by Nick M Lloyd
Terminal velocity currently at 600kph
Units slowing as air resistance increases
Falling units are shedding exterior covers but heating
64mins to impact
The word ‘impact’ sent a shiver down Tim’s spine. ‘Shit!’
He looked back out of the window. His view was not great, but it appeared that some of the A-Gravs were now emitting a reddish light, and were diverging from their previous positions in the ring.
‘Can you access the CNSA’s public website?’ Tim called over his shoulder.
‘It’s down,’ said Sam.
‘NASA?’
‘It’s up.’
Tim returned to the kitchen table, where Sam had her laptop. ‘How come you’ve got such good bandwidth?’ he asked.
Sam tapped a USB stick. ‘Charlie couriered me a priority access one.’
‘Good that he has some benefits.’
Wow!
That was one of the most aggressive things Tim had ever said about Charlie – to Sam’s face, at least. He was usually hyper-careful on the subject, for fear of coming across as petty.
It was hard to make out on the small screen, but real-time images collated by NASA showed almost three hundred A-Grav units that had fallen out of the chain.
The first impact was expected in New York, followed by Moscow.
It was entirely feasible that one of the countries, frustrated by a lack of communication, could shoot a missile at a descending A-Grav.
No news yet about London. However, the fact the prime minister had talked about preparations, and the deployment of military tanks around Kirkmail prison, gave a strong sense that London would be part of the first wave.
Five minutes later, the UK government confirmed that one of the A-Grav units was heading for Kirkmail.
Social media analysis indicated that lots of people were also rushing towards it.
Tim looked at Sam. ‘What next?’
‘I need your help to get onto the roof.’
‘The roof?’
‘Much better view from up there. My windows point the wrong way.’
Tim looked across to the television. A real-time video of the Kirkmail-bound A-Grav was now showing on all the main channels. It was a glowing ball, red-hot, and shedding external materials.
Heat shielding?’
‘Just one so far for London?’ asked Tim.
‘And one for Birmingham,’ said Sam. ‘A little behind.’
The television channel flicked to a live shot of the roads around Kirkmail prison. In general, cars appeared to be heading away from the prison, whilst people were running towards it.
Another update came through.
UK government confirm
London Unit – Kirkmail prison
Birmingham Unit – BT Head Office
Velocity currently 325kph
18mins to impact – 105km height
External casing being shed appears to be carbon based
Diameter down from 10m to 3m
‘Come on,’ said Sam, now on her crutches. ‘It will take me that long to get to the roof.’
Tim turned to the front door.
Sam called him back. ‘No,’ she said, pointing with a crutch to the kitchen table. ‘You need to do my injection, otherwise I’ll never get up there.’
Tim walked over to the kitchen table and picked up the syringe Sam had prepared. It was not an entirely new situation: he’d injected Sam a few times over the years.
‘Wash your hands,’ said Sam with a smile.
‘I was just about to.’
He scrubbed up and returned to the task.
Sam shuffled around to present her back to him and pulled her shirt up to reveal her lower spine.
With her jeans riding low on her hips, Tim was struck by the juxtaposition of perfect form and mangled torture. The top part of her left buttock was visible. From here a vicious scar ran twelve inches up past her left kidney and then all the way across her spine, finishing just under her right shoulder blade. On either side of the scar, which itself was an inch wide, lay a two-inch band of damaged tissue, unbroken but livid red, and wrinkled. He knew her spine was held together with metal plates and pins, which in many places could be seen as they came up to within millimetres of the surface of her skin.
And yet the top of her right buttock was perfect. He longed to kiss it. Obviously, he told himself, he’d be just as happy to kiss the scarred one.
‘Stop perving at my arse, and stick it in me,’ said Sam.
Knowing she was using the innuendo to alleviate the tension, Tim stammered out a response. ‘I’m just preparing myself.’
He checked the needle, and a sympathetic pain shot down his right side. Obviously, he didn’t mention it; Sam was about to get the real thing, and there were limits to showing one’s empathy.
Tim injected.
‘Jesus. Fuck. Shit,’ said Sam through clenched teeth. She took Tim’s hand and squeezed hard.
They waited for five minutes for the drugs to work fully, then Sam let go of his hand and they went to the staircase.
On the first step, Sam misplanted a crutch and it slipped fractionally. She steadied herself and took another breath.
‘They numb the pain but don’t help coordination,’ she said defensively.
‘It’ll be fine.’ Tim kept a few steps behind, ready to catch her.
It took twenty minutes to get up on to the roof, one slow step at a time.
Once Sam was safely on the roof, Tim immediately returned to the flat for her wheelchair.
As he carried it back up the stairs, he got a rare view of its underside. There were three compartments under her chair. One was filled with pill bottles. Another had two mobile phones. Tim couldn’t see all of it, but sticking out of the third compartment was something that looked very much like the handle of a large military knife.
Sam was waiting on the roof with a few of her neighbours – all up there for the spectacle.
Above them, the skies were awash with military helicopters. Kirkmail prison was about a mile away to the east. Soldiers operating passive, well-meaning crowd control had set up a half-mile exclusion zone all around the prison.
The main road leading north-south past the prison was empty … except for the military.
‘I told you there were tanks,’ said Sam.
To the west, high in the sky, a glowing red ball shot towards them.
‘What’s the latest landing estimate?’ asked Tim.
Sam checked the MIDAS feed on her phone. ‘Five minutes.’
They waited.
Two minutes later one of the neighbours, looking through a pair of binoculars, broke the silence. ‘Something’s changed.’
Tim squinted.
Something large and jet-black had appeared behind the ball.
For a few moments, everyone’s brains scrambled to process the new image.
‘Parachute,’ said Sam.
She was right.
An alarm on Tim’s phone indicated a significant update from MIDAS, confirming Sam’s assessment.
Parachutes deployed.
5km height
Velocity 3kph
Diameter at 2m
Units entirely spherical and metallic
A few more people came onto the roof. Everyone murmured greetings, but all eyes were on the glowing A-Grav unit, drifting just northwards of the rooftop.
‘It’s not going to land in Kirkmail,’ said Sam.
Tim checked her logic. Judging by the current drift and its rate of descent, she was right: it was going to miss by about a mile.
Looking over the edge of the roof, Tim saw more congestion in the street. Given they were seven storeys high, they couldn’t hear exactly what was happening, but they could see signs of panic everywhere. Crowds surged, and abruptly changed direction without warning.
Amazingly, people were still gravitating towards the new predicted landing site.
‘Escape by car. Gawp on foot,�
�� said Sam.
‘It’s a free bet for the escapees,’ said Tim. ‘If everything goes well then they just come back. If the A-Grav blows up, they’re safely away … maybe we should get off the roof.’
‘I’m staying for now,’ said Sam. ‘Although I’m tempted to head for the landing site.’
‘Let’s stay here,’ said Tim, watching the glowing A-Grav unit drift down until it was lost behind some buildings to the north.
They waited.
No explosion came.
They waited for another ten minutes.
‘Shall we go down?’ asked Tim. ‘It’s not as if we can see anything more here.’
‘Sure.’
Helping her manoeuvre down the fire escape, Tim flinched each time Sam flinched.
Once inside the flat, they both sat at the kitchen table and reviewed the news streams.
2 UK landings
London Birmingham
No explosions
Parachutes
London, Furtival Street
Spherical metallic 2m diameter
Etching
Tim clicked through on the word ‘etching’. The information had come from a live video stream from the landing site, Furtival Street. After the A-Grav had landed, the final pieces of sacrificial cladding had fallen away, and someone had managed to take a picture of the ball just before the army had erected a barrier around it.
On the video stream, a distinct metal plate was visible. Unfortunately, the writing on it was not legible from the video footage.
Social media was in uproar demanding the immediate publication of any information on the metal plate.
Live news streams from the landing site now picked up a continuous chant from the thousand people who had convened there.
‘What does it say?’
‘What does it say?’
‘What does it say?’
So far, there had been no response.
The live stream changed. A few people in white all-in-one suits climbed out of a black van and disappeared behind the screen surrounding the A-Grav unit.
‘Hazmat suits,’ said Sam.
Tim’s laptop chimed. One of the news screens changed.
Rumour from London
Etching demands installation in Kirkmail within one hour.
‘Why only one hour?’ Tim mused aloud.
What’s the rush?
Sam shook her head. ‘No idea … Closer look?’
‘Will the injection last?’
‘I’ve got another hour,’ said Sam, a grim look in her eye.
‘You really want to go down there?’
‘Come on,’ she said, looking at the video stream. ‘We’ll just join the crowd.’
‘How about …’ said Tim, feeling adrenaline start to build. ‘We wait for them to move the A-Grav and look in a few hours. We’re not going to be able to get anywhere near close.’
‘It’s happening right out there, Tim. Just outside the front door.’
‘Look at the exclusion areas.’ Tim pointed at the laptop feed which was showing an annotated map. ‘We won’t be able to see anything.’
Sam’s face hardened. ‘Do you mean that I won’t, because I’m stuck in my wheelchair?’ She paused. ‘I’d thank you to let me make my own decisions in that regard.’
‘No,’ said Tim. ‘You know what I’m like. I see the crowds, the army, the unknown alien artefact.’ He paused. ‘Then I see anger, pushing, rioting.’
‘None of that has happened,’ said Sam, leaning over in her chair and squeezing his arm. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’
Tim remembered the knife hilt under her chair.
Maybe you will.
‘But,’ said Sam, ‘We don’t have to go down now. Charlie arrives later. I’ll go with him.’
Tim looked at Sam. Was she goading him? Or was it a genuine offer?
Standing up, Tim looked out of the kitchen window. The main road leading from the landing site to Kirkmail was now full of soldiers. With such a vast army and police presence, Tim was reasonably sure that public disturbances wouldn’t turn dangerous. That said, even from a mile away, he could make out that many of them were wearing the hazmat suits. He hoped it was just a precaution.
He looked back at the video feed on Sam’s laptop. A large military flatbed truck had just arrived at the landing site.
‘Okay. I’ll go with you now,’ he said.
‘I’ve changed my mind …’ Sam smiled awkwardly and gave a gentle shrug. ‘Sorry. The juice is wearing off quicker than I thought.’
‘I’ll head home and let you rest, then,’ said Tim, disappointment mixing in equal measure with relief.
Just at that moment, the newsfeed switched to Downing Street, and Joshua Timbers walked out to the lectern.
‘Both landing sites are secured with no injuries: Birmingham and London. In each case, we are using special hazardous material suits. I must stress that so far, we have not had any indication of unusual biological, chemical, or radioactive activity, but we must allow our emergency services as much precautionary protection as possible. We do not, of course, wish to cause offence to the Ankor, but the safety of our public servants must be paramount.
The etchings reported in the newsfeeds are simply exact locations for each installation. We have not been given any indication of how the units work.’
He paused.
‘I have also received clear instructions from the Ankor that we must not open or tamper with the devices in any way. No occupation of the selected buildings can occur before a clear instruction is given … As such, following installation these buildings, and a surrounding radius of up to two hundred metres, will be entirely quarantined.’
With the address completed, the prime minister returned inside Number 10 without taking questions.
The newsfeed immediately switched to a studio panel of experts analysing the statement.
Sam turned the sound off and settled herself on the sofa. Raising an eyebrow, she patted the space next to her. ‘You’re welcome to stay.’
Tim considered it for a split second, but as his brain sifted through the possible consequences of such an action, too many of the decision trees ended with him embarrassingly slinking away five minutes after Charlie arrived.
‘I need to get back, thanks.’
Double-checking he had everything for his journey home, Tim left.
CHAPTER 16
Sam’s Flat, Sunday 21st April
With Tim gone, Sam managed a mid-afternoon doze but nothing more – truly satisfying sleep eluded her. Part of her understood Tim’s reluctance to have a closer look at the A-Grav. The greater part of her, however, deeply wanted to see it in the flesh. She looked at the clock. Charlie had told her to expect him at six o’clock that evening.
It will be getting dark by then.
And she didn’t expect Charlie to be any more likely than Tim to want to go and see the A-Grav.
She had almost three hours.
Outside on the street, the roads were busy but the pavements less so. Sam wheeled herself down a side road towards Kirkmail Prison. She knew the army had erected a large screen around the A-Grav and so she wouldn’t actually get to see it, but she wanted to be there – to be in the moment.
Mackler Street works best.
Fifteen minutes later, travelling as quickly as she could, Sam reached the main road leading from the original landing site to Kirkmail. A few hundred metres up the road stood the main gates of the prison, but much closer – only twenty metres away – a hastily erected army barrier blocked the way, guarded by armed soldiers, some in hazmat suits.
It seemed she wasn’t the only civilian who wanted to witness history being made; a crowd of about fifty people were pressed right up against the barrier all straining to see inside the prison.
Tim might have interpreted it differently, had he been with her, but the mood of the people did not appear to be angry and aggressive; it was interested and inquisitive.
Perhaps with a touch
of fear.
Sam absorbed the atmosphere. The lack of anger on the streets of the UK, not universally mirrored in other countries, could possibly be attributed to the prime minister’s daily public addresses. Although it also could be that, according to a MIDAS report, the police had rounded up the usual civil agitators over the last week.
To the side of the barrier, the large military flatbed truck that had moved the A-Grav into the prison now stood idle. Sam smiled to herself, and wheeled her chair around next to it. She held up her phone for a selfie, with the prison in the background.
Photo taken, she sent it to Tim.
Damn – no signal.
There was no coverage. Sighing to herself, realising the nearby masts had probably been deactivated in the name of national security, Sam turned her wheelchair around.
Movement nearer to the prison drew her eye.
Two soldiers were running towards the crowd of people, waving frantically. Their faces showed fear, not aggression.
‘Run!’
Within a heartbeat, people were running past her.
Away from Kirkmail.
Sam followed, pushing her arms hard to keep up with the retreating crowd.
‘What is it?’ Sam called over to a middle-aged lady who was hobbling in heels next to her.
The lady shrugged. ‘Everyone else said run.’
Sam looked for someone else to ask, but everyone else had far outstripped her. Racing wheelchairs and suitably trained athletes could achieve impressive speeds. Medical wheelchairs were slower.
Turning off the main street, Sam decided to head home.
On her lap, her phone still registered zero signal.
Fuck!
If she died there, Tim would bury her, dig her up, revive her somehow, and kill her again – she’d taken an unacceptably unnecessary risk.
Not that she even knew what the danger was yet.
Sam pushed on, and although her arms were tiring, she made good progress – the exclusion zone around Kirkmail had ensured these streets were quiet.
She turned a corner.
The next street – just outside the original exclusion zone – was a different matter. Every house door was open and people were flooding out onto the pavements.
A man carrying a young child ran down the stairs from a house and, not seeing her below his eyeline, bumped into Sam.
‘Sorry!’ he shouted over his shoulder, whilst pulling open a car door and shoving his kid inside.