how hungry you are, I suppose,” he replied, returning her smile but saying nothing further, too old and cynical to be taken in by a pretty face and sociable manner.
She waited for him to say something further. When nothing was forthcoming her smile broadened further. “Alright, you win. I need to know, how did you make that leap earlier, based on such little information? It was really quite impressive. Did you take a peek at the notes?”
Sir John stared at her, wondering how much to say, his mind unconsciously running through various scenarios, planning several moves ahead. He decided to tell her.
“It’s a gift, something I’ve always been able to do for as long as I can remember. I have a knack for remembering abstract information and making associations; seeing patterns and connections that no-one else can. For example, the meteorite explosion in the atmosphere was common knowledge and all over the papers, but the pressure wave was classified, passing through my office as a matter of routine. I remembered the dates clearly for I thought they might have been connected but as I could make no further associations I dismissed them. Then came these two people, both missing, not far from the first two happenings. When you explained more and mentioned the triple helix and mysterious healing, to me the conclusions were inescapable; all were linked and potentially not of this planet. QED.”
“Impressive, nonetheless, Sir John. I look forward to working with you on this,” and with that, she shook his hand and left the room, leaving him to rue not being happily married and thirty years younger.
SCENE 3, THE AFTERMATH OF BATTLE
Alexander sat in his suite, the coloured walls around him turned transparent to provide an unobstructed view of the stars outside, creating an almost perfect illusion of being in space. All about, for as far as he could see, hundreds of fatally damaged or dying ships drifted uncaringly through space, staying on their last heading and heedless of their ultimate destination. From bitter experience, Alexander knew that inside those hulks a few pitiful survivors remained, scattered remnants measuring their lives by what oxygen remained to them, some resigned to their fate, others relying on their comrades to rescue them or waiting for the victorious Imperial force to take themprisoner.
Intermittent flashes of light occasionally caught his eye, coming from damaged sections of the nearest ships, some trailing the detritus of battle behind them, others venting thin streamers of evaporating moisture as it boiled away into the unfeeling vacuum from rents and tears in the broken hulls. There were bodies too, of poor souls sucked out into space, tiny, almost invisible motes when judged against the massive vessels. Retaining the original momentum of their mother ships and captured by the mass of metal that was once a sanctuary and home, the bodies tumbled their way to eternity, arms and legs slowly waving.
He knew that hundreds of shuttles were ferrying to and from his victorious fleet, picking up survivors or transporting urgently needed supplies. Although he allowed Vimes to handle much of the data coming into him via his implant, Alexander had given instructions he was to see all the casualty reports as they came in. His eidetic memory helped him recall far too many of the names and faces, adding to his black depression. Vimes had suggested blocking these, but Alexander refused, feeling the need to take responsibility in some way. Another part of him masochistically wanted to feed his anger, knowing it was one of the few things that stopped him from seeking the solace of sleep or chemically induced calm.
In the distance lay the prize these ships had fought and died for, a beautiful blue-green planet, set against the blackness of space and the distant, uncaring stars. Indifferent in its majesty, the planet cared nothing for the survivors, nor the fate of the ships that had once protected it. If Alexander looked closely, small black slivers could be made out in orbit, connected to the planet below by straight lines of searingly bright light as weapons fire from the capital ships of Alexander’s fleet sought out targets on the surface. From this distance, without zooming the view in closer, he was unable to see the damage being caused to the planet, but as the one who gave the order to bombard, he knew exactly what was happening on the surface.
Where the beams impacted against defending shields, much of their energy would be absorbed, but a large proportion would invariably be reflected away and out into the surrounding environment. In the vacuum of space this wouldn’t be a problem, but within the oxygen-rich atmosphere of a habitable planet, the air itself would explode and spread the resulting devastation for miles in every direction, incinerating anything flammable in its path. This, in turn, generated massive storms as the air fought back, the two eventually finding a crazy, frenzied equilibrium of flame and storms.
How long Alexander had sat watching the unfolding bombardment he didn’t know or care, his entire existence consumed by a lack of colour or feeling since Vimes had confirmed the death of his beloved wife, Christine, at the hands of an assassin sent by Duke Frederick. A detached and dispass
ionate part of Alexander, almost as if he was watching himself on a screen, observed how he was reacting to the news and subsequent battle with the rebel fleet. Despite not wanting to do anything and in pain from several healing wounds, he forced himself to stand up, cancelling the illusion of space around him with a thought to the ship’s AI, his protesting muscles the only indicator of how long he had been sitting there. It had been several hours since he had returned from leading a boarding party to take the enemy flagship when it refused to surrender. Alexander had recklessly taken point in the fighting, ignoring the objections of his bodyguards, all the while trying to lose himself in the mindlessness of battle, taking numerous wounds in the process which he had refused any treatment for, relying on Vimes and his enhanced metabolism to heal him.
In the midst of battle, an almost Berserker rage had taken hold, and heedless of the danger, Alexander had pressed on until he had fought his way to the Bridge, his battle suit covered in blood and gore. Only then had the enemy commander surrendered, and Alexander remembered how easy it would have been for him to refuse it and simply kill the Admiral and Bridge officers where they stood. It had taken an enormous effort of will for him to hold his rage in check and he doubted whether he now had the strength left to resist his feelings for revenge and remain the decent man he had always tried to be. Then, the horrified expression of the Rebel officers when he revealed himself to them had shocked him back to a semblance of normality. Only after questioning the officers for a time had Alexander truly understood the true horror of what Frederick has accomplished with his rebellion.
Frederick had used the Imperium’s own tight control over information against it, taking control over the planetary data-nets and communications, thereby providing their populations with false information. With all news from outside of each solar system having to pass through Jump Points, Frederick was able to control what people were seeing and hearing. For the military, it was even worse. The Marines and Navy depended extensively on their AI’s and information being fed to them via the ships and planetary bases. By seamlessly taking control of these and replacing loyal commanders with those of his own, Frederick had used the Marines’ loyalty to the Empire to his advantage, letting them believe they were fighting for the Imperium against rebels.
Imperium: Coda: Book Three in the Imperium Trilogy Page 5
