by S. T. Boston
Lost in bloodthirsty thoughts, Namtar almost missed the slight nudge as the boat docked. Blinking away the images of Oriyanna beneath his blade, and with the imaginary echoes of her screams slipping from his twisted mind, he checked his watch impatiently and started the engine. Many of the other motorists shot him disapproving looks, but then like sheep they followed suit, all fouling the air with pollution when there was nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait. He hated them. Hate wasn't even the right word… more despised – hated and despised – yes, that was it. Soon they would pay. He was relieved when the front of the bow dropped, finally producing a ramp leading onto the port. After beeping at a few idiotic humans who seemed hell bent on slowing him down, Namtar rolled down the ramp and onto British soil.
* * *
Six thousand two hundred miles away, Hawker paced down the long corridor that led from his very ample quarters to the bridge of the Arkus 2, his Air Max moving silently on the hard, metallic alien flooring. Despite being Earth-Breed and technically a child of this advanced alien race, and having never been on such a craft before, it amazed him how very human it felt. The general design and layout of the craft could have come straight from some Earth-Human's concept pad. The lengthy corridor he currently paced was around seven feet high from floor to ceiling. The walls had a brushed metal effect while the floor was onyx-black, like the outer hull. Intermittent lighting donned the ceiling, but there were no visible light fixtures. The bright white material created a natural luminescence every ten or fifteen feet, but the light somehow didn't seem artificial. It even radiated its own subtle heat which kept the craft at a perfect twenty degrees centigrade. Every thirty feet the outline of a door broke the brushed metal wall, spaced out on either side of the passage. These doors led to the living quarters for the more senior members of the crew, and this particular section he'd come to call the Bridge Approach. The thirty or so private state-style rooms were designed to house those essential to the running of the craft, ensuring that in an emergency, any member of the bridge crew could be called upon and in post within two minutes. Nowadays, though, Arkus 2 wasn't quite so well crewed.
Hawker's quarters consisted of what was akin to a two-bedroom, moderately sized apartment. In her day, Arkus 2 had been a long-range exploration craft, much bigger than conventional short trip scout vessels, she was designed to carry whole families, allowing her crew to spend longer away from home.
For most of the past six thousand years, her many rooms had been empty spaces, a reminder of a time when the Arkkadian people had been as one, before planet Earth hammered an immovable stake between them.
Reaching the end of the corridor, Hawker placed his hand into a recess in the wall, and the door hissed open.
“I trust you are rested?” Asmodeous asked when Hawker reached his terminal and brought the holo-display to life.
“As rested as you can be at five AM,” Hawker replied, wishing that somewhere on this hulk of a vessel there was a coffee machine. “I've only had a couple of hours' sleep.”
“It's overrated, anyway.” Asmodeous stood next to him, his suit fresh, clean and ready for a catwalk show. His sandy blonde hair still looked a little messy, yet somehow stylish. The first thing which had struck Hawker on meeting his boss and master, was that if he lost those very alien, yet somehow captivating amber eyes, and let his blonde hair grow a little, with a vest and a pair of boardies he'd almost look like a surfer. However, with his well-tailored look he was a formidable character who oozed a magnetic charisma that could charm the birds from the trees.
Hawker blinked, his eyes feeling as if they were full of desert sand. His Woody Allen look-a-like colleague was busy monitoring chatter on hacked government phones while he studied the news and tracked the progress of the American and Soviet submarines and ships, as they played a deadly game of standoff in the northern Pacific. A stupidly risky game, considering it was all over the supply of oil. The location of the boats was of interest to him, for they held a bunch of nukes that he would be using. At zero hour he would need to know the exact location of each craft, to make sure Enola didn't target its weapons on a city too far out of reach. He trusted she wouldn't; once he set her free she would be fully automated, but like any expectant parent with a child going to school for the first time, he wanted to be there to hold its hand.
“How is Kwangmyŏngsŏng, coming along?” Asmodeous asked, watching Hawker work, bringing various screens to life with the ease of a person who'd been using holo-screens for years.
Hawker found the screen tab he needed and flicked it to life. Frowning, he studied the 3D image with interest. Turning away from the screen he looked at his boss. “Looking at the lines of code that they're running I would suggest they're in the start-up phase. The system will go live and reboot a few times before it's online and working, but I'd estimate no more than five hours.”
“So they really did beat the others to it,” Asmodeous summarised.
“Looks like it. The others won't be far behind, and every system should be back in the next twenty hours or so.”
“If we wanted to raise the tensions a little in the East, what city would you target?”
“Tokyo, sir,” Hawker replied immediately. “That will stir up a hornets' nest.”
“Alright. In five hours, as soon as Kwangmyŏngsŏng goes live, be ready to launch a strike. I think we need to test out this program of yours.”
Hawker snapped the screen closed and opened a fresh one. Within a few seconds, he had a satellite view of Tokyo before him, and allowing himself a tiny smile he nodded in agreement.
* * *
Thirty minutes after docking in Portsmouth, and with time slipping away from him faster than seemed possible, Namtar watched as the English countryside whipped by. He'd abandoned the rental X5 at the port, instead favouring the Volvo XC90 driven by Peltz and Croaker which had its steering wheel on the correct side for this country – another oddity of the Earth-Human world which pissed him off.
“We will meet the Gulf Stream at Netheravon,” he said to Peltz, who was concentrating on the road ahead. “There are more weapons on there.”
“Very well, sir. We are pretty well armed already, however.”
“If you're so well armed, how did two escape?” Namtar boomed, fixing his eyes on Peltz who instantly shrunk back into the cream leather seat. “Just what firepower do you have with you?”
“One Colt AR15 machine gun, one USMC M40A1 sniper rifle, three Glock G26 9mm semi-automatic handguns, a M26C Taser and a few knives,” Peltz offered with a smile.
“You were on a kill squad; we need to take Becker and the others alive, not pepper them full of lead. Do you have any tranquiliser rounds?”
“No, sir, just killing machines. I do have the Taser.”
“It may be of use,” Namtar said thoughtfully. “There should be a secondary tranq-pistol in the Gulf Stream; we had two but I couldn't find the other so I'm guessing it was left behind.”
“We should be there in about an hour, sir.” Peltz left the motorway and pointed them north toward Salisbury.
“Excellent,” Namtar praised. He fired up the hand-held computer and was relieved to see the green dot representing Samuel Becker was still in the same place, a cottage just off Honey Street in a tiny village in Wiltshire, which appeared to be the back end of nowhere. He closed the window and brought up the street image of the cottage, studying it with interest, wondering what the link was that connected Becker, and hopefully the others, to this out-of-the-way place.
Chapter 25
Sitting around a table in the lounge of the Barge Inn, Sam popped the last mouthful of toast (his third slice), into his mouth and washed it down with the last of the lukewarm, sweet tea. Putting the cup onto the lacquered pine table, he exhaled in satisfaction and said, “Now I think I can concentrate on the task in hand.”
“Are you sure you don't want to finish off my scraps, too?” Adam asked, still not able to believe Sam had managed the Gut Buster breakfast and a
n extra three slices of toast. His plate still had half a sausage on and two grilled tomatoes. He'd been as ravenous as he could ever remember, but the portion had beaten him easily.
“Nope, I'm good thanks,” Sam smiled, patting his belly proudly. “It's good to see the old place is still in business, and it's lost none of its kooky charm.” He gestured to the ceiling which was beautifully hand painted in a mosaic of crop circle designs. It had been like this for a long as he could remember, although the paint was starting to show its age now, it was still an impressive bit of artwork. Matching the ceiling, the walls were decorated with countless photographs of the local phenomenon, many of them dating back years.
“It's fascinating,” said Oriyanna, standing up to study some of the more impressive designs.
“It's amazing what a few guys with some rope and a few planks of wood can achieve,” Sam said sceptically.
“I'm not so sure,” said Adam. “I think the majority are fake, yes. But a few I'd say are a real mystery.”
“It's not your lot, then?” Sam said to Oriyanna with a laugh. “Landing your spaceships here and leaving pretty pictures in the corn?”
She looked at him, not certain if he was serious. Unable to work it out she shrugged. “There are still many things in this universe that we will never know the truth behind. This whole area is naturally rich in Earth energies, there are numerous sites like this around the planet. I'm afraid I have no answer for you. I just don't know.”
“We need to get moving,” Adam announced. In the pub, eating the much-needed breakfast and rehydrating, he'd felt safe and detached from the events unfolding outside. He didn't know why, but it felt different to when they'd been together in the States. Maybe it was because this time they were on home turf, in places they'd grown up in.
“I'm still not certain splitting up is such a good idea,” Lucie complained, slipping out from behind the table. Sam opened the door leading out onto the canal towpath and ushered her through. “I mean, we only just got everyone back together.”
“We don't need to go,” Sam reassured her. “Let Oriyanna and Adam handle it. Besides, I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours and if I don't get some shuteye, I'll be fit for nothing.” Up until he'd sat down for food, Sam had been running on adrenaline, bolstered by the caffeine in the Pepsi. Now with a belly full of stodgy food, exhaustion was hitting him hard. “I need to grab a few hours' sleep while they're gone. As soon as they get back, we'll figure out what to do next. Just like I said, one step at a time.” He offered her an encouraging smile, turned and nodded his thanks to the bartender, who looked far too old to be working. The aged man raised an arthritic hand in appreciation and Adam and Oriyanna slipped past Sam onto the towpath.
Outside the morning had warmed a little, but not much. If you ignored the wreck of the partially sunken, narrow boat resting under the road bridge, in this part of the world it was almost possible to forget that anything had ever happened. Unlike London, which was still littered with the remains of burnt out and looted shops, here, where people enjoyed a more relaxed pace of life and the hoodlum population was virtually non-existent, it had been left almost unchanged.
The walk back to the cottage took them five minutes. As planned, the stolen Nissan Juke remained parked at the rear of the pub, in a field which had once been used as a campsite. Before leaving for the pub they'd searched the boot of the little 4x4, but the only thing of any real use had been a pair of tatty old Reebok trainers which Sam had laid claim to immediately when he discovered they were his size. They looked more fitting with his dirty, battle scarred clothes.
As they crossed the crumbling forecourt of the old sawmill, Sam held them back for a few seconds and studied the cottage. Satisfied that things looked to be as they'd left them, he beckoned the others on.
At the front door, he studied the jamb, relieved to find the small pin still wedged in the bottom of the frame. It was an old trick he'd learned years previously, to tell if anyone had been in while you were out.
A few minutes later Adam had the engine in his Mazda ticking over, listening to Lucie telling him to be as quick as he could and not to stop for anyone unless he was sure it was a police car.
He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, pleased to see she had a little more colour in her face now she'd slept, eaten, and had her husband back. They were all in desperate need of fresh clothing and a good wash, however. Lucie's brown hair was still in an untidy ponytail, smudges of dirt visible on her cheeks. “See if you can get the old boiler fired up,” he suggested as he prepared to leave. “It would be nice to get clean when we get back.”
“I'll get Sam on it after he's had some rest,” she replied. “He was beat, he's already in bed.”
“And remember to tell him about—” Adam eyed the region of his sister's belly.
“I will, I just need to find the right time. If I tell him now, he'll just want to wrap me up in cotton wool.”
“Maybe he should,” Adam said seriously.
“Be quick,” Lucie encouraged, forcing a smile onto her lips.
Adam planted a last kiss on her forehead, “I plan to be.” He gave her a wan smile and walked to the car, his shoes crunching on the gravel. Oriyanna was already in the passenger seat, waiting patiently.
Lucie watched as her brother carefully reversed the Mazda out between the two concrete gate posts and onto Honey Street, revved the engine and vanished behind the overgrown hedgerow. It was just past nine AM. They should be back by half past three, four at the latest. She checked her phone – no service. Great, she thought, I won't know about it even if they do need to call me. Not relishing the prospect of six more hours' of nagging worry, Lucie turned from the door and closed it. Inside the cottage, Sam was already lying on top of the damp double mattress in the master bedroom, sound asleep. Leaning over, she kissed her husband on the cheek and brushed some of his sandy blonde hair back from his forehead. When he began snoring lightly she collected up his jacket, which he'd hung on the floor. No change there then, she thought, and draped it over an occasional chair in the corner of the room. The two handguns he'd arrived with she left in place, on the old oak bedside table, where he'd left them before climbing onto the bed.
With anxiety running riot, Lucie knew there'd be no more rest for her, so she left Sam to sleep and went to the boiler cupboard. If she could get the thing started, at least she could enjoy a nice relaxing bath and get clean. If only she had some casual jeans and a fresh top. Her work skirt was battered and grubby and her blouse looked as if she'd scooped it straight out of a bin. Her thin blue jumper also looked like a charity shop reject which annoyed her, as it had been one of her favourites. With a sigh, she began to work on getting the boiler running.
* * *
Adam whipped the poky little Mazda away from the cottage, over the canal bridge and began the climb up into the hills, following the road which would eventually bring them to the town of Marlborough. In a field below them he caught a glimpse of the King Air Sam had escaped in. The broken plane was halfway across East Field and a single police 4x4 sat beside the wreck. He could just make out two more yellow jackets by the main gate, which was some three hundred yards away across the roughly ploughed ground.
As the road rose higher and the small village dropped further behind he lost sight of the crashed plane and focused his attention on the road ahead. It was narrow and twisty, but he knew it well and could drive it fast. Pushing the accelerator to the floor he spoke to Oriyanna. “So, what do you plan to do when you get this device?”
“Ultimately, I need to recall the craft and we need to head to Peru.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Adam chuckled. “I'm guessing there's no one else here and by the time you get a message home—”
“It will already be too late,” she cut in. “I'm not sure what kind of timescale we are working to here, but I doubt very much Asmodeous will hang around. As soon as he can gain control of those live launch systems, he will use them.” Or
iyanna eyed him with a serious expression before continuing. “Last night, just before we were attacked, President Hill was giving an address to the American people. He believed their nuclear systems would be going live in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but they could be faster.” She watched him with her wide blue eyes. “If we can stop this now, Adam, it's over. Do you understand that? Sheol is under Arkkadian control, there is nothing left of his army or his people, other than that ship out there in Peru. Nothing! Unfortunately, that's also what makes him so much more dangerous. He has nothing to lose.”
Adam didn't reply immediately, concentrating on throwing the RX7 around a corner. He navigated it confidently, and the tyres chirped nicely as the back end of the car drifted slightly and held. Back on a straight section of tarmac he said, “That doesn't make me feel any better. If we can end this now, and there's no chance of a reprisal from his people, we need to make sure we don't fail. Simple.”
With one stop for fuel just on the other side of Reading, Adam arrived in Greenwich in bang on two and a half hours. If there was one positive to be taken from the events which had changed the world, it was the sheer lack of congestion that had once troubled almost every arterial route in the country. The unfortunate mixture of death and ridiculously high oil prices had seen a fifty percent drop in traffic. Consequently, on a Saturday morning which had grown more overcast and dull the further north they'd pushed, Adam hadn't been stuck in a single traffic jam getting into the nation's capital.