by Tim Flanagan
The report concluded the creature was a Nematode, an ugly looking worm, and nothing extra terrestrial at all.
‘Good morning, Steven,’ said a clear, well spoken voice approaching the cubicles.
‘Morning, Sir Adam,’ Steven replied recognizing the voice.
‘Good to see you’re in early as usual. I wonder if you would come with me; I have something I need to discuss with you.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Steven agreed.
‘Better leave those here,’ Sir Adam indicated to the notepad and pencil Steven had just picked up off his desk. He glanced nervously at the CCTV camera in the corner of the office then turned and began walking away from the office along a corridor.
Steven struggled to keep up with his boss, even though he was about forty years younger. What was a normal walking pace for Sir Adam was a breathless gallop for Steven.
‘Can I ask what this is about?’ he enquired.
‘Probably best not to. Not yet, at least,’ replied Sir Adam vaguely.
Neither of them spoke as they walked along an endless series of corridors and through security doors that Steven had never seen before. He had heard rumours of tunnels and passageways beneath London’s streets that connected government buildings and allowed easy access for the Prime Minister and other senior members of government to move quickly around London, especially during times of crisis, without anyone knowing.
One of the corridors turned sharply to the left and as they turned the corner Sir Adam placed a firm hand on Steven’s chest preventing him from walking any further.
‘A word of warning, Steven,’ Sir Adam whispered with a nervous look upon his face. ‘Do not trust everyone you are about to meet. What you will see is only half the story. There are things they won’t tell you.’
Steven looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’
Sir Adam glanced nervously around the corridor. ‘I can’t say any more. We are standing in a camera blind spot. We must keep walking. Our movements are being monitored. If we don’t walk seamlessly round the next corner, they will know we have delayed.’
Before Steven could ask any more questions, Sir Adam had already taken a step round the corner leaving Steven with no choice but to follow, even though he was now more confused than ever. At the end of the corridor he noticed a glowing red eye of a security camera watching their approach.
At the end of the corridor was a metal door with a card and retina scanner. Sir Adam automatically leant down and after a few seconds the thick bolts inside the door frame clicked and a green light shone. The door swung heavily out towards them revealing a small white washed room with nothing more than a sterile metal conference table in the centre. Two people were sat at the desk. Steven reluctantly took a step inside the room followed by Sir Adam and the door closed silently behind them.
One of the men stood up and turned to face Steven - it was the tall scar faced man from the elevator.
3. A Call to Duty
Joe Allen lay awake on top of his second-hand mattress looking up at the ceiling. He had been woken early by frantic knocking on the front door of their small terrace house. He had heard his dad’s tired feet making their way down the stairs to see who was at the door and now he could hear voices talking from the kitchen below. Joe turned and looked at his alarm clock, wondering whether to get up or not, but decided to stay where he was for a bit longer, despite the mattress springs digging into his back. He then heard movement from the room next to his; his grandmother must have heard the door knocking too. He listened to the creaking of the floorboards as she slowly shuffled down the stairs, followed by the sound of a kettle being filled and the clatter of mugs. If his gran was up then he may as well go downstairs too.
At the kitchen table he saw his dad talking to a round bellied man with long bushy sideburns that continued down both cheeks.
‘Mornin' Joe,’ said the visitor with a look of sympathy in his eyes. Joe had got a lot of sympathetic looks from people ever since his mother had died, almost like they expected him to burst into tears at any time.
‘Morning, Mr Blundy,’ said Joe politely. Gregg Blundy was the desk clerk at the police station where Joe’s dad worked. Instinctively, Joe went to the kitchen cupboard, took a bowl out and began filling it whilst curiously listening to the men’s conversation without it looking too obvious.
Joe’s gran placed two mugs of tea on top of a notepad on the table for each of the men.
‘So what time did he leave?' asked Sergeant Allen to Mr Blundy. He moved his cup of tea off the pad of paper and put it on a newspaper instead, freeing the paper to write on. He picked up a pen ready to make notes.
‘His mother said he left around about eight o’clock last night. He told 'er he had arranged t' stay at a friend’s house. She watched 'im go out the door an' said he was heading into town.’
‘And she didn’t check with the friend first?’
‘It was the start of the holidays - she wasn’t worried 'bout him staying over someone else's house. She said that she was glad Peter had made friends. Wasn’t until this morning that she rang the friend’s house t' see what time 'e was coming home an' apparently he hadn’t been there at all.’
‘What about other friends? Has she rung around them?’
‘Sounds like 'e didn’t really have many friends. Never had anyone over for tea. Preferred sittin' on his own in the field behind 'is house drawing pictures in 'is sketchbook.’
Sergeant Philip Allen looked out of the kitchen window. Although it was early, there was something very beautiful and peaceful about the world at that time of the day; even the two birds that tweeted excitedly to each other outside the window seemed to agree. But Sergeant Allen knew it would not last long and from what he was hearing it seemed that it wasn't going to be a good day. It was unusual for anything to happen in Parsley Bottom except for the odd car accident or minor disturbance, but a missing child was definitely unusual.
‘Is there anything missing from his room?' he asked his clerk.
‘She’s had a look an' the only things missing are some beddin' and his teddy bear. She said 'e had a small bag with him when 'e left.’
‘So he definitely intended going somewhere for the night,’ replied Sergeant Allen thinking aloud.
Joe noticed that his gran had already started to make some sandwiches for his dad, knowing he would be going to the police station very soon.
‘Nothin' else was missin' that she could tell: no money or photographs. 'e had some birthday money stuffed inside an old pottery money box but it doesn’t appear to have been touched. Also 'is sketchpad is still there,’ added Mr Blundy.
Sergeant Allen lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a small sip as he listened once again, wincing as the hot water stung his lips. Despite the burn, it felt good to feel the warm liquid dribbling down inside his throat and heating up his stomach.
Joe brought his bowl over and sat down at the table next to his dad. He purposely ate his cereal slowly so he could hear the conversation despite the munching sound in his ears.
‘And she’s checked the loft and shed to make sure he’s not hidden in there?’ Sergeant Allen asked.
‘She’s checked every place she can think of.’
‘Are there any other family members he could have gone to stay with?’
‘His dad’s away workin' in the North Sea. 'e’s a welder on the rigs. Only comes home every few months. Only other family member is an elderly grandmother and she lives in a nursing home.’
‘Had he been acting normally recently? Did he mention anyone new that he’d met?’
‘No, but 'is mum did mention somethin' a bit strange. She says she always feels like they are bein' watched. Could be in 'er mind but apparently, when they had lived in Liverpool there had been this old man turning up wherever they went. They moved t' Parsley Bottom three years ago to care for her mother but she says she still sees the man only now he 'as a white beard. She’s sure it’s the same person.’
‘
Might be worth checking. Send PC Lloyd round to talk to Mrs Crisp and get a detailed statement as well as a recent photograph of her son. We need some background information; was he having any problems at school that she knew of? Was he happy? Check social services records as well as police records from Liverpool, make sure it’s been a happy household and there have been no other reported problems.’
‘Will do,’ nodded Mr Blundy.
Sergeant Allen took another sip of tea, giving himself time to think. ‘Are there any security cameras near their home? Send someone to ask the local businesses if we can look at their recordings from last night, maybe we can find out which way he headed.’
‘Shall I start to organise a search yet?’
‘No, let’s wait until we find out more before we start an official search. Chances are he’s run away, got scared over night and will turn up soon. Let me go and get dressed then we’ll go down to the station.’
Sergeant Allen pushed his chair backwards, scraping the legs against the bare floorboards and let out a loud sigh as he climbed the stairs back to the room he shared with his son.
‘You got anythin' planned for the school break Joe?' asked Mr Blundy, trying to make conversation while he waited.
‘Nothing yet,’ replied Joe. ‘Was that Peter Crisp you were talking about?’
‘Yes, d' you know him?’
‘Peter’s in my class at school,’ answered Joe in between spoons of cereal. ‘What’s happened to him?’
‘He’s gone missin'. What’s he like at school?’
‘Well, he doesn’t really have that many friends, if that’s what you mean, but he seems ok. Never got into any trouble,’ replied Joe.
‘I think we’ve got a picture of him somewhere,’ said Joe's grandmother. She went through a doorway into the lounge where Joe’s school photographs were propped up on the mantelpiece. She picked up one and returned to the kitchen, placing it on the table in front of Joe and Mr Blundy.
‘That’s him there isn’t it Joe?' she asked, pointing a bony finger at a boy standing at the back of the photograph alongside other members of his class. He had an unwashed appearance to his face and thick, untidy brown hair that flopped over his glasses. Whilst all the other faces looked out of the photograph with a smile and youthful confidence, Peter appeared to stand slightly separate from the rest of the class, a distant look in his eyes as if his mind was somewhere else. Joe nodded as he scraped the spoon around the bottom of his cereal bowl scooping up what remained of the milk from his breakfast.
‘Can I borrow this?' asked Mr Blundy.
‘As long as we get it back,’ replied the elderly woman.
As soon as he was allowed to leave the house, Joe grabbed his jacket, got on his bike and cycled over to his best friends’ house. He took the bike round the outside of the house and knocked on the back door.
Max’s mum, who could always be found in the utility room sorting out the clean and dirty clothes for Max and his four older sisters, opened the door almost immediately and greeted Joe with a warm and friendly smile.
‘Morning Joe, you’re out and about early,’ she said.
‘Morning, Mrs Scott,’ replied Joe as he kicked his shoes off at the door and rushed past her. He always felt welcome at Max’s house and one more person in a house of seven didn’t really make much difference to Mrs Scott, who was always pleased to see him.
Joe leapt up the staircase two at a time towards his friend’s bedroom, knocked once and walked straight in.
‘Hi, Joe,’ greeted Max seeing his friend walk in. ‘I thought I’d make a start on the maths homework.’ Max was sat at a desk with a thick text book open in front of him and an even heavier book resting on the pages to keep it open at the right page.
‘Max, it’s the first day of the holiday, why have you started your homework already?’ said Joe.
‘I don’t think I’ve got these percentages right,’ he said ignoring Joe’s question.
Max’s room was always tidy and organised. His desk had everything neatly arranged in square piles. Pens were colour coded and arranged by height and lined up perfectly at the side of the desk. His books were lined up in the same way on his shelf and his duvet was neatly tucked in around the edges.
Joe closed the door behind him and sank into a giant beanbag beside the desk.
'Are you alright?' asked Max, seeing a look of excitement on Joe’s face.
‘Peter Crisp has gone missing!' said Joe in an excited whisper. 'His mum contacted the police station so my dad's gone to look for him.'
Max shook his head. ‘No, he’s down at the church graveyard,’ said Max unimpressed. ‘I heard him talking to Jimmy Cox at school yesterday. Everyone knows how Peter wants to be more popular so Jimmy dared him to stay there the night.’
‘Oh,’ Joe’s excitement ended pretty quickly. ‘Well, he's going to be in big trouble when his mum sees him.’
‘Maybe we should tell your dad.’
‘Why don’t we go over to the graveyard and see if he’s still there? We could at least warn him about the trouble he's in.'
'I suppose so,' said Max unconvinced.
Joe stood up and closed Max’s text book for him, leaving his pencil in the central fold as a marker for later, then began running down the stairs. Max had no option but to follow, shouting goodbye to his mum as they left through the utility room.
4. The Secret Meeting
Apart from Steven there were three other people in the room: Sir Adam, the tall scar faced man from the lift, and another man, whose suit was so badly crumpled it looked like he had slept in it, although the dark bags under his eyes indicated that he rarely got enough sleep.
'Good morning, Mr Knight. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,' said the crumpled man. Inwardly Steven laughed at the man’s comment; he hadn’t had much choice about going there, but he decided not to say anything. ‘My name is Seward,’ he continued. The name sounded familiar to Steven, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he had heard it before. ‘What we are about to tell you is top secret and should remain confidential at all times.' He paused whilst turning a laptop round so everyone could see the presentation that he had started.
‘Meteorites,’ Seward said as a way of an introduction. ‘Unless they are very large, many meteorites land on the Earth’s surface unnoticed.’ Different slides of meteorites appeared on the screen of the laptop illustrating his story. ‘Stone meteorites are the most common type and can often be difficult to recognise from the rocky surface they land on. Stone meteorites are divided into Chondrites and Achondrites. It’s the Achondrites that interest us today, Mr Knight. These meteorites are often chunks of mature planets or moons and travel the solar system for millions of years before landing on Earth.’ The slide show continued to show pictures of meteorites travelling through space.
‘Have you heard of the Antarctic Mars Meteorite, or ALH84001?' interrupted Sir Adam.
Steven nodded. He remembered reading about a meteorite that had been found in Antarctica in 1984. ‘ALH8401 was thought to be about 4 billion years old,' Steven explained. 'There were reports that it contained fossilised Martian life forms that sparked a fresh debate over the existence of extra terrestrial life.’
‘You may recall the spectacular meteor shower we had over the skies of the UK several months ago,' Seward continued. 'The meteors were from Tuttle’s Comet. Most meteorites are as small as grains of sand and disintegrate in the Earth's atmosphere. But this shower was different. The British Government has recently acquired a small rock no bigger than a large pebble that landed in a town called Parsley Bottom in Yorkshire. On its impact to Earth the outer layer fractured open and split into two parts.’ Seward took a blackened hemisphere of rock out of his briefcase and placed it on the table in front of them. ‘This is one half of that rock.'
Steven picked it up. The surface was smooth and covered with small holes like popped bubbles. On the flat edge was an uneven crystal surface with a honeycomb appearance at the centre;
its colours radiated out in an ever darkening way to the charred surface. Steven placed it on the table.
'Meteorites land on our planet every month,' Sir Adam took over once again, 'but this one has caused great interest. The core of the meteorite contained traces of a substance that we have been unable to identify.'
‘You mean it contained something we’ve never seen on this planet before?' asked Steven.
‘Exactly.’
‘But, I thought Meteorites got so hot when they enter the atmosphere that any trace of life is burnt up?' interrupted Steven.
‘You’re correct,' Seward began again. 'A meteor is subjected to intense heat as it enters the Earth’s atmosphere and many harmlessly burn up. These high temperatures are enough to destroy any substance on the surface of the meteor. In fact the rock actually begins to melt at its surface.’ He lifted up the half of meteorite that was on the table, ‘during its long journey through space the inside of the meteorite would have become frozen. Although the crust would have become hot and melted in our atmosphere, the temperature of the core could have remained relatively low.'
'So what was inside the meteorite?' Steven bravely asked.
‘Whatever it is, it hasn’t been seen on Earth, until now,' the scar faced man spoke for the first time. He had a deep voice with an American accent.
'This is Coldred,' Sir Adam indicated to the scar faced man. 'His speciality is Biochemical Engineering.'
'What did the analysis report say?' Steven asked.
'The meteorite crust is mainly made of rock with traces of iron and various minerals,' Coldred explained. 'More importantly, there was something inside the rock. My research team have been working on the core of the other half and found what appears to be a basic form of bacteria, one that is different to any we've seen before. We found the bacteria deep inside the core away from the split. Some of the original samples were lost as the bacteria seemed to die when exposed to daylight, so we now only handle it in a strict environment: total darkness, 80% humidity with night vision goggles for our technicians. In a dark environment the bacteria changes at an alarming rate. Upon first being discovered it was given the code McRae01, named after the man who found it, but the bacteria has been changing, almost evolving, so much so that we have had to rename it several times, the differences are so great. The version that was growing in the laboratory when I left it this morning was coded McRae32-4.' There was silence in the room, as the relevance of Coldred’s last statement sank in; the bacteria was changing rapidly.