by Nick M Lloyd
Kusr needed to be ready.
The scene that greeted MacKenzie both encouraged and worried him.
On the plus side, the laboratory equipment was all well-ordered and it appeared that experiments to replicate earlier neural bridge successes were underway.
On the down side…
There were three people in the room: Kusr, Taylor, and one of Juan’s lieutenants.
Taylor was seated whilst Kusr performed a minor surgical routine on him. Obviously only under a local anaesthetic, Taylor could be seen chatting amicably with her.
MacKenzie reached for the earpiece that would give him an audio feed.
‘I’m sorry for the way we manipulated you.’
The CCTV image did not have fantastic resolution, but Kusr appeared to give a small smile whilst still concentrating on the silver wire she was feeding into Taylor’s right bicep.
Manipulated? What has he already told her?
MacKenzie desperately needed Kusr to run new tests when the last set of enzyme and protein data was provided. If Taylor had told her that the Ankor had helped them to fake her daughter’s torture scene then they’d lose all leverage.
‘I will honour my side of the deal.’
Kusr spoke quietly whilst continuing to work on Taylor, now making a small incision where his collar bone met his neck – perilously close to the carotid artery.
Perhaps sensing the same, the soldier that Taylor had brought with him took half a step closer.
Kusr ignored the gesture.
What deal?
For the next few minutes, both Taylor and Kusr were silent, leaving MacKenzie to stew.
Then he took a breath and relaxed. Of course, the Ankor would be monitoring all the conversations too. If Taylor had said anything meaningful, the Transcenders would have alerted him.
Two more days …
Assuming the new data came through, in two days he would have proof that the Ankor had the capability to deliver their half of the bargain.
A murmur fluttered across the main floor. MacKenzie looked up to the screen that was drawing everyone’s attention.
The UN General Assembly had announced a new binding resolution – ES-15/3 – categorically stating that the USA were forbidden from launching Lincoln, and they were required to meet their payload distribution via normal two-stage rockets.
MacKenzie looked across to the large display showing a live feed from Kennedy Space Center. The Lincoln was being prepared for launch.
The Americans did not concern MacKenzie one bit. Although it was possible the Lincoln could be fitted out in some type of attack configuration, the Ankor had hundreds of ways to ensure it would never be successful.
MacKenzie returned his attention to his workstation, checking and double-checking all the various activities that had to be completed in the next week.
A little while later Taylor, with a new bandage poking out from his shirt’s neckline, arrived in the main room and MacKenzie signalled to Juan to escort him up the stairs.
‘What did Kusr have to say to you?’ asked MacKenzie.
‘Nothing of note,’ said Taylor. ‘She just progressed my implants.’
‘Were the other experiments running correctly?’
‘All one hundred percent successful,’ said Taylor. ‘But you should have more faith.’
‘I do,’ replied MacKenzie. ‘In science. Those seventy-eight pods will remain dormant until Kusr has verified the new mix.’
‘I understand,’ said Taylor, his eyes flitting around the room. ‘I was wondering about her future after that.’
‘Released once I’m gone. Just like everyone in here.’
‘She could become one of the Blessed.’
‘Murdered?’ MacKenzie had only said it to unbalance Taylor; the look on Taylor’s face indicated he’d hit home.
A fervour burned in Taylor’s eyes. He lowered his voice to a forced whisper. ‘The Blessed—’
‘The answer is no.’ MacKenzie wanted to ensure that the very minimum number of his own associates were included in the special programme.
Taylor stared, his face thunderous.
‘And,’ said MacKenzie, looking briefly up at the ceiling, ‘I apologise for my poor choice of words.’
For a few more seconds, Taylor remain motionless … then he nodded in acquiescence.
MacKenzie leant back in his chair.
The Blessed … I shouldn’t have poked that one.
In fact, he had been deliberately antagonistic with Taylor. The Blessed weren’t murdered but to him it felt like a type of death sentence.
Not the route I will be taking.
It didn’t help that Taylor wanted everyone he’d ever known to become one of the Blessed with him. Top of the list – and the only one approved by MacKenzie himself – was Samantha Turner.
MacKenzie could see why Taylor was interested. Turner was sometimes spikey and abrasive but had an undoubted strength of character.
Not that Taylor would have scooped her had it not been for Ankor support.
Their behavioural algorithms had coached Taylor in his seduction of Turner, and little pieces of Ankor viral code – aim-bots – had ensured that he’d made a good impression on her during their courting rituals on ‘OrcTalk’ or ‘FighterShooter’ or whatever computer trash Turner had made him play.
Assuming that Taylor abided by the ‘Turner Only’ rule, then nothing would need to escalate. If, however, he tried to recruit a few more Blessed then Juan could be called into action to remove him.
Would the Ankor call the whole deal off if I simply killed Taylor?
The Ankor managed to maintain an unbalanced morality that MacKenzie couldn’t bring himself to work through.
Perhaps it could look like an accident?
Unfortunately, in order to achieve the levels of efficiency required, MacKenzie had permitted the two hundred Leafers running the Hot Zone to have earpieces that allowed the Ankor to speak directly to them. The Leafers had no idea they were being spoken to by aliens. They thought the voices were their team leaders in a hidden chain of command.
The Ankor would know.
MacKenzie did have a few loyal killers in his team who were entirely unconnected to the Ankor. Conceivably, they could ambush Taylor somewhere deep below the Hot Zone where there were no cameras.
No. The Ankor would work it out in a heartbeat.
Taking a deep breath, MacKenzie put the thought out of his mind. Reasonable levels of death and destruction, where appropriate for the potential gains, were acceptable. He couldn’t kill Taylor simply because the man sometimes annoyed him.
Of course, if Taylor broke his agreements, then it would be different.
CHAPTER 21
SpaceOp, Thursday 25th April
Down in the server room below Mission Control, Tim sat glued to his favourite feed. The Chinese National Space Agency streamed a real-time image of the alien craft with superimposed colouring to indicate pod temperatures. There were warm pods, cold pods, and exceptionally cold pods.
343 Pods
213 Operating at an average 305K
78 Operating at an average 220K
52 Operating at an average 4K
There had been little change in the actual pods since arrival. However, there had been changes around the Ankor craft since the unfolding. The oval of pods only occupied the central portion of the screen, and there was a warmer area stretching out one hundred kilometres in all directions.
‘Do you think it’s the initial stages of the deflector shield?’ asked Sam, who noticed Tim’s attention drawn to the screen.
‘We haven’t sent them any materials yet,’ said Tim.
‘Maybe they brought some basic construction materials with them,’ said Sam, typing.
Analysis Override: Alien Craft Heat Perimeter Extension
Within seconds a few low-grade hits returned with unsubstantiated commentary. Most of it agreed with Sam – it was probably the start of the deflector shield.
Sam switched back to the summary searches.
The word ‘invasion’ was trending again. There had always been groups on Earth who disbelieved the gamma ray burst threat. But most of the pragmatic members of each country’s leadership held onto a few salient facts: humanity was not currently being asked for anything meaningful except plutonium, and humanity had no meaningful defence against the Ankor should they turn out to be hostile.
Any alien race with the capability for faster-than-light travel must be able to squash us without any difficulty …
‘We could reprogram an ICBM,’ said Sam.
Tim disagreed. ‘Missiles – even intercontinental ones – can’t get anywhere near their craft.’
‘What about the plutonium?’ asked Sam.
‘I don’t think it can be mined from asteroids.’
‘Surely they’d have a way of synthesising it,’ said Sam.
Tim shrugged; he knew very little about the manufacture of heavy elements in space.
‘At least they didn’t ask for tungsten rods,’ said Sam. ‘Large tungsten rods would only be used for dropping back onto us.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Tim.
Sam smiled. ‘I got to level thirty on StarEliteCo.’
Tim smiled. Another of Sam’s computer games.
A knock on the door preceded its opening by a split second.
Charlie.
‘Are you coming?’ asked Charlie.
‘Where?’ asked Sam.
‘To watch the test launch,’ said Charlie. ‘On the roof.’
‘We’re allowed?’ asked Tim.
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘Come on.’
Charlie led them back through the main floor. With only thirty minutes to go before the test launch, the main room was a scene straight out of the movies. Bespectacled scientists pored over banks of screens, whilst others ran around with clipboards and tablets, checking and rechecking. Overseeing all of it, Francis MacKenzie sat at his desk flanked by four Leafer security guards – the Hispanic ones.
Heavily armed.
Tim shared a glance with Sam as they followed Charlie without pausing across the main floor.
Dexter intercepted Tim halfway and gave him a computer tablet. ‘This is for remote MIDAS access,’ he said. ‘I may be unable to do the news. MacKenzie has got me on other stuff.’
‘Do I need to decide what news items to display?’ asked Tim, looking up on the main wall where a screen was displaying the news summary. It felt like an opportunity to annoy MacKenzie without doing much wrong.
‘No,’ said Dexter. ‘Don’t post anything unless MacKenzie or I tell you. But, from what he’s said to me, it will just be summary motivational stuff. Just to remind people they’re part of an Earth-wide response.’
‘Okay.’ Tim put the tablet in his inside pocket and hurried after Charlie and Sam, who had not slowed for him.
Just inside the main entrance, Charlie led them through a doorway into a dingy corridor that seemed to run just inside the main wall.
‘No cameras down here?’ said Tim.
‘There aren’t any,’ said Charlie. ‘Francis MacKenzie is very sensitive about being hacked.’
To Tim, it seemed that Charlie disapproved of MacKenzie’s decision; his unusual use of MacKenzie’s full name registered as odd.
‘Which also explains the cabling,’ said Tim; hard-wired cables were significantly harder to hack than wireless signals.
Turning a corner, Charlie led them into a service elevator.
Emerging onto the roof of the Control Centre, Tim took stock. The rooftop was large and flat, the size of a football pitch, with a one metre high ledge all around. Twenty parabolic dishes adorned the centre of the roof.
‘Is this all the satellite comms stuff?’ asked Sam.
‘Only a fraction of it.’ Charlie pointed northwards. ‘Most is set below ground level over there. This close to the launch pad, everything needs protection.’
‘How far is it?’ Tim looked towards the rocket.
‘Two thousand, six hundred and thirty metres.’
Over by the launch pad, the final checks were ongoing. ‘What’s in the payload today?’
‘I don’t know.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘I know it was loaded successfully.’
‘You don’t know,’ said Sam, ‘or you won’t tell us?’
‘No-one does compartmentalisation better than Francis,’ said Charlie.
‘Do you know what they’re making in there?’ asked Tim, pointing towards the factories in the north.
‘Most of the prefabricated parts are being made at sites around the country, but those factories are making elements of the deflector shield.’
Sam pointed eastwards. ‘What about the Hot Zone?’
‘Plutonium,’ said Charlie.
A mile away to the east, four concrete warehouses sat amidst three layers of razor wire fencing. As usual, a train of lorries was slowly being admitted into the first warehouse. From here it appeared that a ramp led straight down underground. There were no obvious connections between the buildings. But the easterly warehouse, with a large letter ‘C’ painted on its roof, also had an exit ramp on which lorries occasionally appeared and headed back towards the Welsh mainland. Even from this distance, Tim could see it was swarming with soldiers.
‘Is there plutonium yet?’ asked Sam.
‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘It will only come with the army.’
Sam rummaged in her shoulder bag. She pulled out the Geiger counter and scanned. Starting with it pointing at the launch pad, she moved it around in an arc, past the factories and over towards the Hot Zone.
Charlie wrested it from her grasp.
‘Fuck!’ Charlie looked at them both in amazement, his eyes wide. ‘These are totally forbidden!’
‘Why?’ asked Sam.
‘First, they could be used by terrorists to locate and steal the plutonium. Any Leafer that saw you with this would shoot without hesitation.’ Charlie took a breath. ‘Second, possession of one is interpreted by Francis as a direct challenge of his ability to run a safe facility.’
‘Well, it’s mine.’ Sam snatched the Geiger counter back.
For a second, it looked like Charlie would follow up with another attempt, but Sam put it on her lap and wheeled herself away, her face thunderous.
Tim followed. Keeping his voice to a whisper so Charlie couldn’t hear, he said, ‘It was just a misunderstanding.’
‘He grabbed it,’ said Sam.
‘On instinct,’ said Tim. ‘To protect you from being shot.’
‘I’m not apologising,’ said Sam, adrenaline clearly still pumping.
‘In a sense, he took a big risk. He could’ve been shot.’ said Tim, trying to lighten the mood.
Sam did not see the funny side. ‘So as usual you want me to apologise, to keep Charlie sweet … to maximise the MIDAS contract pay-out.’
‘Ah, come on Sam …’
‘Maybe that’s why you pimped me out to him in the first place?’
Tim felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.
Sam raised her eyebrows.
‘I …’ Words failed Tim. The day she’d got together with Charlie had been one of the hardest of his life. ‘For fuck’s sake, Sam.’
He walked away.
Now all three of them were standing apart, and all three of them were avoiding eye contact.
Tim leant on the low barrier that ringed the roof. The tension of the situation was getting to everyone. At breakfast, Tim and Sam had witnessed an altercation caused by one person using too much tomato ketchup. The initial argument had escalated so fast. A few half punches had been thrown, none had landed, and a member of security had intervened.
Tim smiled.
Sam had said ‘saucy’.
Taking a few calming breaths, Tim reflected. No-one knew what the Ankor were up to. It was a powder keg, particularly to people who were used to having some control over their own destiny.
Tim turned ba
ck to Sam. She was now looking at him with a contrite expression.
He walked back towards her.
‘Sorry,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll give the Geiger to Charlie.’
‘No need to be hasty,’ whispered Tim. ‘Just don’t wave it around in public.’
A loudspeaker set in the front of Mission Control whined and crackled for a moment. Given the roof was only one storey up, they could hear perfectly.
It was Francis MacKenzie’s voice.
‘We are the first stage of a strong response from humanity. Assuming we all do our jobs correctly, I have no doubts the Ankor will produce the required protection.’
They returned to Charlie who was waiting quietly, looking out towards the launch pad, which was now devoid of people and vehicles – except for the rocket.
Charlie passed out visors with special tinted glass.
A little while later, the fifteen-minute siren blew.
They waited.
Primary ignition.
Even from almost two miles away, the roar filled the sky.
Tim expected smoke and flames everywhere, but initially it was just noise.
Smoke started billowing out of a vent from under the ground, a little way removed from the launch pad. Tim guessed there was an underground part of the launch pad that diverted the exhaust gases.
The rocket lifted.
Just a few metres … less than a millimetre, from his perspective.
Now Tim could see the furnace of the rocket fuel in action.
Flames consumed the space between the rocket and the launch pad.
White hot.
The rocket started to rise.
The gap between the rocket and the launch pad grew.
Five metres.
Twenty metres.
The whole building was now shaking. Instinctively, Tim reached out and grabbed Sam’s arm.
‘Is that for your benefit or mine?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Both,’ said Tim.
For the next few minutes, they watched the rocket rise higher and higher, until it finally became a prick of light.
‘Success,’ said Charlie.
‘How do you know?’ asked Tim.
‘There are no bits of rocket dropping down on us,’ said Sam.
‘There are bits dropping,’ said Charlie. ‘You just can’t see them. Both Stage 1 and Stage 2 of the rocket are being retrieved from the Irish Sea for recycling.’