The Lifeboat

by Keith Fenwick

  What the hell have I got into? he asked himself, not for the first time. He wondered how he was going to arrange for the tens of thousands, perhaps millions of bodies the Transcendents no doubt thought they needed to be at the right place at the right time so they could enter the wormhole portal.

  The splash of a mullet leaping out of the water distracted his thoughts.

  Don’t worry, the Transcendent said.

  Bruce had failed to notice the icon which the Transcendent had created to let him know he was online was glowing softly.

  We don’t expect you to do a whole lot; other Transcendents will run the selection process. We know the programme cannot be mounted the way we used to. Previously we simply gathered a number of your species in one area and had them walk through a portal to a staging and processing facility and then to Skid. Your species has become much more sophisticated and technologically capable since the last time we were here, and we run the risk of the process of being interdicted and disrupted by your security forces if we are not careful.

  So this time our programme will need to operate quite differently. You now have mass communications and we are intrigued by your social networks and how they connect people. We think the simplest way for us to manage the process might be to create an app and let people download it to their devices along with a social media marketing campaign of some kind to obtain the bodies we require.

  “So why the fuck do you need me then?” In some ways he was a little disappointed with the Transcendent. And what did they mean ‘run a marketing campaign’?

  You are the human face of the programme. We also might require you to negotiate with the leaders of your planet.

  Bruce assumed, perhaps incorrectly as it turned out, the Transcendents would reveal themselves to the governments of the world and state their true purpose which, by default, would hopefully absolve him of any responsibility. This was just another assumption, perhaps a rather naive one on his part, he realised.

  We need you to be the human face of the programme, the transcendent repeated. We will do all the donkey work; we just need you to be there.

  Bruce reckoned there were limited options open to him, as far as he could see. Saying no to the Transcendents wasn’t one of them. At the moment he needed them probably more than they needed him. Without them he was at the mercy of just about every government in the world and their intelligence agencies. What he really did not like the sound of was that someone else was going to be responsible for the day-to-day activities of the process to gather up the fleshies. The MPU and the people he had first thought were the real Skidians had played that card before with him, and the situation had ended in a great famine playing itself out on Skid and eventually leading to the current mission.

  Once the Transcendents had hoovered up enough fleshies, Bruce hoped they would let him retain control over the spaceship so he could travel the galaxy. In fact, he was going to insist on it. Once the dust settled and the media moved on to the next great thing, with any record of his own involvement slipping into obscurity, he hoped he would be able to return home and live a normal life.

  But he knew there were no guarantees in life, and whatever the Transcendents might offer for his support, they held the upper hand and this state of affairs was not going to change in a hurry. Their treatment of Myfair was a good example of how they operated. For better or worse, he had served the regime but when he had outlived his usefulness they had discarded him without a thought for his well-being.

  Myfair himself still appeared a little disorientated by the physiological hits he had taken, which was not surprising. Although he was a lot more resilient than Bruce had given him credit for; Bruce felt a pang of sympathy for him – he knew just how he felt.

  A lot could change if people in the know about the asteroid and the Skidians, decided to claim their fifteen minutes of fame by leaking the information to the media. Bruce realised he was lucky there was not an encampment of domestic and international paparazzi already in place at the farm gate, snapping long-distance photos and flying drones or helicopters over the farm scaring the shit out of the neighbours and the livestock.

  This story, if told, would not just be about aliens and their selective recruitment of humans down the ages to be farmed like a mob of sheep or cattle. Well, maybe not cattle – cattle were far too clever to be manipulated in the way the last bunch of Skidian fleshies had allowed themselves to be manoeuvred during the last couple of millennia. It would also provide some proof regarding the source of creation myths across a number of religions, in a mostly negative sense. Substance to the view creation myths were just myths – the supernatural beings, the god heads were in fact aliens from another planet.

  Despite the protestations of the Transcendent to the contrary, that they had not dabbled in any form of experiments with the human race to improve their collective intelligence, Bruce did not believe it. Or them, as he had no way of knowing whether he was speaking to one Transcendent or some kind of multiple variant. Or different ones all the time.

  We offered nothing in respect of technological advantages and, by the way, your social development as a race is far behind your level of technological achievements, the Transcendent added. Rather haughtily, Bruce thought.

  “Yeah right,” he muttered to himself as he got up to grab another beer from the fridge.

  The concept of ancient aliens having a hand in the development of mankind was not a new one, even if it was one exploited by various elements of the lunatic fringe, more for shock and entertainment value than anything else. Bruce had always believed that, just because it might be difficult to conceive ancient man was capable of building a pyramid with complex internal tunnel systems, or a henge, with simple tools and techniques, it didn’t mean ancient man could not conceive and build these structures themselves.

  But now, in some respects at least, these people on the lunatic fringe may have been proven right, which meant most historical and religious records and the analysis of them were based on dodgy information.

  It was in our best interests to have your species living in low-technology societies in isolated groups so we could scoop up fleshies as we needed them without too much disruption. Your level of technology is more of a nuisance to us, so why would we want to encourage it?

  Bruce could see their point. Much easier for the Transcendents to deal with a dumbed-down low-tech society than one that might – if they were really lucky – blow a patrol ship out of the air or disrupt the upload process – which seemed more likely. Much better than a sophisticated society which might start to ask questions and probe too deeply into the disappearance of large numbers of their local populations. Something that was going to be an issue when they started gathering up warm bodies this time if they were not careful.

  Come to think of it, Bruce realised, all the Transcendents really wanted was a good, strong, healthy and fertile body they could download or decant into. There was no requirement for intelligence or capability. Capable, clever fleshies would be more trouble than they were worth. The Transcendents themselves would supply the mind if they needed to.

  A younger and less mature Bruce would have taken a lot of pleasure in debunking all the foundations the main modern world religions were based on. An older, wiser Bruce realised this could ignite a chaotic religious upheaval that would take generations to resolve and could put the development of mankind back to the Dark Ages. A state of chaos which would surely take generations to repair and resolve in the same way the fall of the Roman Empire had led to the Dark Ages and a great leap backwards in Europe’s development and the growth in influence of Christianity.

  Having an asteroid sprouting industrial modules appear in the heavens and the realisation man was not alone in the universe – and worse still, realising mankind was helpless against the aliens who had yet to reveal themselves – was one thing; debunking the world religions was another.

  “OK,” he repeated. “So can you explain the details of your plan? And by the way,
what happens to the asteroid after we’ve completed our mission?” The idea of a ‘mission’ had a nice solid ring to it, he decided. “What happens when someone tries to land on the asteroid, as they will surely try now? Will they be able to open a gateway to Skid?”

  By the time your species has worked out how to open a gateway to Skid, or anywhere else in the universe, the Transcendent explained, your species will most likely be able to join us in the next stage of evolution and we will probably have grown out of our need to keep an entire population of fleshies ready for us to decant back into. Either that, or our cloning technology will be much improved.

  Twenty-one

  Neither Wisneski nor Shelly took much notice of the rather dishevelled man eyeing them up from the bar as they checked in to the hotel. To a casual observer it looked like the man thought he recognised the couple from somewhere and was deciding whether or not to approach them as they headed for the elevator and their rooms.

  Dick had more than one advantage over Wisneski and Shelly. For one, he knew who they were and what they looked like. He had stored everything he could find out about them on his phone and had them under electronic surveillance before the two of them even had an opportunity to think about him and when he was going to turn up to meet them in the hotel.

  He had hacked into the hotel’s reservation system and it had been a piece of piss to set up the alert when the reservation system pulled up Wisneski’s name – whoever had booked the accommodation hadn’t bothered to try and hide his identity.

  Even though it was not a scheduled flight, it had been almost as easy to hack into the CAA’s system and work out which plane Wisneski was aboard and when it was landing. Then he had booked into the hotel using one of the business entities he had created for himself and positioned himself strategically at the bar to wait.

  On closer inspection Dick was not quite as unkempt as he appeared at first glance. He was just one of those unfortunate, slightly overweight, taller men, all arms and legs, with a wee pot belly, for whom decent clothes were not designed to fit. His shirt had, as always, come untucked, he wore an ancient-looking sports coat a stock agent might wear, and sprouted a two-day growth of beard. Not because he was too lazy to shave, but because he had forgotten to buy some new blades for his razor and decided the patchy stubble looked cool. It didn’t.

  Like a lot of others before him he had gawped at Shelly the first time he caught sight of her. She was well used to this kind of attention although she herself never understood why men were always ogling her, and she didn’t give Dick a second glance. There were other men in the bar looking at her enviously, some of who probably even fancied their chances with her if they got an opportunity.

  Dick heard Wisneski and Shelly agree to meet in the bar after they had freshened up to discuss their next move, so he settled down to wait with his low-alcohol beer. Wisneski also asked to be called when Mr Todd, and associate, arrived and checked in.

  A whistle notification announced the arrival of an incoming text. Dick peered at the screen in the low light of the bar. It was Bruce confirming his address, which was as close an invitation Dick was going get from Bruce. He was a little surprised at how long it was going to take to get to Bruce’s place. His own home was a little off the beaten track but this was something else again, he realised as he entered the address into Google Maps and saw exactly where Bruce’s home was.

  Once Wisneski and Shelly sat down to dinner and had a drink inside them, he felt Shelly had become far more relaxed and animated than Wisneski had ever seen her in their admittedly short association. It looked like she had spent the time having a shower, getting her second wind, and having a good think about their situation. This extra intensity made her far more attractive, if this was possible, and he wondered what she would be like in the sack. Like many men before him, Wisneski’s initial impression of Shelly had been based on her looks, not her intellect. He gave himself a mental prod and tried to pay attention to what she was saying, rather than focus on her exquisite features and the tantalising glimpse of her cleavage.

  “There’s a real opportunity here to position this process – I don’t know how else to term it – as a lifeboat for the human race,” she began, rather to Wisneski’s surprise. “We’ve come as close as any time in recorded history to an asteroid impact extinction event, whether by design or accident, and it’s shown us how vulnerable we are.” She paused for a moment. “I think if we angle it right and influence Bruce in the right way, we might be able to engineer some kind of planned planetary exodus. We can create another outpost for humanity on this other planet and spread the risk of an extinction event wiping us out or knocking our civilisation back to the Stone Age – or worse, if an asteroid hit. I think it is imperative …” she continued earnestly and then her voice trailed away as she became distracted by Dick Todd shambling up to their table.

  “Can I help you?” Wisneski asked.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Shelly began, more than a little outraged at the interruption. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as Dick, not waiting for an answer, drew up a chair and sat down beside her.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she repeated tersely, annoyed at the interruption just as she was getting going. She had spent most of the trip thinking about how she was going to engage with Wisneski and get him on side, and now some kind of tramp was breaking her train of thought. Shelly stared first at Wisneski then glanced around seeking out a security person to get rid of this uninvited guest.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she repeated again, more surprised than anything else, and not knowing how else to respond.

  “Dick Todd,” Dick said by way of introduction. “You were expecting me? Mr Wisneski, I presume?” Dick thought he was being funny but the joke was lost on Shelly.

  “Yes, we are,” Wisneski replied with an amused grin. He had just connected the dots as Dick sat. There was a clear Todd family resemblance there. “Yes, I’m Mike Wisneski. As you probably know already, we spoke on the phone,” he added. “And this is Dr Shaw. She um, actually I’m not sure I actually remember your title…?”

  “Special assistant to the President’s Science Adviser, and you can call me Shelly.”

  “Ah yes, how is President Mitchell coping those days?” Dick asked. “I understand he is – let me put it as diplomatically as I can – struggling with a few mental health issues at the moment.”

  “He is fine, thank you. There are some scurrilous rumours, unsubstantiated I might add, surrounding the President at the moment. However, I can assure you he is not suffering from any mental health issues and is firmly in control of the government,” Shelly retorted, repeating the standard party line. Besides, the last time she had seen the President in the flesh he had seemed normal enough.

  “Yeah, right. Not what I heard from a source close to the action.”

  “Yes, well we don’t need to belabour the issue,” Wisneski intervened, wondering where Dick had got his information from. “Would you like to join us for dinner?” he asked, ignoring Shelly’s scowl of protest. He clearly had a better idea about what was going on in the White House than Shelly did, but it was a surprise Dick was so well informed. But then again, Dick had managed to track him down via Agent Duke easily enough, and that would have taken some doing.

  Dick drained his glass and waved at the bar for a refill. “Same again please,” he said, as the waiter approached. “Might as well enjoy myself at the expense of the American taxpayer. Opportunities like this don’t come up every day.”

  Shelly had no idea how to respond as both men looked at her expectantly. Who is this guy? she asked herself. Then the penny dropped. “Ah,” she said at last.

  “Exactly,” Dick responded. “So you were saying? You two looked as though you were cooking up some kind of conspiracy between you. All this talk of backups and resilience. Lifeboats and contingencies. Business Continuity is my special interest so I’m sure
I can help.”

  “I think it’s OK to be reasonably open with Mr Todd,” Wisneski suggested to Shelly. The mere fact he was sitting at the table and had been in contact with Bruce made him at least a de facto member of the inner circle.

  “Thanks, Wisneski. Now, can you tell me what’s going on? What kind of mischief has Bruce Harwood got himself and my little brother into?” Dick knew Bruce was involved in something which had attracted a lot of attention from some very interesting people, even though he was pretty sure there was nothing really illegal going on. Drugs were not involved, nor was it terrorism – the response would have been on quite a different level if that had been the case – Bruce would already be on his way back to the States under strict security and bugger the law of the land. What was most intriguing, was how Bruce had attracted a lot of attention one way or another. However, there was very little detail regarding exactly what activity had led to this level of interest.

  All Dick had managed to discern was a global curiosity in Bruce which seemed to be related to the sudden appearance of the asteroid, apparently on a collision course for Earth before it had veered away mysteriously. If this was correct, he wanted to know how the hell Bruce and his own brother were involved?

  Had Bruce stumbled onto some super-secret US Government programme by accident on his travels? Stumbled onto some information global governments and their intelligence agencies were eager to get their hands on? Dick thought there was a great story here somewhere, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. Not to achieve his fifteen minutes of notoriety by lifting the lid on some semi-legal, morally dubious, big government conspiracy, but because he was simply inquisitive. Dick had an enquiring mind and wanted to find out what was going on, especially now he knew enough to be tantalised.