The Reckoning (Earth Haven Book 3)

by Sam Kates

  “Sure I know. But maybe you should forget about nationalities and shit. None of that stuff matters any more.”

  Simone lowered the pistol and began to walk towards the two men with the rifles. They remained frozen into position; only their eyes moved, watching her helplessly as she approached them.

  “You see,” she said, “the Keeper’s psyche has been boosted by five others, but that’s only sufficient to hold you in place, there being two of you an’ all. It’s not enough to make you step off this cliff. Not that the Keeper would do that.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Too much of a drone lover.”

  She reached the men and pried their unresisting fingers from the weapons. When Irving lifted a foot to move towards her, she waved the pistol lazily in his direction. “Uh-huh,” she said. Irving remained where he was.

  Simone freed the first rifle and dropped it over the edge of the cliff. Tom heard it clatter to the rocks below. The second rifle soon followed. Simone patted down the men, then turned to Irving.

  “What about you, Mr boss man? You packing?”

  “I must protest,” said Irving. “We are members of Her Majesty’s royal navy–”

  “That’s sweet, but just tell me if you’re packing. You know, carrying a weapon?”

  Irving’s jaw, already prominent, jutted out further. “No. I don’t have a weapon about my person.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll make sure.”

  Irving stiffened but didn’t try to prevent her patting him down. Simone gave him a smile before flouncing back to the others. Only when she reached them did the intensity leave Milandra’s gaze.

  The two sailors sagged, breathing out heavily. They glanced uncertainly at Irving.

  “Sir?”

  Irving shrugged.

  “Do you believe now?” asked Tom in a low voice. And–” he raised his eyes skywards “–there are more on the way. Might not be a bad idea to blow them from the sky before they land?”

  Irving whispered back: “Don’t blame me for not believing you before. It’s a crazy story.” He straightened and made a shushing gesture with his lips.

  Milandra had moved forward and addressed him.

  “Would you mind telling me precisely what your intentions are, Mr…?”

  “It’s Irving. Acting Lieutenant Commander James Irving of Her Majesty’s Submarine Argute.”

  “And my name is Milandra. Despite what you might think, I am not your enemy. The woman with the pistol? She probably is your enemy, but she’s not in charge. Not yet at any rate.” She called over to Simone. “And put that pistol away before you hurt someone.”

  Simone scowled, but flounced back to the hotel. When she reappeared, she was no longer holding the weapon.

  As she returned to Milandra’s group, Ceri, Bri, Will and Dusty emerged from hiding and came back to Tom’s side. Ceri nodded at Irving. He nodded grimly back.

  Ceri turned to Colleen and gave her a big hug.

  “Where’s the spaceship?” asked Will.

  “Coming,” said Tom. He glanced at Ceri and grimaced.

  Irving had point-blank refused to answer any of Milandra’s questions. His men stood by, stony-faced, ignoring everyone.

  “I can probe you, you know,” said Milandra. “Although you can usually keep us out, I am the Keeper and as such know ways to evade your defences. Still, that would be extremely rude of me and would not help you to see that we aren’t necessarily on opposing sides. However, I shall assume that your submarine is equipped with surface-to-air missiles and shall take the appropriate precautions when the time comes.” She glanced up. “Which won’t be too long.”

  Before Irving could say anything in response, a beeping tone sounded from his jacket.

  “Ah, that’s my commanding officer,” he said. “I need to make a report.” He reached into his jacket and extracted a walkie-talkie. He moved away and began to speak into it in a low voice.

  Milandra watched him for a few moments before stepping to his side and tapping him on the shoulder. He jumped.

  “Sorry to startle you,” she said, “but I’d like a word with your commanding officer, please.”

  “Er…”

  She held out her hand. With obvious reluctance, Irving handed the walkie-talkie to her.

  “His name?”

  “Commander Napier.”

  “Okay. What do I do, press this button?”

  Irving nodded. “And release it again to receive.”

  Milandra raised the set to her mouth.

  “Hello? Is this Commander Napier?”

  Tom was not standing close enough to hear the reply; all he could hear was a crackle.

  “My name is Milandra. If you’re currently standing on the open deck of your craft, please identify yourself by waving your left arm above your head. Just as I am doing.”

  Tom looked at the submarine. One of the figures on the deck raised an arm and waved it in the air.

  “Thank you, Commander Napier. I expect you have noticed some unusual atmospheric activity going on as we speak. Strange cloud formations, that sort of thing. I don’t fully understand all that scientific stuff myself, but I am led to believe it has to do with the large amount of concentrated anti-matter that is approaching. Has a strange effect on the water vapour in the air. Makes it coalesce into a rather fetching spiral pattern. But that’s neither here nor there. The real reason I need to speak to you is to tell you that it is pointless arming your missiles in readiness for firing them at what will soon emerge from the clouds.”

  The faint embers of hope that had ignited inside Tom upon seeing the Argute extinguished themselves as though Milandra’s words were a bucket of water.

  The walkie-talkie crackled and Milandra listened.

  “Of course you deny that you are carrying missiles,” she said. “And I realise that I cannot prevent you from arming them, but you will be wasting your time. We cannot let you interfere with the Great Coming. We have waited almost five millennia for it to take place. So we will take preventative action when the rest of our people are within range to lend me their intellects. Be assured that it will not harm you, but I doubt from my observations that it is an enjoyable experience. I shall now bid you farewell, Commander Napier.”

  Crackle.

  Milandra handed the set back to Irving. “He wants to speak to you again.”

  Irving walked away, muttering into the walkie-talkie.

  Tom uttered a deep sigh. Judging from her drooping shoulders and despondent expression, Ceri had also harboured hopes that they might have a way to strike back. They should have known better; Milandra and her people had been so thorough up to this point it was inconceivable, now that Tom thought about it, that they would not have a plan or the means to counter any interference the remaining puny humans could come up with.

  “They are arming the missiles,” said Colleen in a low voice that only Tom and Ceri would be able to hear. A waft of stale whisky hit Tom’s face; Colleen had evidently not turned teetotal. “What was that Belinda woman on about? How can they stop them from being fired?”

  Ceri kept her voice low in response. “It’s Milandra, not that I suppose it matters. They will combine mental forces with the seventy thousand newbies. Together, that will be enough to make every survivor on the planet slit their throats. Controlling a submarine crew won’t present a problem.”

  “Unless,” said Tom, “the submarine dives into deep water. It’s what stopped them hearing the Commune.”

  Ceri looked doubtful. “Will they still be able to fire the missiles from deep water?”

  Tom shrugged and looked at Colleen.

  “Search me,” she said. “Better shush. She’s coming.”

  “What now?” said Tom in a loud voice.

  “Now?” said Milandra. “I suggest you watch the show. It should be quite spectacular.”

  * * * * * * *

  Though Zach and his companions did not know it, and would not have cared if they did, the building in which t
hey found their last night of refuge had once been a bonded warehouse near the banks of the Thames in West London. Whilst structurally sound, the building had fallen into disuse and had been sold to a property developer in October with a view to converting it into high class apartments in hope that this rundown, largely industrial area would become the new trendy district for those unable to afford the sky-high rents of Chelsea and Kensington.

  There was time for the developer to clear the last of the rusting machinery and rotting tea chests before the world of development, commerce and more or less everything man-made or -driven came to an abrupt halt.

  The only way to leave the warehouse was through the barred door by which they had entered; the only escape from the alley was to retrace their steps. The high brick wall in the other direction dropped away to the dark waters of the river.

  A steadily increasing hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional gasp, made Zach interrupt cleaning his rifle to look around. Most heads were turned to the high windows.

  The air outside had dimmed, although the sky through one side of the building looked clear and blue. Not so the other side. A swirling mass of cloud obstructed the sun. Zach had never seen a formation like it.

  “Wow,” he murmured.

  Amy looked at him with wide, dark eyes. “It’s like the end of days.”

  The Swedish woman sat with her long legs bent in front of her, hugging her jean-clad knees. “It is true,” she said flatly. “They are coming.”

  Elliott dropped his gaze from the windows. “If they are coming, maybe we should be going.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they’ll be a little distracted.”

  Zach looked from one to the other; they were all waiting for his reaction. Joe, too, had stopped staring at the sky to listen and watch. Zach met his eye and the boy gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Think Elliott could be right,” said Zach. “Don’t see what we have to lose. I’d just as soon die with the breeze on my cheeks as trapped in here like some slaughterhouse calf.”

  Joe slapped a fist into his palm. “Yes,” he hissed. Louder: “Yes!”

  Heads turned to look their way.

  Joe jumped to his feet.

  “Most of you know Zach by now,” he said, addressing the vast room. “You’ve seen how well he can use that American rifle he carries. But he’s a quiet chap. Not given to rabble rousing or displays of emotion. He thinks we should make a break for it while the enemy is distracted by what’s happening up there. I think he’s right. So here’s the choice you face. Stay and be exterminated like the vermin and mad dogs who have been chasing us. Or go out there and fight.”

  “That’ll mean certain death,” came a voice.

  Joe nodded. “But so will staying in here.” He threw out his hands. “Look at this place. Concrete floor, brick walls, high windows. It’s like a prison. Ask yourself: if this is going to be my last day on earth, do I want to spend it in a cell?”

  Zach rose slowly to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his bones. Aware that every head had turned to watch him, he kept his gaze down, but his voice remained steady.

  “Of my own making, it’s true, but I’ve spent most of my adult life in a prison of sorts. I ain’t going to die in one.”

  Joe reached down and gripped Amy by the hand, pulling her to her feet. As though on impulse, he leaned in and kissed her full on the lips. Zach could not help but smile as he noticed the blush spread across her face, visible even in this dim light. Amy stared at Joe. He grinned at her. Perhaps to hide her confusion, Amy turned and addressed the room in a faltering voice.

  “Prison. I guess I was in one, too. My momma… well, that don’t matter no more.” She took a stuttering breath. “I’m going with Zach and Joe. If I got to die, I want to do it out there by their side.”

  Amy glanced at Zach and smiled; in that instant, she looked as beautiful as any woman had ever appeared to him. Her gaze went to Joe. She brought her hands up to his cheeks, leaned in and kissed him in return. A soft sigh came from the watching people.

  Elliott stood with a grunt.

  “Well,” he said, letting his gaze pass around the room, “I have to confess that I’ve never been near a prison. Literally or metaphorically. Unless you count my sexuality, but frankly that’s no one’s damn business but my own. Then there’s this building. Since we seem to be according it a status on a par with Folsom, then, no thanks, I don’t want to stay.” He held up his hands to show they were empty. “Only problem is, I don’t have a weapon. My role in this venture has been one of chronicler. That won’t be of much use to you when we walk out of that door. So perhaps someone better provide me with a gun.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged,” said Joe. He looked down at Aletta. She held out her hand and he yanked her up.

  She looked around at her companions and smiled.

  “The people I travelled to Britain with have all gone,” she said. “You are all I have left in the world. It would be an honour to spend my last minutes in your company.” She turned to the room. “I go, too. With my friends.”

  For a moment, there was silence. People glanced at each other. Then slowly came the rustling sound of a crowd rising to its feet. A minute or so later and every person in the building was standing.

  “Okay,” said Joe. He glanced at Zach; the dancing enthusiasm had been replaced by a grim tautness. “It looks like we all go.”

  * * * * * * *

  The clouds turned the colour of flaming coals, swirling and broiling like a witch’s cauldron being stirred. Almost two miles off the Cornish coast a deluge of rain fell onto the Atlantic Ocean in an area approximating a circle hundreds of yards across. A hot, rushing wind sprang from nowhere, whipping the surface of the water into a frothing frenzy.

  When it seemed that the clouds must combust in a conflagration that would evaporate the sea and sear the ground, they parted and whipped away, scattering like foam in a gale.

  Rays of revealed sunlight slanted down as though heralding a divine visitation. The golden light bent around the black shape that emerged from the dispersing vapours.

  Black. Total, unbroken. A blackness so complete, it wasn’t even a presence of something; more an absence of everything. Judging from the way the drones scrunched up their faces, they were finding it difficult to focus properly on the descending craft.

  They weren’t the only ones to be thrown a little out of kilter by its appearance. Milandra had been busy organising the Deputies and Rodney Wilson, preparing them to assist her in harnessing the incoming intellects to paralyse the sub, but she had paused, staring at the craft with a puzzled frown.

  Perhaps Simone, had she been paying closer attention herself to the ship, might have acted differently, but she was watching the door of opportunity swing wide. She gleefully stepped through and slammed it shut behind her.

  * * * * * * *

  On board the craft, the Keeper—the other one—was concentrating on slowing its descent, mindful of past disasters. Not that he cared for the fate of the planet—there were other planets to exploit; the galaxy was almost endless and just one of an endless number of galaxies—but the ship held the last remnants of his species and was built for speed, not to withstand collisions with firm surfaces.

  Once safely down, they would get to work clearing up the mess that they were bound to find. The drones would have multiplied, evolved, might exist in large numbers, perhaps in the millions, difficult though such a magnitude was to imagine. They would need to act quickly, combining intellects and commanding all drones to self-destruct.

  He wasn’t overly concerned at any threat posed by the drones. They had received the signal sent from Earth Haven. As well as pinpointing the planet’s location, the signal was only to be transmitted if the way was clear.

  The resistance he anticipated would come from those of his former people who survived. From reports received while its spacecraft still functioned from the advance party of fifty millennia ago, they knew that Sol gave extraordinarily l
ong life, even by their standards, and it was perfectly possible that a large contingent from the ten thousand settlers of five millennia past yet lived. That they had existed alongside and among drones for such a period and not been contaminated by their selfish individuality was inconceivable. That, coupled with their ingrained beliefs in lies and half-truths—not their fault, but the reach of that scheming bitch Sivatra was long indeed—meant assimilation back into the ethos and doctrines of the new-improved species would be so difficult as to not make it worth the effort.

  They would need to act decisively, peremptorily, eradicating their surviving people without mercy or regret. Then and only then could they regroup and begin to rebuild their depleted resources, take what this planet had to offer and move on to pastures greener.

  But his concentration was breaking. A distraction. A nagging, insistent demand for immediate assistance. The Keeper recognised the invading intelligence as one of their own, though one whose knowledge of Earth Home was second-hand, confirming that their suspicion of survival here was correct. There was no time for further examination or investigation into why the pulse had been sent if the way was not, in fact, clear. The threat to the craft was, so the intelligence made clear, deadly and immediate.

  All others aboard held their breath, ready to follow his lead. The intelligence demanded it be obeyed or refused to the peril of all. A snap decision was required.

  Not knowing from where the threat came, or what form it took, he could not assess its severity. The craft was designed for interstellar travel and contained no weaponry systems; if defence ever became necessary, it would consist of fleeing faster than an opponent. The craft did contain a combat probe that operated better in the vacuum of space than within the confines of a planetary atmosphere, but that they nevertheless would have deployed ahead of their approach had they not received the signal.

  As it was, the craft possessed a soft underbelly that it was offering to any potential assailant that might be waiting below. There was little choice other than to trust the demanding intelligence.

  The Keeper resisted the call only for the moments it took for him to check that the hull thrusters were operating at full capacity and would continue to reduce the rate of their descent sufficiently to allow a safe landing on the ocean surface.