by Nick M Lloyd
We’ll send you detailed schematics and medical information to allow Sam to be cured. After a suitable time for an evacuation, we’ll blow Anglesey and any evidence of your tampering will be destroyed … it will be our secret.
‘Why this way?’ asked Tim.
To use a human idiom … cards on the table. Taking control of the Hot Zone without evident human support makes us look powerful. That makes people less likely to resist us. That makes it less likely we will need to contravene our faith and blow nuclear charges.
But you said you’ll accept just this one launch. What would it matter how people feel?
The admission that they wanted to look powerful worried him. Were they vulnerable? Were they lying when they said that RL4 would be the last?
Tim’s thoughts returned to his estimates of the brain material required to fill all the Ankor pods. They needed a minimum of two hundred and fifty launches. They couldn’t travel faster than light. Why would they go anywhere else?
‘Your faith doesn’t allow you to take lives,’ said Tim.
Our faith allows us latitude to take lives when the cost is justified. The early China explosion was necessary. The radiation leaks to drive people to SpaceOp were acceptable. More recent blasts are unacceptable.
Tim stood up. If he refused and the Ankor made good on their threat and blew the UK, he would have forty million deaths on his hands.
‘Are we living in a simulation?’
We have faith, not proof, although one often cited example is our inability to reconcile what you know as quantum mechanics and general relativity. This could be explained by many things, of which one would be that our simulated universe simply uses different algorithms at different scales.
‘I need time to decide.’
There is no time. Observe.
Three screens opened on the main walls of Mission Control.
Each showed a cityscape: London, Manchester, Newcastle.
CHAPTER 38
SpaceOp
As the screens opened showing the real-time feeds from London, Manchester, and Newcastle, a rumble of conversation built amongst the people working on the main floor.
A shiver of dread passed over Tim.
Were they showing the pictures specifically to him as a threat?
He rechecked the screens.
The first screen bloomed bright white, seemingly losing the picture to a technical fault.
A split second later, the screen adjusted. It had not been a glitch, but an explosion.
London.
‘No!’ Tim’s scream had come involuntarily and, afraid his outburst had been noticed, he glanced around the main floor.
He needn’t have worried. His voice had been lost in the tumult. Cries of despair filled the room but people remained at their stations – to some extent the blasts had just been the confirmation of an expectation.
Our turn …
The other two screens now bloomed white with explosions and live images of the stricken cities dominated the walls.
Nuclear firestorms raged in London, Manchester, and Newcastle.
How far would the Ankor go?
Sitting back down at the workstation, Tim whispered at the screen. ‘I hadn’t said no.’
Silence.
‘I didn’t say no,’ Tim hissed urgently. ‘You didn’t give me any time.’
He felt his chest tighten.
The screens on the main walls, with their sound mercifully muted, continued to show tragedies unfolding. Giant fires raged unchecked. People scattered in all directions and abandoned their useless stationary cars on foot.
Amongst all the anger and pain on the main floor, the internal radiation counter ticked up another unit.
Internal
0.3 millisieverts per hour
Somehow, even with all the proofing that Tosh had done, the radiation was leaking into the building.
Martel, standing by Tim, stared at the screens. Every vein on his head and neck appeared to be attempting to break out through his skin. He stood stock still, slowly breathing in and out.
‘Tim!’
Sam appeared at the top of the stairs on her crutches.
Tim ran over, lowering his voice to a hiss. ‘Sam. Listen. They did this because of me. They asked me to hack into a system to start the Hot Zone processing people for RL4.’
For the next minute, Tim recounted the conversation he’d had with the Ankor.
‘But you didn’t say no?’
‘Ten seconds after the final question, they blew the bombs,’ said Tim, still struggling for breath.
‘What were you going to say?’ asked Sam.
‘I was going to say no,’ said Tim. ‘Now I wish I could say yes. The consequences are too severe.’
Perversely, Tim’s brain immediately constructed a scenario in which the long-term detrimental effects of succumbing to the Ankor outweighed the short-term gain. The scenario depended on Earth getting a reputation for being blackmailable, and successive alien civilisations bleeding it dry. Tim pushed the thought away. ‘I didn’t realise … Charlie’s talk of moral code.’
‘I’d have cut the wires,’ said Sam. ‘Just based on the fatality numbers … and perhaps a bit for the cure.’
‘I thought you’d hate me if I sacrificed all those people just to cure you.’
‘You wouldn’t have had to tell me,’ said Sam, her eyes deadly serious.
Tim had no answer to that.
Noises of dissent intensified over by the front doors where a crowd of thirty people appeared to be begging Tosh to let them out.
Leaving Hunter and the prime minister, Martel walked over from the back of the mezzanine. ‘Cambridge was hit too. Plus an army base in Wiltshire.’
Tim didn’t know what to say. He suspected that coming clean might be the best option.
Standing at the edge of the mezzanine level, Martel shouted to get people’s attention. Just as he was about to shout again, the word ‘SIMULATION’ superimposed itself across every screen.
‘What the fuck?’ said Sam.
The screens showing Newcastle city centre flickered. The pictures that returned were peaceful views. Newcastle untouched. The camera zoomed in on casual smokers standing outside a pub, oblivious to the apparent nuclear attack they’d just suffered. Then it panned across to a main road: a few cars were driving serenely through near-empty roads.
Down on the main floor, everyone knew they were being played in some way by the Ankor and angry mutterings mixed in equal measure with sighs of relief.
Wondering whether he should tell Martel about the Ankor offer, Tim looked over towards Martel, Hunter and Timbers who were talking quietly at the back of the mezzanine.
Martel looked over towards Tim. Their eyes locked.
I’ll tell him.
Movement from the main floor drew Tim’s attention before he could get to Martel. A group of about twelve technicians, arguing strongly with Dexter Hadley, were at the foot of the stairs and coming up.
Private Hunter replaced the radio receiver and readied his assault rifle, but Martel indicated for him to stand down and quickly walked over to address them.
Martel walked with such purpose and speed that he met Dexter halfway down the stairs; the technicians were forced to stay on the lower level.
His neutral expression giving nothing away, Martel addressed the group. ‘How can I help you, Mr Hadley?’
Dexter, after looking over his shoulder briefly, took the lead. ‘They’re clearly trying to manipulate us. We’ll not launch any forced decapitations.’
‘Agreed on both counts,’ said Martel. ‘We are working hard to replace the hostages with volunteers.’
‘Volunteers only?’ asked Dexter.
‘Yes,’ said Martel.
Dexter nodded. ‘Okay. We just wanted you to know the position. If you support activity in the slaughterhouse … there’ll be open rebellion here. A few people here have close friends and family in there.’
A few people hav
e friends and family across the country too.
The prime minister, who had not reacted to the incursion with the same speed as Martel, now joined the group, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Martel. ‘It will be volunteers only.’
‘We’ve counted the helicopter rotors,’ said Dexter. ‘By my calculations, the Americans will blow us away before we get enough volunteers to fill RL4.’
‘I have been speaking to the US president,’ said the prime minister. ‘He is considering our position. I expect him to call off any attack.’
Liar …
Everything Tim had overheard during the previous few hours had implied that the US president was continuing to refuse all calls from Timbers for fear it was an Ankor trap.
Dexter also looked unconvinced; he turned and had a few whispered exchanges with the technicians, then he shepherded them back to their desks. None of them looked happy.
‘Maybe they used simulations because they won’t do it?’ said Sam.
‘They already really hit China and Mexico and Brazil,’ said Tim. ‘I suspect they’re more worried about contaminating the cargo.’
‘So,’ said Sam. ‘Do we do it?’
Tim looked around.
Martel, Hunter and Timbers were in huddled conversation back at the rear mezzanine wall. They were standing directly by the hatch that the Ankor had specified.
Do they know?
Tim stood up. ‘Colonel?’
‘Yes, Tim?’ said Martel.
With Sam next to him on her crutches, Tim walked over and joined the group. This far back from the ledge, they were entirely hidden from the main floor. Tim pointed at the hatch. ‘They just asked me to do this.’
‘Just?’ The understanding in Martel’s eyes was unmistakable. ‘You refused?’
‘A few minutes ago. They didn’t even give me a chance to think about it. They asked. I said I needed to think. I got up to talk to you, and the simulations started.’
‘Perhaps they knew you wouldn’t be swayed,’ said the prime minister.
‘I hadn’t decided,’ said Tim.
‘I have been given five minutes to cut the wires,’ said Martel, looking at his tablet. ‘Five minutes – or it happens for real.’ He looked at Timbers, who indicated his agreement.
Martel leant down and, checking he was hidden from the rest of the room, opened the hatch. Private Hunter took up a position guarding the top of the staircase.
There will be seven wires, cut the third and the sixth …
Inside the hatch were over fifteen multicoloured wires.
Martel checked the next hatch along. That one had no wires. He checked the next. None.
A message flashed up on Martel’s tablet. He shared it with the group.
I hope you have not killed Francis MacKenzie. Only he will know the correct process. The Ankor assume that any wires cut incorrectly will result in the Hot Zone being rendered inoperable.
--------
Leaving Private Hunter and the prime minister on the mezzanine, Martel indicated for Sam and Tim to follow him, saying he may need back-up. Tim would have been happier not to accompany Martel to ‘see’ MacKenzie. It was clear to him that torture would be used.
When they reached the MIDAS server room where Richardson was resting, Martel turned to Sam. ‘Would you please check on Lieutenant Richardson?’
Sam nodded as Martel surreptitiously gave her a small folded piece of paper.
Tim and Martel walked on to the Faraday room, where they found Whaller and Briars sitting on the floor with an array of assault rifles laid out in front of them.
As they entered the room, they stood and saluted Martel.
Martel secured the door and activated the electrified barrier, then he turned to Tim. ‘The Americans are coming. We have two, or at most three, days as they need to be in range for their naval artillery. They are under orders to flatten SpaceOp, together with anyone left inside. The prime minister has been unsuccessful in his efforts to deter them.’
‘Understood.’
‘If we try to leave without triggering RL4 decapitations,’ continued Martel, ‘the Ankor will blow up all the UK’s major cities.’
Martel walked over and kicked MacKenzie. ‘Which are the right wires to cut behind the hatch?’
MacKenzie had clearly been expecting the question. ‘I can’t remember. Too many blows to the head.’
Based on previous encounters, Tim expected Whaller to draw a knife and threaten to cut out MacKenzie’s eye.
He didn’t. Neither did Martel.
Martel squatted down next to MacKenzie. ‘What do you want? We need your full cooperation.’
‘Some clothes,’ said MacKenzie.
Whaller took some clean clothes from one of the large holdalls and helped MacKenzie into a tracksuit.
‘Water,’ said MacKenzie.
Whaller took a canteen of water and, untying MacKenzie’s hands, allowed him to drink as much as he wanted.
Within a few minutes, MacKenzie was ready to talk. ‘You send me up in RL4. I have a modified pod equipped for my own transport – it was always going to be the tenth launch. Once I am there, I will give the required data.’
‘What will stop the Ankor venting you into space once they have the data?’ asked Tim.
MacKenzie smiled. ‘Their faith.’
‘And if the Transcenders are in control?’ asked Tim, aware that the escalating violence was probably down to their increasing influence.
MacKenzie shrugged. ‘I’ll take my chances. My future down here is not exactly brimming with possibilities.’
‘Wait,’ said Tim. ‘One more thing. Do we think they’ll really stop after RL4? They need at least two hundred and fifty tons. If we do this one, won’t they keep coming back until they have two hundred and fifty thousand brains?’
‘If we don’t do it,’ said Martel, ‘they’ll kill one hundred million right now … and may still keep coming back, depending on how irradiated Earth is.’
‘Two hundred and fifty thousand,’ said MacKenzie slowly. ‘You know that’s less than three days’ worth of natural deaths across the globe? It’s a drop in the ocean.’
Tim focused on MacKenzie ‘Do you think they could be convinced to stop after RL4?’
MacKenzie appeared to consider it. ‘For what it’s worth, I’ll try to argue your case. Once the Americans are stopped, then time is of limited importance to them. A volunteer-only tribute system running over decades could be used to provide the materials.’
‘They could have done that from the start,’ said Whaller.
‘No, they couldn’t,’ said MacKenzie. ‘You can see how the Americans are – sanctity of life. Humanity would have never agreed and would have gone to war with itself.’
‘Okay,’ said Martel. ‘For now, we take them at their word. RL4 will be the last.’
Opening the door to break the electronic seal, Martel relayed MacKenzie’s demands to the Ankor. The reply came quickly.
Launch RL10 by 10am. Retrieval completes by 2pm. HZ processing starts 3pm. RL4 launches final cargo 10am Friday.
Tim looked at his watch. Two o’clock. They had eight hours to launch RL10 from a standing start.
Martel turned to MacKenzie and lifted his pistol. ‘Deal. But timing is tight. I need to understand the RL10 location and the process for loading.’
‘The Ankor will guide you step by step,’ said MacKenzie. ‘But a copy of all the information is on a zip drive hidden under my workstation.’
‘I suspect that bringing you to the main floor will cause a riot,’ said Martel. ‘Tell me where to find it.’
MacKenzie gave the location. ‘Dexter will know what to do with it.’
‘Password?’ asked Martel.
‘No spaces. No capitals,’ said MacKenzie. ‘God and man only one can live forever.’
‘That’s a quote you made twenty years ago,’ said Tim, remembering it coming up in one of his pre-employment due diligence searches.
‘My favourite qu
ote, and I stand by it,’ said MacKenzie. ‘Education will light the fire that burns back the darkness.’
‘And yet you’re not staying to help,’ said Tim.
‘I have another favourite expression … fit your own life jacket first,’ said MacKenzie, now smiling. ‘Immortality beckons.’
Go now. USA attack sooner than expected.
CHAPTER 39
SpaceOp
Tim, Martel and Sam arrived on the mezzanine just as the prime minister stepped forward to address Mission Control.
‘The Space Shuttle Lincoln is inbound,’ said the prime minister, raising his voice to be heard across the room. ‘On its present course it will hit SpaceOp in just under an hour.’
The Lincoln is a flying bomb!
Sam leant into Tim, whispering, ‘I suspect their reasoning goes along the lines of better dead than enslaved to the Ankor.’
‘Can we stop it?’ asked someone from the floor.
The prime minister looked ashen and consulted his computer tablet. ‘The Ankor will engage it with missiles from a Royal Navy destroyer stationed off the Outer Hebrides.’
The murmuring on the floor rose.
‘We’ll fire on our long-term allies?’ Dexter Hadley had climbed halfway up the internal staircase.
‘We must deliver RL4 to save millions of British lives,’ replied the prime minister, as Martel shepherded Dexter up the stairs.
More murmuring echoed around the floor, but no-one called out.
‘Complicated,’ said Sam.
‘You may not like this,’ said Martel to Dexter as they arrived at MacKenzie’s workstation. ‘But the cost of getting extra time to find volunteers is releasing MacKenzie.’
‘Where would he go?’ asked Dexter.
‘Assuming the Americans don’t kill us all, MacKenzie will be on the next launch … at 10am.’ Martel paused. ‘Both the Cambridge explosion and the Wiltshire one were real … one hundred thousand dead. Larger targets will be hit if he is not released.’
‘10am?’ said Dexter. ‘It’s not possible.’
Martel retrieved the zip drive from the hidden compartment and opened the file that MacKenzie had indicated held the plans for RL10. ‘Does this look right?’