The Visitor

by Tony Harmsworth

  'But do you not understand, dear Evelyn, no military presence should be needed? The potential violence of both the aggressors and defenders is infantile, not worthy of intelligent people.'

  'Yes, I know.' What more could I say?

  I slept uneasily. My leg, abdomen, and shoulders were all sore and I'd failed to do my physiotherapy, yet again.

  ««o»»

  The next morning, our car drove us to the airport past cheering supporters and smaller numbers of angry mobs. Cadma told me it showed he was more popular than unpopular, but I pointed out it only took one fanatic to spark off an attempt on his existence.

  I knew British Airways had been extremely diligent in checking everything to do with our flights. To add to this, Cadma scanned every piece of luggage and technical equipment on board to satisfy himself there was nothing untoward installed or hidden on the plane.

  There were only a few security officers, diplomats, and the press contingent flying back to the United Kingdom, so not a large complement. Once we were in the air, Cadma moved back towards the other passengers and asked them about their jobs, families, hopes, and aspirations.

  I sat to one side and listened with admiration to his kind and interested manner with people who obviously meant him no harm. This was a different personality to the one who’d addressed the American Congress. This Cadma made friends easily and fascinated his audience. It was a joy to witness how well he socialised even with the press, who weren’t always the most likable individuals.

  I returned to my seat and rested. I was uncomfortable despite the first-class seating. My leg was throbbing, and I vowed to get back into my physiotherapy once I’d returned to Cornwall. Perhaps the Polish fitness trainer would be available to get me back into condition.

  Outside the starboard aircraft window, two Royal Air Force Phantom jets were accompanying us. I hadn’t seen them during previous flights.

  One of the accompanying British civil servants who was seated near me and had seen the direction of my gaze, said, 'They joined us the moment we left US airspace.'

  'Britain is protecting us,' I said.

  'Must be a major operation as they'll have been refuelling in mid-air. We're way beyond their normal range.'

  Silently, I thanked the Prime Minister for the extra security. Perhaps the UK would make a stand in Cadma's defence.

  Our flight was timed to arrive at Heathrow at four in the afternoon and the second Rolls Royce was waiting to take us to Downing Street.

  ««o»»

  The famous front door of Number Ten was too narrow for Cadma so we entered through a rear entrance and, while I used the lift, Cadma stood on end and elevated himself up one of the larger staircases at the back of the building.

  Our first meeting was with the Prime Minister and some of the Cabinet in the Cabinet Room. I sat in the corner in some pain and an assistant brought me some water.

  The meeting was most amicable. All our ministers were supportive of Cadma's stance in the United States. Unfortunately, it was impossible to be sure who was and who wasn't being sincere. They appeared genuine. Perhaps the British government was going to become Cadma's protector. I hoped so.

  However, there was an historic rapport between the USA and Britain, even more so since Britain's exit from the European Union. Nevertheless, the new approaches being made to re-enter the reinvented European group of nations was eroding the transatlantic relationship, but it remained strong. President Parker would’ve been talking to Mr Clarke. He’d have listened, but would he have been at all influenced? I doubted it. Mr Clarke oozed sincerity as far as I was concerned. Every contact I’d had with the man told me I’d be able to rely upon him. Or was I just being naïve.

  After the official meeting in the Cabinet Room, which was documented by photographers, Jenny Rae, Roger Clarke, Cadma, and I moved into the lobby area and through into the Prime Minister's office. I noticed the doorway had been specially widened since I’d been there a few months previously.

  Much less formally than in the Cabinet Room, the Prime Minister said how delighted he was to meet with Cadma and me.

  'I'd like to shake hands with you, Nsyncadma,' he said, 'but of course I can't.'

  'You can place your hand on my golden area, Prime Minister. It is full of sensors. I will sense your warmth. You will feel my life. Please do.'

  Both Mr Clarke and Mrs Rae stood, approached Cadma and laid their hands onto the appropriate part of the alien device. I knew they were now receiving Cadma's static and vibrations – his hand of friendship.

  'I have a connection to you both and offer my sincere friendship to you. You are the only leaders who have wanted to make such a connection. This is also the only place I have been which does not have weapons developed to damage me. Thank you for the trust. Others think of me as a mere machine, but I also have feelings. I know how supportive you have been of me and Evelyn once the unfortunate incident in the Cluster was put behind us.'

  'Yes, Nsyncadma, I’m sorry about our device on the Cluster, but we needed to be cautious initially. Also, I must admit the air force is on high alert, but that’s mainly to protect us from any attack upon you.'

  'Please call me Cadma. I have grown to like the familiar name.'

  'And us Roger and Jenny,' said Mr Clarke as the Home Secretary nodded her approval. 'Evelyn has expressed concerns about your safety when you move to Goonhilly. What can we do to help?'

  'As you are aware, Roger, I do not sleep. I can continuously monitor my surroundings for a considerable distance, perhaps four or five miles. I am aware of your air force activity and can see the radar beams criss-crossing London. Similarly, anyone bringing something dangerous within range of my sensors would be noticed. Anything electronic I can disable. Having told you of that ability, I must also admit to having disabled the device on the Cluster long before you gave the order for it not to be used.'

  'We didn’t know.'

  'It was unnecessary to tell you at the time. Evelyn advised me that it might have exacerbated the suspicion mankind had of me.'

  Ha, my friend had dropped me in it to my boss!

  'Yes, I see. Evelyn is a very faithful and thoughtful person,' Mr Clarke said.

  'So, electronic items are easily disabled. This means I can deal with incoming missiles, but not with their kinetic energy. A missile will still do damage, and this worries me because of the people I will be living and working with at Goonhilly. Although I hate the concept of attack and defence, can you provide any additional protection to deal with physical impacts?'

  Jenny Rae said, 'I’ll have General Sir Michael Webb come to visit you at Goonhilly and we'll beef up the defences.'

  'I am also unable to detect explosives, only their detonators, and they can be easily concealed. Stronger physical security would be good at the perimeter.'

  The meeting eventually moved away from our security and onto a more general question and answer session. Cadma was delighted to talk about his people, their way of life, technology, family relationships, and his people's relationship with their neighbouring world. I don’t know what meetings had to be cancelled, but we seemed to be in the Prime Minister's office for a long time, certainly several hours. By the time we left, the four of us knew each other well, and the rapport was more than encouraging.

  It was agreed the people of the Earth could learn much from the openness and honesty of the Dregednons.

  Our meeting hadn’t ended until late in the evening and the Rolls set off for the West Country, turning into the Goonhilly complex in the small hours of the morning.

  Tim was there to show Cadma his apartment, so I said goodnight and my faithful Jaguar took me home. It had to wake me when we arrived. I snapped on the central heating the moment I got into the house, then collapsed on the sofa and didn't wake until ten o'clock the next morning.

  36 Never Avoid Your Doctor

  When I arrived at my desk the next morning it was already approaching midday. I opened
my monitor and was faced with two hundred messages, forty of which had red or amber flashes. These had already been thinned by Janet. I worked my way through the red flashes first.

  By two o'clock I was three-quarters of the way through them. I opened yet another from my medical consultant who was asking why I hadn't returned her messages or calls. I got Janet to make me an appointment and left my office for a break.

  I grabbed a sandwich from the canteen for a late lunch and hobbled along to Cadma's accommodation facility. He had three computer monitors in front of him and was working his way through the history of ancient Egypt. It inspired further conversation about humankind's fascination with an afterlife. These quiet times together were so relaxing for me and took my mind off the pains in my body and the continual permanent ache in my heart from the loss of Mario.

  Mario was gone. He knew nothing about what had happened to him or to me afterwards. I was well aware there was no ghostly Mario looking down at me and approving or disapproving of how I was coping. Sometimes I wished I could believe in such things, but my scientific background made that impossible. He was gone, and we wouldn’t meet again in some mythical hereafter. Knowing that, didn’t make me feel any better about it. Is it any wonder so many people permit themselves to be convinced there’s a heaven and end up “believing” in all the religious baggage which accompanies it?

  Cadma had become a substitute for Mario. I couldn’t ever have another emotional relationship with a human, and Cadma offered wonderful companionship without me having any guilt I was being unfaithful to Mario's memory.

  When I returned to my office, I found Janet had set up an appointment for me with my consultant the next morning. I called her in.

  'Janet, can you get onto Mrs Masinghe and change the appointment to sometime next week. I’ve so much to catch up on here.'

  'She was pretty insistent it was urgent, Doctor Slater.'

  'Can't be critical. Postpone it, please. I'm not even going to finish with my messages today, let alone do any real work.'

  'Okay, Doctor Slater.'

  I continued to push on with my messages, consigning to the bin anything which didn’t need a reply from me personally.

  My monitor came to life. It was Janet, 'I have Mrs Masinghe for you, Doctor Slater. She absolutely insisted on speaking to you personally. I can refuse, but she really does say it’s vital she speaks to you this very minute. I did my best to put her off.'

  How annoying. I was angry Janet had put her through. I didn't need this today. I flicked my thimball and my Asian medical consultant, who’d nursed me through my bullet traumas, had an extremely serious expression on her face.

  She said, 'Evelyn, you’ve not returned my phone calls, my texts or my red flash messages. I want you here at eleven tomorrow morning without fail.'

  I was quite taken aback. It was unusual for anyone to talk to me in such a manner, even friends. 'Can't it wait until next week, please, Indra? I’ve a mountain of work to get through after my time away.'

  'No, it cannot!' she said extremely seriously and loudly. The expression of anger on her face worried me.

  'Why’s it so urgent?'

  'Be in my office at eleven tomorrow and you’ll find out. I'm serious, Evelyn. You must be here and don’t eat anything after midnight. You can take plain water only.'

  I didn't know what to make of this, but she was obviously in deadly earnest, so I agreed. I guessed she had some tests in mind hence the food and drink restriction.

  ««o»»

  The two hundred and fifty miles to Reading took me two and half hours. I should’ve hired an express car instead of getting my Jaguar to take me, but I liked the comfort and having my own IT system to use en route allowed me to work through more of my messages.

  My surprise CT scan was soon complete and I was sitting in the stark but professional-looking office of my medical consultant, waiting for her to finish her talk with the scan interpreter.

  I was so pressured to catch up at work that this time spent in Berkshire when I should be in Cornwall was aggravating me.

  Finally, Indra Masinghe, tall and distinguished-looking in her white coat, stethoscope draped around her neck, came back into her office with a sheaf of papers which she tossed onto the desk. She sat down and gave me her bad girl expression. I had a flashback to being told off during my schooldays when I'd failed to complete my French homework. My physiotherapy had taken a back seat to the momentous visit of Nsyncadma to our planet, but she seemed to be taking my lack of diligence too seriously.

  'What's up, Indra? I promise to be more industrious on my exercises.'

  'It's not the leg, Evelyn, I wish it were just that. I'm afraid I’ve much worse news for you.'

  Now she really was worrying me. She sounded angry with me. 'Spit it out, Indra. What's wrong?'

  37 Nothing is Forever

  'There’s no easy way to say this, Evelyn. Roscosmos picked up a tumour when you got back from the Cluster. They flagged it to me and I've been chasing you ever since while you've been gallivanting around the world with your metal friend.'

  'What sort of tumour?'

  'In the pancreas. They told you to contact me urgently.'

  'And? I only landed three weeks ago.'

  'Evelyn, I'm so sorry. The scan seems to show it’s spread to your liver and is now almost certainly inoperable. I want you in next Monday for an exploratory operation to see if anything at all can be done. I could maybe have assessed it with an MRI scan but you’re almost as full of metal as your alien friend.'

  I sat still, silent, gazing blankly at my doctor who had also become a friend since the shooting. She had moisture in her eyes.

  'Damn it all, Indra, you’re meant to be the strong and reassuring one, not the one in tears,' I said with unconvincing bravado.

  'Sorry, Evelyn. We might have caught it if you'd come straight to me from Moscow.'

  'You know I couldn't. Nsyncadma needed me. Can’t we get it with radical surgery?'

  'No, I'm pretty certain it's now inoperable. I want to find out if it’s possible to do a partial removal to extend your life, but it's not hopeful. As you know I've taken blood samples too and I'll get those results tomorrow.'

  The blood drained from my cheeks. 'Really? I suppose I have to ask, how long have I got?'

  'With chemo and radiotherapy, you might make two years, but it would be a maximum.'

  'Without therapy?'

  'A few months. No more.'

  'And with the operation?'

  'If it’s not invaded the stomach wall and part of your liver can be saved it might give you a little longer, but months, not years. You must've been in pain from this since before you went back into space.' She shrugged her shoulders as if defeated.

  She was right. The digestion problem began after I left hospital. I'd been a fool. I'd known she’d wanted to talk to me. I hadn't related the stomach aches to anything other than my mobility, and digestion problems caused by solid foods after my coma.

  'I need to think about this, Indra. I'll be in touch,' I said flatly.

  'Soon. And that means today, Evelyn. I want to do the op on Monday, so I need your decision by five this afternoon. Also, if therapy is going to be of any use whatsoever, we should be starting now.'

  'Can I get it done in Exeter or Plymouth?'

  'The treatment can be carried out at the Royal Cornwall in Truro which is only twenty miles from you, but not the op. You'll need to be here in Reading on Monday. Would you like me to set up therapy in Truro?'

  'Provisionally, yes, but I do want to think about this. I take it treatment will mean being sick, feeling awful, and my hair falling out et cetera.'

  'Yes, it won’t be a walk in the park and will continue for several weeks. After those treatments, you might get a good period of remission. That's what I'm hoping for. I would suggest you reduce your duties at Goonhilly, as you won’t be firing on all cylinders. On days when you do feel well you shoul
d try to make the most of it, not waste your valuable time at work.'

  'I thought it was a muscle pain owing to my hip and leg not working correctly, or some sort of indigestion after being in the coma,' I said apologetically, as the reality of my situation sank in.

  'Yes, either could have caused a similar pain. I'm so sorry.'

  I stood, she came around the desk and gave me a hug. 'Sorry I didn't reply, Indra. I thought it was connected to my wounds.'

  'What's done is done, Eve. Let's try and give you the best possible outcome.'

  'Two years, you say?'

  'That’s a maximum. Plan for fifteen months.'

  'So short?'

  'Probably,’ said Indra. ‘Nsyncadma talked about detecting and treating diseases in his Congress speech. He doesn't have any miracle cures, does he?'

  'Don't know. I'll ask.'

  'Yes, you really must. Seriously, do ask him – today! Surgery will only be a short-term fix, not a cure.'

  ««o»»

  With the words "so sorry" and "plan for fifteen months" ringing in my ears, and in a partial daze, I let my Jaguar return me to Goonhilly. I was there by mid-afternoon. I called Janet into my office. I'd already decided to commit to the operation and the therapy. There wasn't any alternative.

  'Sit down.' She sat in one of the conference armchairs.

  How was I to impart this news?

  'I’ve some bad news and I'm not sure how I’m going to tell people. You need to know because I'm going to be having to go to the Royal Cornwall Hospital in Truro for treatment on a regular basis, and I’ve to be in Reading for an operation on Monday.'

  Her face was serious, but she said nothing.

  'I have pancreatic cancer which has metastasised to my liver. The prognosis is the worst. I don't want anyone else to know until I can think about how to tell them personally.'

  'Oh God, Doctor Slater, I’m so sorry.'

  'My own fault, Janet. I should’ve gone to hospital when I returned from space and these few weeks on the tour have given it time to spread. It's an extremely aggressive tumour.'