CONTENTS
Title
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
About the Author
COLLISION
A Sci-Fi Romance
JMJ Williamson
E-book Edition
Copyright © 2012 by JMJ Williamson
All rights reserved. With the exception of excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the express consent of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.
This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters places and incidents depicted in it are purely the result of the author’s imagination, or, if real, are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
General Walters stared at the massive screen that covered the front whole wall of Aurora Mission Control. Situated deep under the Rockies, the control centre was one of the most secret and impenetrable installations in the US. The General was monitoring the progress of Aurora 1, the USAF’s high-altitude pulse-driven spy plane. Around him, the room was abuzz as military personnel and scientists worked on their individual computer terminals facing the large screen. The General stood at the back of the room chomping on a cigar. Smoking was prohibited in the centre. But no one would dare to remind the General; he was notorious for flouting rules he disagreed with.
The General was deep in thought, concentrating on Aurora’s progress. On the screen was the pilot’s view from the cockpit of the Aurora 1 showing the night sky above the highest cloud level on the fringe of space. Captain Jennings stood in silence next to the General. While the General was concentrating, no one would have the nerve to interrupt his thoughts unless it was a national emergency.
The pilot’s words came through the speaker system over the background roar of Aurora’s ramjet engine.
“50,000 feet and climbing... 60,000 feet... 70,000 feet… 100,000 feet, Mach 3… Levelling off at 150,000 feet, Mach 3.5.”
The test flight was going well.
Then it all went wrong.
“What the —” The pilot didn’t complete his sentence. The sound of a thunderous crash left the speakers vibrating and the screen started to rotate as the aircraft went into an uncontrollable tailspin.
“What the hell is happening?” said the General.
No one could answer him; they were too busy trying to find out themselves.
“Someone, speak to me? Was it a missile?”
“No sir,” said one of the operators. “Something hit Aurora… but it didn’t originate from the ground.”
“Then where the hell did it come from? It couldn’t have been an aircraft at that altitude. Meteor? Space debris? What god dammit?”
“Putting the playback on-screen, sir,” said a voice.
The General watched the screen again while it replayed the last thirty-seconds.
“Too fast; play back and freeze,” said the General, “frame by frame.”
The operator duly complied.
“Hold it there.”
Before him, he could see the cause of Aurora’s demise. The General stared at it, finding the image difficult to take in. It was a large saucer-shaped vehicle reminiscent of those pictures he had seen as a boy watching sci-fi movies.
“Next frame,” said the General.
The UFO appeared larger almost covering the full screen just milliseconds before the impact. This wasn’t an unusual cloud formation; it wasn’t a weather balloon, and it certainly wasn’t a commercial aircraft or any other explanation that the USAF had used to explain away UFO phenomena. This was a real UFO, and it had just collided with the world’s most expensive military aircraft at the edge of space itself. A twenty-billion dollar project to develop a revolutionary new method of jet propulsion had just been trashed.
“Any news about the pilot?” said the General.
A reply came: “Ejected at 10,000 feet sir. He’s okay; somewhere in the middle of Texas. We’re sending a bird now.”
“And Aurora?”
“Toast, sir. We’ll have the crash site closed off in twenty minutes.”
“What happened to the bogey?”
“Bounced off sir, maintained its altitude and speed, and is now heading towards Europe.”
“Can we scramble anything to follow it?”
“Not at that altitude and speed sir. It’s already over the Atlantic, and it’s heading towards Europe at Mach 6. I’ll put up its path on-screen.”
Up on the large screen came a map of the globe with a line and flashing point showing the craft’s location.
“My God, it’s fast,” the General muttered.
For twenty minutes, they stared at the screen watching the progress of the UFO.
“It’s losing altitude, sir. I think it’s attempting to land.”
“Where?”
“Projections are somewhere in the UK, sir.”
“Where’s SpyNet?”
“It’s in geo-stationary orbit over Western Europe.”
“Good. I want it, right over the top of it. I want all the intel you can give me on that craft.”
“Sir, it’s gone.”
“You mean it’s landed?”
“No sir I can’t find any trace of it at all. It’s just gone. Last known point was somewhere on the coast of North East England.”
“You mean it ditched in the sea?”
“I just can’t tell sir. We had a visual from SpyNet. There was a blue flash, and it simply vanished. And then SpyNet went offline.”
“Dam!” said the General. “Is that the best you can do?”
Silence answered him.
“Dam, dam,” he muttered to himself.
He started to consider the consequences of the events he had witnessed. He knew he would have to call Maximus Drake, the CEO and Chairman of Dynamic Technologies, the company that had built the craft. How was he going to tell him that Aurora 1 was knocked out of the sky by a UFO? After all, the Aurora 1 was his brainchild. Maximus was also a close friend of the President. He knew he would have to tell the President first.
“Get me the White House on the line; and then the Director of the CIA. We’re going to need all the help we can get on this one. I’ll take them in my office.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ben took a deep breath. He could smell the ozone in the night air and could taste the salt in the cold sea breeze. He knew the beach would be deserted; it was remote, ill kept and littered with the debris washed up from the shipping lanes that passed nearby. Far more attractive and unpolluted beaches existed further north to keep the tourists away. The beach was part of a headland; a narrow strip of land that stretched out over three miles into the wide mouth of the estuary. The bea
ch had a series of wooden groynes to protect the sand from drifting away. He would need to get closer to the shoreline to avoid them.
He looked up. A full moon poked through dark angry clouds; enough light for his intended jog along the sea front. The breeze picked up, and the odd droplet of rain promised more to come. He didn’t mind; a drop of rain wouldn’t put him off. He had just had a bad day at the university, where he worked as a Senior Lecturer, and he needed the exercise to work off his anger and frustration.
He turned to look back at his motorbike, a 1000cc BMW. It was his pride and joy and the only asset of any real value he had in the world. It should be safe; not many people would be around at this time of the night.
Ben strode out along the short track to the beach avoiding the soft sand. As he started to run his mobile phone rang. He pulled the phone out of his rucksack and accepted the call; but the call went dead. He turned off the phone and stowed it back in his rucksack before setting off again.
Soon he reached the wet sand and broke into a steady rhythm. He was not a jogging junkie, like some of his friends; but he liked the solitude of running alone, and the exercise kept his athletic body in shape.
His mind wandered. A year ago, everything seemed to be going so well for him. He had just celebrated getting his doctorate, and had received a grant to pursue his chosen line of research in particle physics. Also, his girlfriend, Cindy, moved in with him. But then the problems started to occur: first, in his private life, Cindy went to South America for three months on an archaeological dig and met someone else. Next, the Head of Department started expressing doubts about the direction of his research. And today he had a fuming row with the university Treasurer over cuts to his project funding for the following year. It was time for him to think seriously about a possible career change. But what — another university or perhaps something outside of academia? It was a difficult choice for him to make, and he didn’t want to rush into a decision he might regret.
After thirty minutes of jogging, the beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead. He felt hot and needed some water. Pausing for a few moments, he swung his rucksack down from his back, pulled out a bottle from the back, and took a drink. Leaning over and still panting, he realised he was not quite as fit as he would have liked. He needed to exercise more regularly. He ran his hands through his thick brown hair and mopped the sweat from his brow. In the distance, a flash of light in the night sky caught his attention. Was it an aircraft? He continued to look for it, but it had gone.
Ben jogged on until a whooshing sound behind him made him stop. What was that? Turning around, he saw something large and dark fly over him: an aircraft perhaps? But it had no engine noise and was difficult to see in the fading moonlight. The craft, whatever it was, seemed to be trying to land on the beach. By now, the cloud had almost completely covered the moon, and he had to strain his eyes to see anything. For a second he thought he saw the craft again only for it to be hidden again as darkness fell over the area. Then a blinding flash of blue light took away his senses. He stood there blinking for a few seconds until his vision returned. He rubbed his eyes and broke into a run towards the point where he thought he had last seen the craft.
A few minutes later he reached the point; but the craft had vanished. The moon started to re-emerge from behind the cloud. He looked into the surf as the waves broke and thought he saw something. Were his eyes playing tricks with him? Looking down he saw a set of footprints in wet sand heading towards the grassy dunes where they disappeared in the dry soft sand. He sensed someone was watching him, but couldn’t see anyone in the darkness. Somewhere, in the distance, a dog barked. Maybe it was the dog’s owner who was watching him.
He looked at his watch. The display showed 22:25, but the second hand had stopped. Dam, battery must be dead; but it must be time to head back. He turned and started to jog back.
Ben got back to his motorbike, mounted it, and started the engine. The motorbike roared to life breaking the tranquillity of the night. He turned on the lights, and the road emerged from the darkness. He started off only to stop abruptly when a bright light blinded him and a deafening whirring noise shook his eardrums.
“Get off the bike,” someone shouted at him through a megaphone.
Ben dismounted from the bike. He sensed figures moving around him in the darkness like disembodied souls: he knew they were there, but he couldn’t see them.
“On the floor,” shouted someone from the darkness. Confused Ben started to get to his knees when a blow to his back sent him sprawling face down into the dirt.
“What the hell?” said Ben.
“Just shut up and be still.”
Hands moved roughly over his body rummaging for weapons before yanking his arms behind him and binding his wrists. It all happened so quickly. Someone hauled him to his feet and placed a bag over his head. Hell, what are they doing to me?
Seconds later, they frog-marched him towards the noise he recognised as a helicopter. Thrown unceremoniously on the floor of the helicopter, he felt the motion of the helicopter taking off and climbing. He tried to listen to find out how many of them were in the air with him; but nobody spoke.
Ten minutes earlier.
Two frightened blue eyes looked out from behind the tall grass of the sand dunes. Elle watched as the jogger on the beach looked around him. Had she been spotted? He must have seen the craft, but had he seen her? Her heart pounded with fear as he looked her way. Had her footsteps in the sand given her away?
She crouched down to avoid being seen. He looked away and towards the sea; she hadn’t been noticed. Her breathing began to return to normal. After a few minutes, the man started to jog back down the beach.
Feeling safe for the time being, she stood up to her full height. The darkness and her black outfit now protected her from being discovered. Only minutes earlier, a man and his dog had startled her as she left the craft. Fortunately, the dog ran off and the owner, who seemed terrified, ran after it, leaving her time to escape away to the dunes. It must have been her strange theatrical costume that scared them — a black catsuit with an animatronic tail. In the moonlight she must have appeared like a real live cat woman.
Elle pulled a pad-like computer out of her rucksack and put a small link device the size of a pea into her ear. For a few minutes, she listened to the instructions coming from the computer before putting it back in her rucksack. She would have to move quickly; the military would be there shortly. She slung the pink rucksack on her shoulder and started to walk in the same direction as the jogger keeping her distance from him and staying in the shadows of the dunes. As she strolled along her animatronic tail flicked from one side to the other with each movement of her hips.
Elle watched the man jog back down the beach. The computer had identified him as someone who may be able to help her and had traced him through his mobile phone. But what now? This wasn’t the place to meet him. She was in danger; it wouldn’t be long before the security services arrived. She followed him down the beach keeping her distance and staying in the shadows of the dunes.
He was about one hundred yards ahead of her, and in clear view, when she heard the noise of a helicopter approaching. She crouched down and hid in the dunes.
Elle watched the helicopter arrive. He wouldn’t have seen much; they were on him in an instant, belaying down on ropes from the helicopter. She watched them bundle him into the helicopter and felt a pang of guilt about his capture. They were after her; he was just an innocent witness. Surely, they’ll let him go when they know.
“You have to get away now,” said a feminine voice. It was CAI, her computer, speaking to her through the link device in her ear. CAI was right; this was her chance to slip by the soldiers.
Elle crawled through the dunes until she was clear of the soldiers; then sprinted away as quickly as she could. She had always been a strong runner and covered over a mile before she stopped to take a break. She looked around her; she hadn’t been followed, and she needed to cha
nge her clothes into something more conventional. She pulled her trousers and tunic out of her rucksack and changed into them. She let out a long sigh. She had avoided capture, but it wouldn’t take them long to realise she had been at the landing site. She had to get away and somehow find her way to the university. It was her only chance to find someone who might be able to help her get back to her world.
How long had he been flying: twenty minutes? thirty minutes? It was difficult to tell. But he could feel the helicopter starting to descend. As it landed his captors wasted no time at all in lifting him up and dragging him out of the helicopter and frog marching him away. He heard a door open and close behind him. The noise of the helicopter diminished: he was inside a building.
Then they came to a stop. Someone removed his hood, and the light invaded his senses again. As he blinked he started to make out the people around him: some were in heavy white coats some were in military fatigues, but all were wearing face masks and large gloves and boots. And he was standing in what looked like a large aircraft hangar that contained a block of portable building units and a large container unit.
One of those wearing a white coat came towards him.
“Get out of your clothes and get into the decontamination unit. Do you understand?” said a female voice.
Ben nodded. A large container unit sat in the middle of the hangar that had the word ‘biohazard’ on its side. Someone cut the binding on his wrists, and he rubbed them as if to bring the circulation back. He walked over to the unit, opened the door, and looked inside. It looked like a shower unit. She followed him over to the unit.
“Give me your clothes and climb in.”
Ben looked around him. Two of the soldiers who had brought him to the hangar watched him carefully and seemed agitated. There was no point arguing with her. Ben stripped off his clothes and climbed into the unit. When he closed the door, the sprays opened up from all angles at him. The water was hot and smelt of something like chlorine. For ten minutes he waited in the shower until the sprays ceased. A door clicked open and revealed another cell that looked like a dressing room. A towel and some white overalls were laid out for him, together with underwear, socks and plimsolls. Ben dressed quickly and opened up the door.
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