by Nick M Lloyd
The screen covering global launch schedules updated. All launch facilities, except the Chinese who had already stood down, continued to report they were on track.
‘Questions?’ asked MacKenzie.
Voices murmured below him. One spoke up.
‘Was there any plutonium in the RL2 payload?’
‘No, the proposed plutonium has not yet arrived in SpaceOp,’ he replied. ‘It may never do so now we have the refugees. I believe one of the other launch sites can provide most of it.’
‘How will the Ankor respond to China?’
MacKenzie shook his head. ‘I don’t know that.’
‘Can we still make the shield?’
‘As I said, we have the materials and the time to make the shield. Whether we have broken our relationship with the Ankor is another matter.’
Unwilling to take more questions, MacKenzie returned to his desk. The Chinese probably thought themselves very clever. If the RL2 payload was just a bunch of parts, then no-one could be too angry. The Ankor could make comments, but any retaliation by taking Chinese lives would be an unjustifiable escalation.
We’ll see …
Back at his desk, MacKenzie pondered. Did he need to do anything more? Was the British army on its way?
MacKenzie typed out a short direct message to the Ankor.
I assume no change to Anglesey plans. Please confirm. Please tell me what you intend to do about PRC violation.
MacKenzie’s workstation flashed briefly.
RL3 to go ahead. Increase wolf ratio to maximum.
Maximum …
MacKenzie assumed this was the main Ankor response to the fact the Transcenders had manipulated him over RL1. He typed a quick response.
Understood.
At that point, Juan returned and gave a computer tablet to MacKenzie.
MacKenzie turned it on.
A video recording was queued ready to play.
Black and white footage showed Lieutenant Hardy being dragged into a small concrete room. There was no interrogation … or procrastination.
Juan, in centre shot, took three steps across the concrete floor and, drawing his knife, pushed it under Hardy’s rib cage, angling it up into the heart. As Hardy slipped to the floor, already dead, Juan pulled his body upright. Two more Leafers – Juan’s ghosts – entered the room carrying a body bag. In seconds, Hardy was stuffed into it and carried out of the room.
MacKenzie couldn’t bring himself to feel much sympathy for Hardy. He’d been an enemy combatant, after all.
He turned his attention back to the main screens which were showing news item responses to the Chinese proclamation. There was a surprising amount of support for the Chinese. Would the Ankor respond to China’s act of aggression?
They couldn’t do it openly. And, even if they could, they wouldn’t if there was no risk to future deliveries – their faith constrained them to a moral structure which considered life sacred.
Of course, if the Transcenders got their way, a multitude of ‘accidental’ radiation releases would issue from A-Gravs across China.
The next twenty-four hours would give MacKenzie some insight into the balance of power between the Ankor and the Transcenders.
CHAPTER 28
SpaceOp, Monday 29th April
Dawn approached, and without having slept at all, Sam looked out of the window of the flat. The whole of SpaceOp was in double lockdown: first for the radioactive cloud which had missed SpaceOp days before, and second to minimise the chances of an invasion of Chinese personnel demanding on-the-ground inspections.
Sam smiled. She’d done it a lot over the twenty-four hours since Tim had returned from his password deception and Hot Zone escapade. He’d been quite the questing hero, trying to find out about MacKenzie’s ‘n less than five’ data shenanigans for her.
Her smile slipped. Of course, what they found out was worse. MacKenzie was a traitor.
Not ‘maybe a traitor’ like Tim says … a genuine fucking traitor.
Now all they did was watch the highly regulated news feeds, look out of the window, and wonder when the door would be kicked down.
Sam reached for the pencil and notepad.
Go into Mission Control?
Tim rubbed his left armpit, where Sam understood the massive bruise courtesy of Major Chen was turning purple, then replied.
Let’s wait until summoned.
If MacKenzie suspected anything, we’d be dead by now.
Moving onto her crutches, Sam hobbled into the small kitchenette and prepared a sandwich, musing on the subject. It was convoluted, to say the least. If MacKenzie was part of a benevolent Ankor plan – which he wasn’t – then he’d probably just keep Tim and Sam under a watchful eye.
Which could be what was happening now.
Is he?
Taking her sandwich back to the living room, she lowered herself onto the sofa and turned on the television. Most channels were blocked inside SpaceOp, but Tim had thoughtfully packed a small Blu-ray player and a bucket full of discs. He knew that she was often awake during the night.
A bright spark in my dark night.
Sam sighed, and shifted her weight around, trying to find a sitting position that was pain-free.
Flicking through the available channels on the television, she continued to think. There was plenty of outrage about the RL2 destruction, but much of it was mixed with more balanced arguments that said the Ankor should be more accommodating. The prevalent opinion on MacKenzie was that he was right to continue with the launches.
Notably, there was zero coverage on any of the channels of the protests by the Anglesey residents, and zero coverage of the fact that the Liverpool explosion had not deposited any significant radiation in the area. Nonetheless, all shots of SpaceOp included multiple scenes of people in radiation protection suits.
‘Maybe they’re still preparing for incoming plutonium,’ said Tim, sitting down next to her and somehow reading her mind. ‘But … MacKenzie has consistently said no plutonium yet.’
A jolt of pain shot up Sam’s left side as she gingerly rotated to shift her weight. Taking a deep breath, she continued the movement.
‘Take an elephant tranquiliser,’ said Tim. ‘I’ll stay awake.’
Sam doubted it; Tim looked more tired than she was. He hadn’t slept either.
‘Go on,’ said Tim.
Reaching for her bag, she took out one of her strongest painkillers; if past performance was anything to go by, then it would give her four hours’ sleep.
Tim passed her a cup of water.
‘Thanks,’ she said, swallowing the pill.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Tim.
A few minutes later, the cool warmth spread over her, and Sam felt herself slipping into a doze.
What if it isn’t?
--------
It was mid-afternoon when Sam woke, stiff but for once not in pain. Looking over, she saw Tim on the other side of the sofa, also asleep.
You’re supposed to be on watch!
Sam smiled. She didn’t blame him in the slightest.
Reaching for her crutches, she tried to get up without disturbing him. As she rose, a few snippets of her dreams came back to her. She’d dreamt about Tim. The details were blurred but they’d definitely been a couple. Her smile faded.
She knew he’d been about to ask her out on the night of the crash. Apparently, he’d planned the whole thing: gaming evening, pizza, and the start of an awesome relationship. He’d also prepared a speech about how the fact he was her boss didn’t matter to him and he was happy to fire her – or resign himself – to make things simpler.
A knock at the door disturbed her thoughts.
It was Charlie’s knock.
Shit!
Obviously, Charlie was better than a detachment of Leafer killers, but not by much.
Sam pushed open the door. ‘Tim’s asleep.’
‘Leave him,’ said Charlie. ‘We need to talk.’
They hugged
– Charlie holding on tightly and kissing her on the side of her face.
Charlie released her and turned to a carrier bag on the floor. ‘Tea?’ he asked.
Sam put a finger to her lips. She didn’t want to wake Tim.
Nodding his understanding, Charlie went through into the kitchen and started brewing a pot of tea.
Sam followed. ‘What’s the latest?’
Charlie’s brow furrowed. ‘The Chinese aren’t apologising for RL2.’
‘I don’t expect they will,’ said Sam. ‘They think they’re in the right.’
Charlie didn’t answer, but she could hear him muttering under his breath as he prepared the tea, occasionally reaching up and pulling gently at his shirt collar.
‘All okay?’ asked Sam, noticing a bandage poking out from his neckline.
Charlie remained silent. He finished making the tea and brought it over to the kitchen table.
They both sat. Finally he spoke.
‘You know how experts on consciousness are generally divided on whether the human brain could feasibly be simulated by a computer?’
Sam knew, of course. It was something she and Charlie had discussed a good many times. The theory was an extension of the NPCs – non-player characters – who were unaware they were characters in a computer game. It wasn’t a one-sided argument; there were many respected academics who claimed the human brain was more than the sum of its parts and could never be wholly simulated.
She nodded.
‘The Ankor,’ said Charlie, his eyes blazing for a second, ‘believe we are all living in a simulation.’
‘How do you know what they believe?’
Charlie’s jaw clenched. ‘They’ve told me.’
Sam searched for a crack in his argument. ‘Just you?’
Charlie frowned. ‘No, I think they’ve told a few people. They’ve certainly told Francis.’
‘He believes them?’ asked Sam. The question of whether Charlie believed was moot. The animation on his face was enough.
‘Not yet,’ said Charlie. ‘I think he is still preparing himself to believe.’
‘So we all live in a computer simulation?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘But not just us … everything in this universe …’
‘And the Ankor?’ asked Sam, wondering whether they were the programmers.
‘Everything,’ he said, nodding stiffly. ‘The Ankor are flesh and blood like us – just part of the universe that has been constructed.’
‘They’re biological?’ Sam had been sure the Ankor were rogue artificial intelligence computers.
Charlie paused. ‘They … utilise technology to augment their biological capabilities.’
‘And what does this universe simulation mean for us?’
‘That’s why I’m here now. I want to show you,’ said Charlie, looking at his watch. ‘Timing is critical. We have to leave in ten minutes.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t say any more. We have to go now,’ said Charlie.
‘Why so urgent?’ The temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. Sam shivered.
Charlie refilled Sam’s cup, and then his own.
‘You don’t have to be in pain any more,’ he said.
Sam couldn’t bring herself to voice the obvious follow-up questions.
What does he mean? Healing? Neural cauterisation? … Death?
A few months before the aliens had arrived, she and Tim had had a terrible argument about her plans to have her lower spinal nerves cauterised. She’d said some horrendous things to him. She’d accused him of allowing her continued suffering to keep his own hope alive.
Sam: It’s my body. My choice
Tim: There are other options
Sam: Which require horse tranquilisers for me to sleep at night
Tim: Just a few more months
Sam: So you can hold onto your dream of a clear conscience
Tim: I feel responsible!
Sam: You fucking are responsible! And now you want me all patched so I’m worth screwing again
That outburst had been followed by a very quiet working environment in the office for a week. Sam had known she’d gone too far. On the Friday, she’d half-apologised and Tim had happily blamed the outburst on her medication – which was possibly true.
Charlie took a sip of tea, his expression flitting between bliss and fear. He checked his watch again. ‘We need to go now.’
‘Where?’
‘The server room. I’ll explain it all there.’ Charlie indicated with a wave of his hands that he too was sure they were under surveillance. ‘Tim needs to come as well.’
Sam gave Tim a gentle shake.
Tim woke and rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s going on?’
Charlie signalled for silence.
Sam smiled at Tim with a shrug.
‘We have to go,’ said Charlie, going on to repeat only the most salient points and not taking any questions as he hurried them all out of the flat.
Ten minutes later, when the three of them arrived at Mission Control, Charlie didn’t take them through the main door. He led them around the northern side of the building. They came to a side door, almost invisible. Charlie took out a heavy iron key and unlocked it.
The room behind the door was tiny: it contained just a chair … and another door.
Without saying anything, Charlie opened the second door and Sam wheeled herself through into a narrow corridor, gently sloping downwards.
A few minutes later, they arrived at another door that led into the back of a dimly lit server room. It wasn’t the MIDAS room, but another generic one.
‘Do you want a push?’ asked Charlie.
Sam shook her head. Of course she did; there was a crippling pain running up and down her left-hand side. ‘No, thank you.’
Leaving the server room, Sam got her bearings. They were now in the antechamber holding the armoured door. Charlie swiped his card and they went through it.
Once the armoured door had closed behind them, Charlie stopped. ‘I’ll keep this brief. Francis is planning to kill both of you in the next few hours. He knows about Sam’s hack a few weeks ago.’ Charlie’s eyes flashed with something that looked like anger. ‘And he’s pretty sure you were involved in some way with the Chinese blowing up RL2.’
Sam opened her mouth to speak.
Charlie held out his hand for silence. ‘Follow me.’
They followed the corridor, sloping ever-downwards, for another five minutes until Charlie stopped them outside another unmarked side door.
‘I don’t have time to explain it all.’ He turned to Tim. ‘This door leads east, a long way, well past the SpaceOp perimeter. Once you’re outside, about half a mile south-east is a farmyard. There’s a car hidden in one of the sheds. Find it, take it, and go.’
A million questions jumped into Sam’s head.
‘Why can’t we all go?’ asked Tim, his eyes narrowing.
‘There’s more than one escape route,’ replied Charlie. ‘If we split up we have more chance to go undetected.’
‘Thanks, I guess,’ said Tim slowly. ‘But I’m not leaving Sam.’
‘She’ll be safe with me,’ said Charlie, bending down and inspecting the thick cabling that lined the corridor. ‘I designed this place. I laid a lot of the cabling myself. We’re hidden from everyone down here. Francis only has a few CCTVs …’
Selecting a few wires, Charlie took out a pair of pliers and cut through them. ‘Now even he can’t see us past this point.’
‘I’m not leaving Sam,’ said Tim.
Charlie held up a hand for silence. It held a gun.
Sam, well versed in online games, recognised the powerful handgun – a Glock 19.
What the …?
‘I am doing my best to save you, Tim,’ said Charlie.
‘Fuck’s sake, Charlie!’ said Sam. ‘What’s this about?’
‘We don’t have time for this,’ said Charlie, keeping his gun trained on Tim but also checking his
watch. ‘We have to go.’
‘I’m not leaving Sam,’ repeated Tim, not taking his eyes off Charlie.
‘Have I ever done anything but love and protect her?’ said Charlie. ‘More than that: with me she’ll be pain-free. Have you ever managed to give her that, Tim?’ He paused. ‘She’s better off with me.’
Sam looked at Charlie. What did he mean ‘pain-free’? A suicide pact?
Palms sweating, Sam considered her options. Charlie’s gun was pointing directly at Tim’s chest. He couldn’t miss from that range. Sam could see the situation escalating horribly. She wanted to stay with Tim, but she couldn’t face seeing him shot in the name of chivalry … or love.
‘I’ll go with Charlie,’ said Sam, deciding on play-dead mode.
‘If you can’t come with me then I’m staying here,’ said Tim. His eyes burned into Sam’s. He didn’t believe she was safe with Charlie. He wasn’t going to let it go.
Sam couldn’t allow him to be hurt. ‘Let’s tie him up, Charlie. MacKenzie may see him as the victim.’
‘Unlikely,’ Charlie grunted. ‘He’ll be shot on sight.’
Cutting a length of electric cabling from the thick bundle running along the corridor, Charlie tied Tim up. He pretended to trust Sam not to jump him, whilst obviously thinking she was about to attack him at any moment.
Once Tim was tied up, Charlie took him just through the side door and laid him face down on the floor.
Before leaving, he clubbed Tim on the back of the head with his pistol.
Sam gasped involuntarily.
‘His only chance is to take the corridor under the fences,’ said Charlie, shutting the door as he came back into the main corridor. ‘He may do that if he thinks we’re long gone.’
‘Does MacKenzie know we’re here?’
‘Maybe,’ said Charlie. ‘But I’m often down here on his business. We’ll be okay if we meet anyone.’
At least three storeys below ground, in a dimly lit concrete corridor, Sam shuddered at the thought of meeting anyone.