Omnipotence: Book I: Odyssey

by Geoff Gaywood

  She turned just as Henri, who had crept up behind her, slipped a plate before her, and, with a flourish, whipped off the cover. Arlette gasped and looked around. Clapping and cheering broke out. “The SOB has done it again!” she said under her breath.

  The lobster was indeed superb, although the rest of the meal was only as good as could be expected given the limitations on the types of food that could be brought with them in the lander. The cook, who was the last to take his seat, was roundly cheered when he arrived. He waved them away, then got rather shakily to his feet. “If you can find me some edible plants and fruit, I can do much better,” he said, and sat down. A few minutes later he jumped up again. “Just a minute,” he said, and hurried back to the kitchen, only to return clutching two bottles of a dubious pink liquid. “A Freddy Jones special!” he announced.

  Henri promptly took charge of the bottles, administering a small amount to everyone present. He raised his little beaker and said, “To the first of the Ceresians!” and drained it. Most of his colleagues did likewise. Arlette sniffed it, grimaced, and took a sip.

  “I think I’ll stick with champagne,” she said to the cook with a smile.

  At the end of the meal Henri held a brief consultation with Arlette and then addressed the group. “We have plenty more to do with the seven hours of daylight remaining,” he said, but it’s time some of you got some rest. In particular our militia, who will be manning our defences during the hours of darkness. Will the following please now go and get some sleep.” He read out a list of names, then followed it with the rest and shift times of the whole crew. “This information is on your phones. We will be out of sync with the length of day and night time that you’re used to from now on, and we have to learn to cope with the forty-two-hour day on Ceres. I know everybody is excited and prepared to work until they drop, but we need to get some structure into our working day now.”

  Those assigned to their rest period left, while others set off to complete their remaining tasks or just wandered around within the perimeter, taking a closer look at their surroundings. As Omega 16 dipped towards the horizon, and a second moon joined the one that had been visible for most of the day, a small party gathered where they had dined earlier and watched the stars come out in their new, unfamiliar patterns. It was just after this group, who had spent the last hour of twilight exchanging childhood stories with each other, had retired, and the first militia night watch had come on duty, that the buzzing started.

  At first it sounded like distant traffic noise. Then it became more like the sound of light aircraft, intermittently flying aerobatics, but a long way off. It went on and on, varying in intensity, but never completely quiet.

  Henri had returned from an inspection of the base defences as Omega 16 began to set. He was pleased with the network of trenches that had been excavated and the raised gun emplacements just inside the perimeter. Five men on sentry duty at a time wasn’t much, but the surveillance system was working well and providing complete visual coverage of the surroundings. It would continue to do so with infra-red imagery after dark. After completing a brief report for the command team, he decided to go and give Arlette a verbal version. It wasn’t a hard decision, he thought with a grin as he approached her door. He called her silently on her earphone rather than knocking, in case she had decided to get some sleep. She hadn’t. She was pleased to see him, to share some of her thoughts with him. He entered her quarters, closed the door silently behind him, and turned.

  Arlette was sitting in a large chair, looking at him in the dim light. “Hello,” she said softly.

  He squatted before her, one hand on the arm of her chair. “How are you?” he said, equally softly.

  “I think,” she said, leaning towards him, “I think…”

  Just then there was a chatter of automatic fire and a sound like a helicopter passing immediately above them. Henri jumped to his feet and left the wide-eyed Arlette without a word.

  “It’s down, it’s down, just beyond the western perimeter!” was the first thing he heard as he connected into the military intercom.

  “What is?” he demanded.

  “The big flying thing! It was coming straight at us!” It was Chuck Connolly, not at his most coherent.

  “A machine?”

  “No, a bug! A ginormous bug!”

  “Where is it now?”

  “It’s on the ground, just beyond the western perimeter,” cut in Kropnik, his voice calmer. “I have it in my sights.”

  “Yes, I see it,” said Henri as his surveillance system monitor sprang to life. “Wow! It must be the size of an elephant and I don’t like the look of those horns!”

  “Shall I finish it off?” Kropnik wanted to know.

  Before Henri could answer, a whine overhead announced the arrival of two large wasp-like creatures, apparently in pursuit of the giant horned beetle. They circled the stricken creature a couple of times and then dived onto it, clearly intent on killing it.

  This could have been an interesting spectacle for the crowd of onlookers which was now gathering in front of the base, but seconds later the rumble that had been growing in intensity for some minutes became a screaming cacophony and the sky filled with over-sized flying insects of all descriptions.

  “Connolly! Kropnik! Get your arses back here, now!” yelled Henri. “Guard militia, return to base immediately!”

  As he scrambled out of his emplacement, Kropnik was confronted with a dog-sized moth that came lumbering up to him out of the darkness. Instinctively he opened fire and dropped the creature in its tracks.

  “Stop shooting, you morons!” a female voice among the onlookers shouted.

  “Easy for you!” yelled Kropnik as he raced between the bizarre creatures that were now dropping to the ground all around him. “Ugh!”

  There was a crash and a scream as something went through a lighted window in the base.

  “Benny, kill the lights. All of them!” barked Henri through his earphone.

  A few seconds later the base was plunged into total darkness. The thumping of flying bodies into the floodlights stopped and the frenzied motion of the new arrivals on the ground slowed. Henri hustled the remaining spectators indoors and checked his men. “Koh! Where are you?”

  “He’s with me!” said a breathless voice. “I think he’s been stung. I’m bringing him in.”

  Koh was indeed in a bad way. His eyes were rolling and he was pouring with sweat. His tunic was hurriedly cut off him, revealing a huge red swelling on his back – a sting had gone right through his jacket, leaving a blueish hole in his flesh. The doctor pumped antihistamine into him and hooked him up to life support.

  “Out!” he said to the anxious onlookers.

  The spectators of the ‘insecticide’, as someone put it, gathered in the conference room and called on Henri to explain what had happened. He pointed out that it was the task of the militia to guard the base and they had reacted to what they had perceived as a very real threat from the huge horned beetle which appeared to be about to attack them.

  “Can you be more specific about the signs of aggression exhibited by this beetle?” someone asked.

  “Are we to be surprised that an artificial light source arouses the curiosity of wildlife on this, or any other planet?” asked another.

  “Can we expect your men to open fire on any creature they come across which does not comply with your expectations? Isn’t that likely to increase the risk of attack?” This one was from Shelley Mathews, always provocative, but brilliant in her IT role. Her voice was clearly recognisable as the one who had called Kropnik a moron for opening fire.

  Henri held up a hand. “Shelley, the militia is here to ensure your safety. We’ve lost Derek Spencer doing just that and we’ve come close to losing Koh. I don’t think…”

  There was a rumble of disapproval. “Could we have a little more thought and a little less brute force, Colonel?” called out Benny Tromper. “We actually antagonised the wildlife here when we really sh
ould be finding ways to get on with them. Please.”

  Henri realised he could not tough this one out. “Alright,” he said, “we’ll go out of our way to avoid confrontation in future. I think your points are well made.” The tone of the muttering became softer, enabling Henri to engage with several individuals about their personal perceptions and views. After about ten minutes good humour reappeared and the group began to disperse.

  Chastened from his grilling, Henri went off to inspect the base for damage. He found little to worry about, and he called his men together. “Change of strategy,” he announced. “I don’t want any of you exposed to as-yet unknown risks from the local fauna. We will upgrade the surveillance hardware and carry out brief patrols hourly, which we will motorise as soon as we can. Unless we see that the integrity of the base is at risk, we will not interfere with the wildlife. I will upgrade your weaponry but the killing of some animals may well attract lots of others. We have to learn to live with them. Today was day one. The floodlights will only be used in an emergency. Any questions?”

  “How’s Koh?” asked Connolly.

  “He’s still alive but in intensive care,” said Henri. “The doctor thinks he’ll live but it will be close. Anything else? Right – Major Connolly will organise the patrols.”

  Henri went to his office and sat for a few minutes, contemplating his first day on Ceres. The loss of Spencer, and Koh’s delicate state of health, played on his mind for a while, but then he forced himself to think of the fantastic accomplishment that was behind them, and the limitless possibilities now open, and he smiled a wistful smile.

  Despite his intense fatigue he decided to check on Arlette before he turned in. He made his way back to her quarters and pushed open the door without a sound. Arlette was in her chair, her face lit only by the light of the phone on her lap, her head on one side, eyes closed. He looked at her for a minute or two, then closed the door again and left.

  Arlette watched him go from one slightly opened eye and suddenly she felt terribly alone. She thought about how her view of life had changed as this mission had progressed. The relentless demands of command had turned her into a governing machine. On former missions she had led by sheer exuberance and force of personality, with a close personal relationship with every one of her crew-mates. Now, here she was, managing everything. Her interactions with others had lost their intimacy. She sought opinions, she built consensus, she made decisions and they were disseminated. The weight of the responsibility she had was leaving no room for the light-hearted glee with which she used to do her job. This was nobody’s fault; it was simply the reality of the level she had now reached in her career. She could not take a day off from being the commander. She had competent people to delegate to, but the key decisions were all hers.

  And what of her private life? It no longer existed. She didn’t have a sex life, which was hard and unhealthy, and she had very little personal intimacy with anyone. She could have enjoyed Henri’s company, but the happy times she had spent with him in Acapulco had been a sham. She did not want to remember the intimacy she had shared with him and she could hardly remember anything tender before that. She liked Hannah but they weren’t really close, and she liked and admired Julia but she was obviously helping herself to Henri’s charms, totally unaware of the pain it was causing. The only other man that she had felt any attraction for was Genes, and he was not showing any personal interest in her. She could hardly proposition him – supposing he turned her down? There would be nowhere to hide! ‘What I need is some new blood,’ she thought. ‘Perhaps I should ask General Lee to send some eligible males on a relief ship’. She sighed, and then, lightening up, ‘Global fame, incredible adventure, and total command not good enough for you, Arlette Piccard?’ she thought to herself and a grin spread over her face.

  * * *

  The first video of the landing and the subsequent encounters with the indigenous wildlife caused a sensation when it reached Earth. Arlette and Henri became instant global celebrities. For Henri this resulted in scrutiny that was professionally undesirable, and he was dismayed to learn later that he had become known as ‘General Ceres’. Arlette was promptly drafted onto numerous candidacy lists for high office; after all, while Earthbound leaders obfuscated and made promises that no one believed, here was someone who had really done something with the potential to solve human misery on a vast scale. Pictures appeared of boundless pristine landscapes, untouched by any form of civilisation. Stories about giant spiders and huge flying beetles were dismissed as amusing at best and propaganda at worst. The perceived emphasis was on champagne and lobsters, and everyone wanted to know when they were going to be part of it.

  The day after the pictures were released, however, the monsoons struck India with unprecedented violence, drowning tens of thousands and making several million people homeless, while huge grass and forest fires raged around the Amazon basin, in the west of the USA, in Southern Africa and the South East of Australia. Entirely unrelated, but even more distressing, were ongoing volcanic eruptions in Chile and Indonesia which pumped so much ash into the atmosphere that crops failed over large swathes of vital agricultural land. The President of China flew to Washington to discuss with his US colleague their response in the face of new data, yet to be released, indicating that the planet would continue to warm for at least fifty more years. Their joint communique referred to more grand projects to divert water to areas afflicted with worsening droughts, but failed to answer persistent questions as to how they were to be financed given the ongoing decline in the global economy. Riots protesting the sky-rocketing cost of food and the shrinking labour market broke out in numerous European cities and across Latin America, while Central Africa suffered yet another viral epidemic which the pharmaceutical companies had neither the will nor the resources to address.

  Organised crime was prospering, however. Homelessness, joblessness, hunger and hopelessness were all stoking the market for hard drugs and fast credit, and with it an escalation in related theft and violence. But the organisations that were reaping the benefits of this huge and growing income were already looking ahead and starting to recruit ambitious people with totally different skill sets. Their view was that nothing could be done about global warming or the destruction of civilised society that was accompanying it. They could, however, offer a different solution for those who perceived that the ultimate winners would be those clever and ruthless enough to exploit the failure of governments and big business for their own advantage.

  Three days after the first landing on Ceres, the two most powerful criminals on Earth, one Chinese and one American, met at a secret location in Bangkok to discuss progress. Joe Favaloro was from Chicago, a political science graduate and a martial arts specialist, who had shown neither fear nor remorse in the course of his violent ascent to the pinnacle of his huge organisation. He was now forty-three years old, a towering man with a penetrating gaze. He neither drank nor smoked, he talked little and listened carefully, frequently making notes on his phone. His opposite number was the reverse in almost every respect. Chan Lu Fat, alias ‘The Joker’, began his career in the Casinos of Macao. He was a round-faced, corpulent man, always cracking jokes but watching every move of those around him with the utmost cynicism. A glance to one of his aides and a nod in someone’s direction would inevitably result in an execution, and he had a wide range of contacts within politics and legitimate business who would never cross him.

  The two men dealt briefly with territorial and sectorial disputes, delegating their resolution to their appropriate henchmen. People would die in the execution of these decisions, but that was of no concern in this company. The discussion then led on to progress in politics; who had been bought, who needed to be bought, and who was becoming an irritant in need of removal. They quickly agreed that the recently elected President of Indonesia was an obstacle to business, and responsibility for the hit was allocated. Over fresh cups of green tea the discussion turned to Project Greenfield.

&
nbsp; “Scorpion made big fuck-up of assassination,” said Chan with a sour frown that engulfed his entire face in wrinkles. “I gave you best secret tool and he made big fuck-up.” Favaloro waited for more. “What you gonna do now?”

  “We lost five guys,” said Favaloro drily. “We’ve got nineteen more as well as Scorpion. We’ll get her when she’s back in the ship and Bertin’s down on the planet chasing bugs.”

  “They watching those nineteen,” said Chan. “They know ’em. How they going to hit the bitch when they know ’em?”

  “Relax,” said Favaloro “They think their vaccine knocked out the effect of the virus. Everyone is cool right now. They are all doing their jobs like normal. Security on board has gotten sloppy. We’ll get her with the next hit.”

  “Spider not sure,” said Chan. “He say the Doctor Cohen pretty sharp. She suspicious but she ain’t got the tools to check. Bertin’s also sharp. He got a sword and two of our guys.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve still got seventeen running free and no one suspects Scorpion,” said Favaloro. “Be patient and he’ll do his job when the opportunity is right. We rushed it last time. We rushed it because you wanted action.”

  Chan frowned his ugly frown. “We ain’t got much time. Those guys are getting wiser all the time and they still looking for answers.”

  “Well, let Spider talk to Scorpion and wise him up!” said Favaloro with exasperation. “Spider can get information much more easily than Scorpion can. It will reduce the risk.”

  “No ways!” snapped Chan. “Spider is backstop if Scorpion fails. No communication between Spider and Scorpion!”

  “OK.” Favaloro raised his hands, palms out. “Then you’ve got to let Scorpion choose his time, be patient.”