by S. T. Boston
“Then really, there's no plan, is there?” It was a despairing statement more than a question. Adam squinted through the spray as he approached another truck, this one a fuel tanker. He backed off the speed a little; with the ludicrously high oil prices, more than a few tankers had been hijacked in a Mad Max style display of thievery. Now they came with a police or army escort, in an effort to ward off would-be highway pirates. This tanker was obviously empty and on her way back to one of the refineries on the south coast, as it was alone. Satisfied that the vehicle was Fuzz-free, Adam got them up to speed and watched the tanker shrinking in size in the rear-view mirror.
“We need to find a way,” Oriyanna protested, “to get enough power into that hub to span the six and a half thousand miles, but not drain too much power from the ship's engine.”
“Exactly,” Taulass agreed. He looked across at Adam and said, “The hubs on Arkkadia all use the planet's energy grid, just as the Tabut did. It's a very powerful and completely clean energy and it has more than enough power to do the job.”
“So if we can get the hub on our craft to use the Earth's energy…” Oriyanna began.
“Then you can make the connection,” Adam completed, suddenly seeing a glimmer of light at the end of the very long tunnel.
Taulass saw the spark in Adam's eyes and nodded. “Indeed,” he said, feeling more confident that between them, well, more between himself and Oriyanna, they could work the problem. “The ship's hull is made of Taribium, as I said, so I would need to re-calculate the way she takes power in through her hull to feed from the Earth, then re-program the computer to allow it to happen. It's complicated, but possible.”
“As you have no planetary grid established here,” Oriyanna said, “we will need a small amount of power from the ship's engine, but as long as we don't leave the window open too long, or open it too many times, we should be fine.”
“If we can find a natural energy point, a place where the Earth's energy is naturally high, then we can minimalize the amount of power we need to take from the ship.”
“Are you saying we have to go back to Egypt?” Adam groaned. If he never visited the pyramids again it would be too soon.
“No, we can't move the craft from the point it's recalled to, and we need to work fast or they will know what we are doing,” Taulass said thoughtfully. “I can run the calculations on paper before we bring it back, that way, I'll just need to run the completed calculations through the ship's computer when we board. It will save hours.”
“Hours,” Adam groaned. “I'm not sure we have that long.”
“We don't have a choice,” Taulass defended. “It is what it is. I will work as fast as I can, but it's a complicated process. First, we need to reach a point naturally rich in Earth's energy, as I mentioned.”
“That won't be a problem,” Oriyanna cut in. “There is such a place within a half hour's drive of Adam's cottage.”
Adam glanced into the mirror. “Stonehenge?” he suggested, certain he must be right.
“Not just a pretty face,” Oriyanna smiled. “Yes, Stonehenge.”
“I'm guessing you can shed a little light on that particular mystery then?” he asked hopefully.
“It's not as fantastical as you might think,” she replied, a sly grin on her face. “Back before the war, when we were studying this planet and the various cultures which had sprung up in the many thousands of years we'd been absent for, we used several of the naturally rich energy points to build hubs. You see, we need some hubs set in areas of higher power, this helps to feed the entire grid, creating a kind of circuit. Stonehenge was the site of one such hub; it was a much smaller version of the system we have on Arkkadia. The Neolithic Agrarians built the stones as a monument to the hub, they believed it to be a portal to the heavens, from where their gods came down to Earth.”
“I always thought the Druids built it,” Adam commented.
“It was build a good thousand years before the Druids came on the scene,” she answered. “This isn't the time for another lesson in your misinterpreted history.” She winked when she caught his eye in the mirror.
“Just how long will it take you to work the calculations?” Adam asked as the radio, which had been playing Chic's 'Le Freak' quietly in the background, went silent for a second, drawing his attention from the conversation. Leaning forward in his seat, Adam fiddled with the volume button. The BBC radio news jingle suddenly blasted though the cab, making them all jump. Adam glanced at the clock in panic; it wasn't the top of the hour, or even half way through the hour, which meant something big had happened somewhere.
A very sombre news reader began to speak. “We interrupt this scheduled show to take you to a live broadcast by the British Prime Minister, Richard Cole, live from ten Downing Street.” There was a slight crackle as the engineers in the studio switched feeds, this was followed by another unexpected silence, which almost had Adam adjusting the volume again. As he reached for the knob, Prime Minister Cole's voice blasted thought the car.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Prime Minister began, his Midlands accent laced with tension, “it is with deep sadness and regret that I must inform you that at ten past twelve GMT the nation of North Korea launched a nuclear attack on the Empire of Japan. The blast, which early indications tell us was a twenty-five megaton warhead, detonated over the Chiyoda district of Tokyo.”
“Dear God,” Adam said in a hollow voice. An icy hand of horror ran its bony fingers down his spine, clenching hold of his gut and twisting sharply.
“We are not yet able to talk about the death toll, but it is my belief that we would be naive not to think it will be in the millions. Myself, President Hill, as well as other NATO and European Alliance leaders have condemned the attack as a barbaric act of war and one that will not go unpunished.” There was a pause and the sound of Prime Minister Cole taking a sip from a glass, the microphone picking up the clink as it caught on his teeth, and the sound of him swallowing distinguishable before he continued. “As you know, our world is in a fragile position. Our sheer dependence on oil and fossil fuels began this new and now-deadly race back to a nuclear era that we had a chance of leaving behind. It would seem North Korea wished to make the most of being the new world's first nuclear power, and like cowards, they struck out before the rest of the world could answer. I can assure you that the rest of the world will make them answer for what they have done.”
There was another pause and then another male voice, a reporter, Adam assumed, shouted a question. “Are you planning to retaliate with nuclear force, Mr. Prime Minister?”
“I was elected on the back of honesty and integrity, and a hell-bent will to get this nation back on its feet,” the Prime Minister fired back, his voice tainted with a little annoyance at the question. “And I will keep those values when I answer your question. I believe that the human race has suffered enough over the past two and a half years, and it is my hope that we can resolve this matter without the further use of nuclear weapons. As you know, at this time nuclear weapons are not an option for us, but we are continuing, along with the United States and nuclear European Alliance members to develop our launch and defence systems, a system that we all hope will be online in the next twenty-four hours.” He paused again, his voice taking on an octave of dread as he said, “We know very little of the North Korean nuclear arsenal; we do not know who they've targeted, or if indeed their weapons can reach our shores, but we have to be prepared for the worst. At the moment, Great Britain is completely defenceless against an attack.” There was a worried murmur that spread across the soundwaves, it reached out across the air and broke like a wave in the Mazda. “If you're currently outside of the country's major cities, I would urge you to stay clear. If you are in one of our cities then please, at this time, do not try to evacuate. We have no direct intelligence to suggest we will be a target and I have no desire to needlessly clog the arterial routes in and out of London, or any other city, as the result of panic.” Another pause, and it wa
s clear that the last part of the broadcast had been improvised, it had sent a mixed message and Adam suspected that very soon London would be in gridlock for the first time since the Reaper. “That's all I have for you, ladies and gentlemen. Please stay tuned to your local news channel for the latest news. As a result of events in Japan and the need for the public to know what is going on, there will be no power cut tonight. The curfew, however, will remain in place.”
The radio broadcast cut back to the BBC news room. Adam had heard enough; he cranked the volume down, and turned to Taulass . “I have a horrible feeling that however long it's going to take you to do those calculations, is going to be too long.”
“It will take several hours to work the calculations,” Taulass said, matter-of-factly. “Then around half an hour to reprogram the ship to those calculations. It's a complicated process, I have to make the ship do something it was not designed to do.”
“This is a test,” Oriyanna said, her voice flat. “They are testing Enola, and it looks like she works. We have until the other systems come online to stop this thing. If that's still a day away, we might just have time. I suspect the other nations will up their game now, so… I just don't know.”
“And let's just say we can use the hub to jump us to Peru, that we manage to get aboard Arkus 2 – what the hell do we do then?” Sweat had formed on Adam's brow and was rolling down his back.
“I don't know,” Taulass said, sounding a little helpless. “I hadn't got that far.”
No longer worried about the possibility of passing a police car or army patrol, Adam slammed the accelerator pedal to the floor. He needed to get them back to Wiltshire and fast. He glanced in the wing mirror, half expecting to see a mushroom cloud forming in the distant sky.
Chapter 30
Just over three and a half thousand miles away, deep below the White House in the PEOC, (Presidential Emergency Operations Centre), President Hill sat at a large oval mahogany table and cradled his head in his hands. Looking up, he surveyed the eclectic mixture of personnel who had accompanied him into the bunker, one that had been built on the command of President Franklin Roosevelt during the dark days of World War Two. The bunker was designed to withstand all but a direct nuclear surface impact, and there were those who wagered it could even survive one of those, if the yield of the nuke wasn't too high. With developments in the East, President Hill suffered an uneasy feeling that the bunker's durability might well be tested in the next few hours, and the thought was making him nauseous. The White House had stood virtually undamaged and un-attacked since President James Monroe moved in back in 1817, after the repairs were completed following a fire set by the British – and he was damned if the universally-recognised monument was going down on his watch.
Maintained and kept up to date with the latest technology, the bunker had only been seriously used twice in the last few decades. The first September the 11th 2001 had been the first such time, a day which changed the world forever, and not for the better. The Vice President of the day, Dick Cheney, and several other important members of the presidential staff had utilised its safety, while President Bush, who had been visiting a school when the first plane hit the North Tower, had taken to the skies in Air Force One, the government running a country in crisis from both above and below the Earth.
The last time the operations centre had been needed was almost thirty months ago, when the Reaper raged across the surface of the globe. On that occasion, the newly sworn-in president, Marshall Baines – who until the death of John Remy in Malaysia had been Vice President – had taken shelter with his staff for the full seven days, only daring to go topside after the strange deluge which seemingly halted the virus had stopped, leaving Washington's streets flooded and in ruins. The deluge had been so fierce even parts of the White House roof had started to leak.
A year after that week – a week that just like the events of 2001, had changed the world, but on a far greater scale – the American people elected Hill to power. There had been civil unrest due to Baines' non-existent ability to pull the country back together, and in the end, he'd called an emergency election, stepping down from power. Americans knew that whoever followed John Remy would experience a tough presidency, but trying to fill those shoes – along with running a nation on the brink of collapse, with many cities in outright anarchy – had been an almost impossible task.
President Hill, who'd been planning to stand in the election at the end of John Remy's administration, was a republican. Baines was a democrat. President Hill was certain that in a time of crises, his kind of politics was what the damaged country needed. Baines had been reluctant to spend the dollars required to kick-start the economy, delaying the regeneration which was badly needed if the United States was to become even a shadow of its former self. Spending the public dollar, and a harder-nosed style of politics was what the country required, and having won the election and been in power for close to eighteen months, President Hill had exceeded the limits of what he'd set out to do. In his mind, he'd done enough to secure a second term in office, and cement his place among the greatest leaders of his beloved country. He would be remembered as the man who got the pulse of America beating once again. Now, sitting in the PEOC, he was experiencing something that no leader of the free world wanted to experience, and only a handful of his former colleagues had needed to endure. A true life or death national emergency, and one whose outcome would shape the entire course of human history. He suspected he should be wearing a shirt that read 'The Buck Stops Here!'
His staff, made up of military top brass from the Army, Navy and Air Force, as well as senior members of his administration, took their places at the long, polished table, lines of stress and worry etching every face. At the head of the table, President Hill cleared his throat and took a swig of chilled water, which felt good on the back of his parched throat. He stood and dusted down the front of his dark grey, double-breasted suit. This one, although just one of many suits he owned by the designer, was his favourite. He only hoped it wasn't going to be the one which reminded him of the day his country was attacked with nuclear weapons.
He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time and brought the bustle of the room to order. The fifteen or so grim faces turned their attention to him and waited to hear what their Commander-in-chief had to say about the dire situation in Japan. At six foot two, with ice blue eyes and dark hair that month-by-month, grew increasingly more grey, President Hill more closely resembled a handsome, ageing Hollywood actor than the leader of the American people. It was his film star looks, coupled with his natural ability to build rapport with anyone he met which won him both votes and respect. He was what they called a down-to-earth kinda guy, someone who knew what it was like to be at the bottom, but through sheer guts and determination had worked his way to the top. At fifty years of age, with a background in the military, he also had the hearts and minds of his troops. Back in the day, he'd been one of them, had fought and got his hands dirty. To them, this gave him a vital foresight in matters of conflict and he took great pride in being able to talk with his military leaders as if he was one of them and not their boss. The same went for troops on the ground, who he took great pleasure in visiting on a regular basis. In this troubled world however, , his troops were on active duty on American soil, helping restore order and working with the overstretched law enforcement agencies.
He cast his eyes over the seated group. “As you know, fifteen minutes ago, the Empire of Japan was attacked by North Korea. The attack came in the form of a single nuclear blast which early indications suggest had a yield of twenty-five megatons. We don't know how large their nuclear arsenal is, but at this point in time they're the planet's only nuclear power, a situation which should never have been allowed to happen!” He fixed his eyes on Chuck Leading, the head of the CIA, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat and fiddled with his tie. “What intelligence we do have, suggests that their launch, targeting and defence systems are primitive compared to the oth
er nuclear powers, thus making it easier for them to bring their system back online swiftly. A fact which would have never give them the upper hand, except in a situation like this.” President Hill turned his attention away from Leading, who looked down at his hands in shame. “Do we know any more about what capability they may have?”
“We believe they've got a maximum of fifteen, twenty-five megaton yield birds, sir.” Chuck Leading piped up, trying to sound confident with his rather shady intel. He paused, but when President Hill didn't comment, he continued with his report. “We've had no word from North Korea yet, but our channels are monitoring them where we can. As soon as we have any news, you will be the first to know.”
“And what of Isamu Kato, the Japanese Prime Minister. Was he at Kantei?”
“We don't know, sir,” Leading replied, sounding like the kid in class who hasn't done his homework, and consequently can't answer any of the teacher's questions.
“I hope to God he was on a visit somewhere – Kantei is in Chiyoda, right at the centre of ground zero. I think we have to assume the leader of the Japanese Empire is dead.” A murmur of solemn agreement spread through the room. “And what of our own systems? What's the latest? We're like sitting ducks here.”
The Secretary of Defence, Liza Sherwood, stood up to present her report. “Sir, we've stepped up our efforts to be back online within the next twenty-four hours. By this time tomorrow, we should have full strike and defence capabilities.” At a meagre five feet two inches, Liza Sherwood had a reputation as a pit-bull, small but vicious and the kind of woman who got the job done. “I don't need to remind you that if President Baines had immediately re-instigated the nuclear program when he came into power, we wouldn't be in this situation.”