THE CAMBRIDGE ANNEX: THE TRILOGY

by Peter Damon

  “How are you disposing of the equipment?” Michael asked.

  “Gather them together and park them behind the moon, out of sight of the earth,” Allan explained.

  Michael shook his head. “Destroy them. Can you do that? To the point where nothing is left of them?” he asked.

  Allan blinked. “Well, sure, but what if we want them in the future? What if the UN changes its mind?” he asked.

  “Then they’ll pay to have new ones,” Michael shrugged. “It’s highly unlikely though,” he pointed out.

  “I’ll point them towards the sun then,” Allan nodded, making notes on his tablet.

  “Would pushing them into the atmosphere destroy them?” Michael asked.

  Allan nodded. “We’d need to speed them up, also give them a trajectory that would give them a long ride through the thickest of the atmosphere so it would burn up completely, instead of allowing any bits to hit the ground,” he explained.

  “Do that with some of them, perhaps the smaller ones. I want a show, Allan. I want the earth to see and watch the ARC destroying itself,” he explained.

  There was a few moments silence in the room as the impact of what they were doing came home to them. “I’ll follow up with an article on the meteor shower, so everyone will know,” Oliver said into the silence while making his own notes.

  “What are our staffing levels currently?” Michael asked.

  “24 skilled administrators, managers, some of whom were university people, but who have all resigned their places to work as volunteers abroad the ARC. 36 travellers, and 15 Korean workers remain, having already reduced them from the 25 we had at the beginning of October,” Samuel told him.

  Michael nodded and considered. “Are we planning to reduce those numbers any further, before we send the ARC towards the sun?” he asked.

  “I don’t see how we can, Michael,” Samuel spread his hands.

  “We can only rely so much on automated systems to warn us of any untoward approaches from earth,” Allan pointed out.

  “And we’re manning two vehicles at the moment,” Samuel reminded him.

  Michael nodded his head. He knew all of that. But there were still too many people.

  “The Koreans will depart a couple of days before the closure. We’ll then rely on ourselves to do any cleaning and maintenance that’s needed. That reduces our staff by 15,” Samuel told him.

  “Run the option by the travellers. Let’s see if any of them want to get off the boat early,” Michael suggested. “Of the 36 currently in space, I’d be happy to let 15 go,” he explained. “Most are already wealthy from recovered debris, but offer them an additional 100,000 US Dollars each.

  “Let’s face it, our hopes for a Space Academy were just that; hopes. It’s never going to happen,” he told them sourly.

  “Is the asteroid on schedule?” he asked, glad to be moving on.

  “Ten days away,” Allan agreed. “Last few days it will be close enough to commute back and forth quite easily. It will be slowing down to fit into its high orbit,” he explained.

  “Where are we with stripping off the ice?” he asked.

  “The main-frame of the new vehicle is being assembled. We then have to decide which blade we go for,” Samuel answered.

  “Have you got that decoy SUV for me yet?” Michael asked.

  “Yes, all ready and waiting. We can control it from here, raising it or lowering it via helium bags within the shell. That’s about all it will do though. A strong wind and it will blow away,” Samuel warned.

  “That should be good enough though,” Michael agreed.

  “The tests of a capture-frame to hold the ice from the asteroid has gone well. The larger version will only take a couple of days to construct,” Allan told them.

  Michael shook his head. “Don’t capture or hold it using HYPORT. Once we send the ARC to the sun, there’ll be no HYPORT left in any orbit about the earth,” he announced. “Nor any need to hold a large amount of ice in orbit.”

  Allan looked at him, his face working as he held onto his emotions. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “What, you though this a ruse to have the UN cave in and accede to our demands?” he asked.

  “Sure. At the end of the day, everyone knows this is too big a deal to stop. And who wants to go down in history as the one who stopped the further development of space?” he asked.

  Michael shook his head. “Let me explain something to all of you.

  “Politicians and statesmen are all gamblers. The cards are the people, and they judge their power by the volume or worth of their people. People are power. They gamble that their decisions will either bring more people to them, or that the worth of their people will increase, and bring more people to them. At the end of the day, you hold all the cards, you hold all the power.

  “The point is, like all gambling, it’s addictive. Gamblers are never happy with their lot, they will always want more. So what statesman or politician is going to be happy allowing us to continue running the ARC, when with the right play, they see themselves running the ARC? When you think of what there is to gain, then surely you’d be willing to gamble just about anything.”

  “So whatever happens, you’re still going to destroy the ARC?” Allan asked.

  “That’s a sure bet,” Michael agreed.

  “And the ferry?” Samuel asked, his throat dry.

  “Goes off into the sunset, the twins and their companions at the helm, probably never to be seen or heard of ever again,” he told them sadly. “HYPORT will become the new Holy Grail, the elusive chemical that earth will spend billions on in research, trying to emulate it. Perhaps they’ll do it.

  “The twins once explained to me that the odds of a researcher finding the right ingredients, and the right process for ‘cooking’ it, was so low as to be very near negligible.”

  “Thomas and David know this; your plan for them?” Allan queried.

  “Of course they know it. They’ve always known they would be kept as far away from earth as our technology allowed,” Michael answered, surprised that Allan hadn’t fathomed that out by now.

  He let the impact of his words fully sink in to them all, and then continued. “Make sure we are all prepared to abandon the ARC. Irrespective of what anyone tells you to the contrary, the ARC will go into the sun, and no HYPORT will be left anywhere the earth might retrieve it. The Twins need a crew to go out and explore the rest of the solar system. Those interested should put their names down. Those returning to earth should get employers lined up while still here. The companies can help squirrel them back into the community without being hounded by the press. That’s not to suggest the press ever hounds anyone,” Michael added, getting a weak grin from Oliver.

  “Oliver, you and Robert need to keep the pressure up on earth. I want the earth to think we may capitulate if the UN gives us self-determination.”

  Oliver nodded. The earth would hurt all the more when the ARC finally went. Perhaps the groundswell of opinion would change some of the power-bases.

  November 6th.

  Every table and spare seat in the control-room was taken while, out in the meeting room, others were standing facing the glass wall, the viewing gallery behind the control-room already full.

  As Michael had requested, Oliver and Robert had kept writing articles for the media, as well as continuing to update the ARC’s Facebook group. But despite the number and tone of editorials and readers comments that the media were receiving, no one in authority had tried to contact the ARC.

  Cheryl and Gary had tossed a coin to see who would be the one to activate the app that would close all the satellites, and Cheryl had won, or lost, depending upon ones point of view. Now, she sat at the satellite control table and surveyed the long list of assets, all still heavily in use, despite prior warning that all would cease operation on this day, at this hour.

  Michael watched from the side, Heather beside him, both outwardly calm.

  �
��Turn them off, Cheryl,” he told her mildly, watching her hesitate.

  “It’s such a shame,” she complained, nonetheless reaching out to touch the app. It took three keystrokes to complete the task, two of which were to confirm that she really did want to do this.

  There was no sound, but the communication monitors measuring transactions fell immediately, their sudden flat-lining holding the attention of everyone watching.

  “Let’s begin disposing of them, Allan,” Michael said.

  “Michael, I’ve got a call coming in from the Secretary-General of the United Nations, Mr Miguel Ortiz,” Oliver told him from his desk just beyond the satellite control desk.

  “Put it on the speaker,” Michael nodded. “Mr Secretary-General,” he called in greeting.

  “Mr Bennett. I have been asked by the member states to approach you to see if we can find some common ground on which we can move forward,” Mr Ortiz said.

  “That is very kind, Mr Secretary-General, but I don’t see how,” Michael replied.

  “Your organisation has an opportunity for vast good, and vast evil. The steps you and your colleagues have taken to try to ensure that the new technology is only used for good are admirable, commendable. However, they have not proved a match for those who would want it for their own purposes.

  “If you continue on your own, you will discard a truly enormous opportunity for earth to find its true potential. The act of destruction will go down in the annals of history as the most cowardly, despicable acts of any time. I don’t believe that is what you intended, or would want for your growing family.

  “I therefore beg you Mr Bennett, to reconsider and allow us to work with you in seeking a better tomorrow. All things are open to negotiation. Give us an opportunity to show you that the majority of the population of earth share your views and aspirations, and can help bring the rest of us to that view.”

  Michael swayed slightly and, glancing about him, saw that everyone was watching him.

  “Mr Secretary-General. I don’t doubt that many on earth share our view; the appalling view that the first items to be manufactured using our chemical would be for military use. Can you imagine a world in which the delivery of a warhead can be achieved in moments, cheaply and easily? Can you imagine a world in which the movement of armies and equipment is so much cheaper that even the poorest of nations can now afford it?

  “Putting the military applications to one side, can you begin to imagine the upheaval that this chemical will bring to the world? The oil and gas industries, vehicle manufacturers, communications, will all be affected. The largest companies in the world will be affected the most by this technology. A sudden release will have catastrophic impact on the earth’s societies and finances. Are you prepared to have this happen, just to satisfy the appetites of your major benefactors?

  “You say there are others out there who share our ideals and I don’t deny this. But who and where, and how do we identify them? The difficulty lies in finding those we can trust.

  “In the space of only five months we have had to part with three of our number, people we have called friends, colleagues, even lovers, who have, for various reasons, been influenced to work for our enemies. Who, despite their strong links with us, were moved to act against us, endangering us, endangering the very principles we stand for.

  “How then, when we risk so much, when such an awesome load rests on our shoulders and our decisions, can we trust anyone?

  “Given the risks and the alternatives, we see no choice in the matter. We will complete the asteroid transaction, and depart,” he finished.

  Michael nodded towards Allan and the bald headed mathematician did not hesitate, but punched out his instructions and sent the satellites towards destruction.

  +++++++++++++

  Sometimes, very rarely, but sometimes, there were things that couldn’t be put on paper or in email, that couldn’t be trusted to any medium other than voice, and even then, only in the most hallowed of places; the offices of Sir Arthur Coleman, Head of British Intelligence.

  Stanley was one of just a handful of operatives who had direct access to the man’s office. He had rarely used the privilege, but knew that here was a reason.

  Sir Arthur seemed oblivious to him as he walked from the door to the distant desk. The white haired man had turned towards the large oval window to gaze out over the Thames at night, watching the pleasure boats run up against the tide before turning to go down river once again. The Houses of Parliament on the opposite bank of the Thames was lit by bright arc-lights while the minute hand of Big Ben moved slowly but resolutely towards the hour.

  “What can I do for you Stanley?” Sir Arthur asked, continuing to watch the view.

  “I’m hoping you can confirm that we’ve hidden Professor Brewer away somewhere safe, perhaps along with the other two who were on the ARC,” he requested.

  “They know nothing. Bennett wouldn’t have let them return to earth if he thought there was the remotest of chances they would work it out,” he told his operative.

  “So we have them,” Stan sighed with relief.

  “Not at all,” Sir Arthur answered, and turned to look at the stooped man, diminishing strands of hair combed neatly over his bald pallet. “Why. Gone missing, have they?”

  “Yes Sir, although no one is admitting it,” he explained.

  Sir Arthur nodded and looked out towards the river once more. “Could be Bennett playing a game, but can we rely upon that?”

  “My thoughts entirely, Sir,” Stan agreed.

  “Very well, Stanley. You have clearance to investigate the matter fully,” Sir Arthur told him.

  Stan nodded and turned to leave, his hands already rubbing together with the prospect of entering the most sensitive databases.

  November 10th.

  The travellers were beginning to feel the pressure of boredom on the ARC. There was little to see or do, now the students were gone, their constant requests for launches into space gone with them. Trips to the moon had diminished with their departure, and with the imminent arrival of the asteroid, even the odd trip for water would no longer be needed.

  So when Samuel asked for volunteers for a trip to earth, it was no surprise that most hand were lifted, even those who most resented having to work for others.

  Mickey beamed as he was selected and ignored the banter from his cousins as he followed Samuel from the lounge, down to the control-room for his briefing.

  Michael rose to greet him and shake his hand. “We’re having a large metal scoop, or blade, manufactured on earth, and we need someone to pick it up,” he explained.

  “The docks at Nam-Gu?” Mickey said. The travellers were often visitors to the docks, picking up electronics and other supplies via their partnership with the Busan University of South Korea.

  Michael shook his head. “Although you’re right; there is one there, and the South Koreans are expecting us to pick it up, but that’s not where we’re going to go. We’re going to pick up another, this one made by the Chinese,” he explained.

  Mickey tried hiding his surprise. “We’re going to trust the Chinese?” he asked.

  “I’m hoping that no one would ever think that we would trust the Chinese, least of all the Chinese. It’s sitting outside their steel plant in Suzhou,” Michael explained, and put a feed from one of their spy satellites up on the monitor. The 30 metre long curved spar of dull metal was hard to miss, sitting on the tarmac beside the huge plant, supported by wooden beams.

  “So all I have to do is go down, pick it up, and bring it back here,” Mickey said.

  “And drop off an SUV decoy on the way down. Something that will keep the Koreans busy while you’re in the vicinity,” Michael agreed.

  “You have paid them for it, haven’t you Michael?” the ex-gypsy asked with a grin.

  “I bet you never asked Frankie that question,” Michael answered, already on his way out.

  +++++++++++++

  Leanne cursed and Allan softly chuc
kled in the background, watching her as she tried to control the decoy SUV.

  Mickey had released it several thousand metres above the earth, east of South Korea to allow for the light wind that would send it westward. As it descended into thicker atmosphere, it descended faster, the helium in the balloons growing increasingly too little to keep it afloat.

  Invariably, Leanne released too much helium from the storage tank, and the decoy would start to rise once more, increasing pace with the thinning atmosphere. Leanne would then desperately release some helium from the balloons and the decoy would begin to descend again, in moments falling too quickly, and the whole process would be repeated yet again.

  “Don’t!” she cried angrily, sensing Allan was about to make a suggestion.

  He closed his lips and grinned, his attention sometimes diverted by Mickey’s rapid approach to Suzhou, a large town just to the west of Shanghai. The steel plant was to the north east of the town, part of an industrial zone that comprised close on 100 square kilometres.

  Video feed showed Leanne that the decoy was nearing the tail of South Korea and she hurriedly expelled more helium, afraid she’d over-run the coast and travel too far west. The decoy could not travel against the wind. Hence, if she missed the docks, then that would be the end of it.

  “You’re green, Mickey,” Allan told him, monitoring the ground from one of Sally’s satellites as well as from the cameras on the bottom of Mickey’s SUV.

  “I feel green too,” Mickey muttered.

  Leanne made a keening sound in the background as she released just small pulses of helium, trying to release just enough to keep the decoy from looking like it was falling and out of control, and yet still aim towards the general vicinity of the docks.

  Mickey was down and out of the cab, panting as he rapidly fixed straps to each end of the metal scoop. Allan watched from the SUV’s cameras, also looking beyond so he could give a warning if anyone approached or looked in his direction.

  You’re doing fine, Mickey,” he murmured, his eyes searching the monitors for anything untoward.