Immortal

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Immortal Page 22

by Nick M Lloyd


  Sam continued to write.

  Rumour of a shooting yesterday

  ‘Understood,’ said Tim, standing.

  ‘Good luck’, mouthed Sam with an encouraging smile.

  Tim left the flat and walked towards the car park. All the roads were lit with powerful floodlights but anything more than a few metres off the road was pitch black.

  Adopting a confident air that was far from the reality, Tim walked purposefully along the main road, as if he knew exactly where he was going and he had the right to be doing so.

  Not that anyone else was around to challenge him: it was four o’clock in the morning.

  After a five-minute walk, he reached the entrance to the car park. Unfortunately, a locked steel gate barred his way.

  Tim tentatively reached out to the gate, for a moment considering climbing it.

  No chance.

  It was four metres high, had anti-climbing paint, and was topped with razor wire.

  Tim could see his car, not more than twenty metres away.

  He scanned the area.

  There was another route into the car park. An entrance to the east appeared to be open; all Tim had to do was approach the car park from the other side.

  The road followed the fence along the northern edge of the car park. Tim headed east along it.

  In the distance to the north, he could see the lights of Mission Control. Only dry-stone walls separated him from it. Unfortunately, the way he wanted to go was south, and that was entirely closed off with chain-linked fences.

  After another few minutes of walking, it became clear that he was now twenty times further away from his car, and …

  I’m walking into the fucking Hot Zone.

  He had a choice: continue on the road; walk in near-total darkness north of the road but closer to the Hot Zone; or walk on the scrub between the road and the fence, semi-lit by the car park lights.

  Instinctively, Tim chose the scrub by the fence.

  It was a good choice. The terrain was slightly undulating, meaning that low hills – a few metres high – surrounded him at times.

  A few hundred metres away to the north-east, just outside the Hot Zone main gates, two Leafers in full hazmat suits and armed with assault rifles were patrolling.

  Through those gates to the north, Tim could see the lights of Warehouse C – the arrival warehouse.

  To his south, the chain-linked fence ran unbroken for only fifty metres before turning south.

  Tim wondered if he dared continue.

  Just as he decided to press on, to try to sneak around that corner, one of the soldiers looked directly at him.

  Shit!

  The Leafer hefted his rifle up into the aim position.

  Acting on instinct Tim threw himself down and, on his hands and knees, scurried into a small depression by the fence.

  The low hill blocked the view of the Leafers.

  Peeking out from the hollow, Tim looked.

  They had not left the main gates but were looking his way.

  Gotta get out of the light …

  Mouth suddenly dry, he searched for cover. On the north side of the road there was a low dry-stone wall and beyond that the pitch darkness of the fields that separated the Administration Zone from Mission Control.

  Keeping low, Tim scurried over the road and launched himself into the fields, clipping his shin on the wall in the process.

  Looking over his shoulder, he saw to his relief the Leafers had still not left their posts.

  Unfortunately, it seemed a message had been relayed.

  In the distance, he could make out urgent movement around the Hot Zone. The headlights of a jeep flared, and it was heading for the gates.

  The flat was only a mile away across the fields.

  Tim sprinted, judging the Leafers had a three-mile circuitous trip on the roads.

  His guts were churning. Up ahead, heavy bushes marked the boundary between two fields. Tim didn’t slow.

  A sweep of headlights to his left, still half a mile away.

  Tim’s anger towards MacKenzie built rapidly, until he was overcome with an incandescent rage. Those Leafers were armed, and stories about severe adherence to curfews and off-limits areas were constantly being bandied around the canteen.

  He was also angry with himself. His idea to simply walk up the main road had been ludicrous. Smart, he was. Street smart, not so much.

  Looking around again, Tim could no longer see the headlights, but that didn’t mean safety. All of SpaceOp was dotted with walls and small depressions. Additionally, he couldn’t be sure they hadn’t radioed for back-up in the Administration Zone itself. They could be waiting for him up ahead using infrared to track him in the darkness.

  The perimeter of the accommodation blocks loomed. There was no-one in sight.

  A low dry-stone wall was his last obstacle. He slowed to climb over it.

  Once over, he looked around again to get his bearings.

  At that moment, a man in a hazmat suit reared up from behind the wall, grabbed Tim in a tackle, and wrestled him to the ground.

  For a moment he struggled, but the man was inconceivably stronger than he was. Within seconds Tim was locked in a pressure point hold with a shooting pain running down his left side.

  ‘Stop struggling!’ his assailant said, in strangely accented English. ‘If they see us, we’re dead.’

  Tim stopped.

  The person took off their protective hood. It was a middle-aged Chinese woman. Her face was incredulous. ‘So, you just walked down the main road to the Hot Zone? People don’t come out of there.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Major Chen,’ she said. ‘People’s Republic of China. We got your message.’

  ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘Instinct … and observation,’ replied Chen.

  ‘How could you have got here in time?’

  Major Chen laughed and loosened the pressure point grip. ‘I’ve been here all the time. Cleaning lady.’

  ‘What do you know?’

  She looked forlorn. ‘We haven’t managed to get anyone inside yet. But we suspect …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I cannot say.’

  The noise of a jeep engine in the distance brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. Again, headlights, coming their way, were clearly visible on the main road.

  ‘We go,’ said Major Chen, releasing the hold she had on Tim and leading him into the outskirts of the Administration Zone.

  Obviously knowing exactly where she was going, she led him into a small cleaning supplies hut and locked the door behind them.

  Whilst Tim took a few deep breaths and tried to regain his composure, Chen looked out of the small window.

  ‘They’ve turned back,’ she said after a few minutes.

  ‘Please, what do you know?’ asked Tim.

  Major Chen shook her head. ‘I am not at liberty to say. I saved your life. Return to your flat.’

  CHAPTER 27

  SpaceOp, Monday 29th April

  Preparations for RL2 had run smoothly throughout the day, and at a little after nine in the evening Francis MacKenzie gave final authorisation for the launch to proceed.

  This one, and another eight scheduled rockets, would provide the materials so desperately needed by the Ankor. It remained to be seen whether the Ankor would meet their commitments. At a minimum, the work Kusr had done indicated with a large degree of confidence that the Ankor were able to augment their biological brains with technology.

  Will they provide that augmentation for me?

  If they changed their minds and refused to accept him then his current life on Earth would be over; he’d have to work fast, and ruthlessly, to secure any life at all.

  Originally, he’d demanded that they allow him to be launched in one of the first rockets. The Ankor had not agreed. ‘Have faith’, they’d said. Their concern, quite reasonably, had been that subterfuge could not have been maintained if he’d been on an ea
rly launch. He could only come at the end, once he’d met all his commitments.

  Of course, he’d pushed, and they’d called his bluff, saying they could always work with another party.

  So he’d backed down.

  Backed down – and introduced an immensely complicated set of fail-safes to ensure that he was critical for every single one of the launches. Any hint of a double-cross from the Ankor and he could pull the plug.

  They knew it.

  MacKenzie sighed. Activating the clean-up routine would ultimately mean the deaths of most people within SpaceOp. In some of his quieter moments he thought that if the time came, he may possibly decide not to push that button.

  But, of course, he would. To be caught at this stage would be effectively to die.

  A buzzer indicated half an hour to go. Now most people on the main floor of Mission Control had a spectating role.

  Up on the wall, the dedicated SpaceOp channel displayed the pre-launch routines of RL2.

  Movement at the foot of the stairs drew MacKenzie’s attention.

  Charles Taylor had arrived and was indicating he had something to discuss.

  MacKenzie indicated to Juan to allow him up.

  ‘They know about the wolf mix,’ said Taylor, arriving by the desk and angling himself carefully to avoid anyone overhearing. ‘They’re not happy.’

  MacKenzie smiled to himself. He hadn’t expected his manipulation of the RL1 payload to go unnoticed for long. Quite simply, the plan was always for the whole of RL1 to be delivered to the Transcender faction – and, at their request, he’d added a significant number of extra wolves. Of course, he hadn’t checked with the main Ankor group, or told them he was sucking up to the Transcenders. After all, they were the ones who had from the earliest discussions advocated orbital bombing Earth into submission.

  ‘What’s done is done.’

  Taylor’s eyes flashed. ‘You’re making them stronger.’

  MacKenzie remained silent; he knew where Taylor’s touch points were, and top of the list were the Transcenders. It was the only significant area Taylor’s position diverged from the formal Ankor doctrine – the Ankor looked upon the Transcender faction like a prodigal son, only one epiphany away from full reunification.

  Albeit they’ve been waiting for a hundred thousand years.

  ‘The Transcenders are not to be trusted,’ said Taylor.

  ‘I trust the Ankor, all of them, to act in their own best interests,’ replied MacKenzie, wondering as he spoke whether those best interests might include the Ankor having alternative arrangements with another launch site.

  ‘You’re judging them by your own values,’ said Taylor, oblivious to MacKenzie’s fears. ‘They’re guided by their faith – a faith underpinned by countless millennia of continuous reflection and reaffirmation.’

  Perhaps the very first Ankor could be given that accord all those countless millennia ago … but since then, I suspect it falls into the category of ‘give me a boy until he’s seven.’

  MacKenzie left the inflammatory words about religious brainwashing unsaid. He would soon be rid of Taylor. There was no benefit in having an argument.

  ‘They’re not to be trusted,’ repeated Taylor, staring intently at MacKenzie.

  MacKenzie shook his head and changed the subject. ‘What did you find out about the disturbance near the Hot Zone yesterday?’

  He could see Taylor thinking, but whether he was dwelling on their previous argument or trying to remember something about the disturbance, he didn’t know. ‘Well?’

  ‘It was just a cleaner who wandered the wrong way.’

  MacKenzie nodded and turned his attention back to the bank of screens on the main wall.

  The countdown started.

  Ignition happened at exactly the correct moment … and RL2 cleared the tower.

  A small cheer went up around the main floor as the rocket kept to its designated flight path.

  An Ankor message appeared on MacKenzie’s private workstation.

  Lieutenant Hardy almost penetrated the payload for RL2. Remove him.

  One of the two remaining members of Martel’s liaison team, Lieutenant Hardy had been at the Payload Zone overseeing the final moments of RL2 preparation. He would be an easy ambush target on his way back through the trenches.

  MacKenzie walked over to the back of the mezzanine. Whispering so that Taylor couldn’t hear, but aware the Ankor would be able to, he spoke to Juan. ‘Ensure that Lieutenant Hardy doesn’t make it back.’

  Without a word, Juan slipped away.

  Juan was ‘on the grid’ in the sense that he had a radio the Ankor tracked and could use to communicate with him directly. However, his team of four ghosts – all battle-hardened knife fighters – were kept in the corridors below the Hot Zone with no electronics.

  MacKenzie had developed the team a few years previously for special tasks that he wanted to keep secret from the Ankor. Once the Ankor had made orbit, and their technological prowess had become apparent, keeping the ghosts hidden had become futile; MacKenzie now used them on Ankor business.

  Another miscalculation … although hopefully with no harmful side effects.

  Ten minutes later, the rocket reached the correct orbital height and started manoeuvring into its retrieval orbit.

  A short sharp siren sounded, followed by an automated announcement on the internal speakers. ‘Contact lost.’

  Lost?

  MacKenzie took a breath, fingered the diazepam in his pocket, and counted to five.

  Meanwhile, Taylor ran to the front of the mezzanine ledge and shouted down. ‘Get a visual.’

  It wasn’t easy.

  Cameras had been following the rocket, but RL2 had finished all its boost phases when contact was lost so was not now emitting much light from the exhaust. There hadn’t been an obvious explosion.

  The noise from the main floor rose, as technicians darted between desks trying to re-establish contact.

  ‘Contact lost,’ was repeated. The calmness of the automated voice contrasted sharply with the panic that MacKenzie could see on every face. He waved over to the communications team, signalling for them to utilise the auxiliary uplink on the roof. The technician indicated she was already doing so, and was receiving no response.

  ‘What happened? What do we do?’ Taylor asked in a low whisper, having returned to the workstation.

  ‘Maybe a malfunction,’ said MacKenzie. ‘More likely sabotage.’

  Rocket malfunctions happened. Most accidents occurred in the first few minutes of take-off when maximum power was being applied. However, RL2 had been under no power, just falling into its stable orbit when contact was lost.

  Outside, sirens blared.

  Taylor stood next to the desk, anguish etched all over his face. He appeared close to tears. ‘Genocide,’ he said, barely in control.

  ‘Pull yourself together,’ said MacKenzie, fighting his own demons.

  For the next few minutes, the whole of Mission Control checked, rechecked, and double-checked.

  RL2 had gone.

  MacKenzie thought for a moment. Only the Chinese, the Russians or the Americans had the ability.

  ‘It’s genocide,’ repeated Taylor, resting his shaking hands on the desk.

  ‘Whoever did it,’ said MacKenzie, ‘we’re lucky it wasn’t the first launch.’

  RL1 had contained the far rarer wolves, but the payload of the second launch could be replaced easily enough. The Ankor needed the volume, but the same materials would be loaded into all the other launches through to RL9.

  ‘We probably won’t even need a replacement launch,’ said MacKenzie, his mind getting over the shock and starting to process the consequences. The RL2 explosion was an interesting data point. It meant a more forceful defence than they’d been expecting was being marshalled by some parts of humanity.

  A new message had appeared on the main screen.

  ‘People’s Republic of China confirms it destroyed the Anglesey RL2. An orbit
ing electromagnetic railgun charge was used. We regret the loss of materials for the deflector shield. However, given our limited data, we assume this represented less than one percent of the total required materials. People’s Republic of China expects full disclosure from all parties. We urge the UK SpaceOp to invite an independent team of inspectors from across the United Nations to verify and validate payloads.’

  Forcing himself not to laugh out loud, MacKenzie made a big show of gravely rereading the message. The Chinese had committed an act of war against the Ankor.

  I am the only game in town!

  Had it been the Americans or the Russians, his position would not have changed notably. But it was the Chinese – the only other group on Earth who could conceivably be working with the Ankor.

  A news screen popped up on the main wall.

  People’s Republic of China will now move all communications broadcast to long-wave radio 186 kHz

  The LW radio broadcast decision was a pragmatic choice: it would be difficult for the Ankor to intercept and manipulate.

  A few minutes later, another screen started displaying the LW radio feed in text form as a news ticker.

  Russia and China agree full and continuous disclosure via long-wave radio. Furthermore, given that payload and ballistic information has not been disclosed by the UK SpaceOp, the president of the People’s Republic of China has asked the UK prime minister for an emergency summit.

  A few moments later a United Nations broadcast message came through, duplicated on the usual internet channel and the more secure LW radio feed.

  The UN condemns the use of weapons in space by the PRC as a flagrant treaty violation. The General Assembly has confirmed the Ankor has its official support. Further use of weapons in this way will attract an immediate military response.

  There was still no response from the Ankor on the initial RL2 explosion.

  MacKenzie stood slowly and walked to the edge of the mezzanine level.

  Immediately the main floor went deathly still.

  ‘The Chinese may have just condemned humanity to extinction,’ said MacKenzie, addressing the whole room. ‘There is time to send up replacement parts, but our ability to shield the Earth from gamma rays rests entirely on the goodwill of our visitors. What the Chinese did was criminally insane. Their reasoning equally so.’ He paused. ‘I had been in discussions with the prime minister to allow some level of international presence here. It seems, however, that it would merely be giving in to trigger-happy bully-boys. This facility is in full lockdown. No-one arrives, and no-one leaves.’

 

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