Jubilee Year: A Science Fiction Thriller (Erelong Book 1)

by Gerard O'Neill

  “One more thing. Do try not to get yourself arrested this time. It doesn’t reflect well on you—or my daughter.”

  Marsfield

  He stood on the lip of the plateau, the highest point on the peak, observing the faint glow of the sky above the line of cumulus clouds as they streamed along the horizon. He watched them as they formed. In another half an hour the first rays of the rising Sun would lick at the broad cloud base. As he continued to observe the blooming formation, he saw that it reached into the upper atmosphere, a region where it had no natural right to be present, not in this part of the world. It made no sense at all.

  He pulled out his smartphone. He didn’t need an app to recognize known objects in the sky, but it was useful to verify a location whenever anything odd popped into view. He adjusted the settings and selected a bird’s-eye view. The graphics gave him a good enough representation of his position on the peak. He switched to the celestial sphere. It showed the current position of the Earth’s star and the position of the planets relative to the constellations.

  It was too early for sunrise and yet the sky in the east had certainly brightened. The pale blue had the satin smooth look of metal and a glow that hung long and oblique above the desert.

  He waited until the objects came into view. Soon clouds covered the lights and he could follow them no longer. But he had their trajectory and knew they were already below the horizon. A glare through the tear line between land and firmament signaled the approach of the Sun. Now he could do nothing but enjoy the sunrise.

  Michael sat in his folding chair and pondered the implications of his morning observation. There was a lot of compiling to be done over the coming days. His model would need to be tweaked. He pondered the extraordinary nature of what he had witnessed, and the fact he was one of a very few who had so much as an inkling of what was happening inside the solar system. It was an event that was at once beautiful and terrifying in its implications.

  Time to return to walk back down for his morning coffee. He yawned, then he froze in mid-stretch.

  It was a movement on the edge of the plateau that had caught his eye. He leaned forward and squinted at the bush line.

  The foliage rattled and parted to reveal the head and shoulders of a man. A solitary figure, moving with slow, deliberate steps, up onto the flat top of the peak.

  Michael had not been aware there was so a route that ran down the steep slope into the bush land below. But there was the evidence before his eyes, and it struck him then, that really, nothing should surprise him any longer.

  The old man stopped and leaned his weight on a long staff. His wide smile displayed a mouthful of healthy white teeth.

  From his stoop and the deep lines in his face, Michael guessed the old feller was well into his seventies. There was something familiar about the smile, but it was all too quickly replaced by a look of concern.

  Without speaking a word, the old man straightened up and turned back in the direction he had come. When he realized Michael had not moved from the chair, the old man looked back and gestured that he should be followed.

  Michael walks far as edge and of the decline. Peering over the edge, he saw the skinny figure disappear into the scrub. The old feller was as agile as a mountain goat, and without a second thought, Michael hurried after him. His boots slipped on the gravel in his haste, but even then he could catch only glimpses of the old man’s red and yellow cotton shirt between the trunks of trees below.

  When they reached the bottom of the peak, the trail merged with a larger track. This was the walkway Michael had taken with Franchette during his first months at Siding Spring. He remembered the series of expeditions they had set out on together in those early days, searching for rocks and fossils to add to their collection. That was back when they thought rural life would allow them plenty of free time.

  Behind him, came a single pop. It sounded almost like gunfire.

  The old man looked back to see the astronomer’s staring back in the direction of the observatory.

  “Hey, boss!” The old man called. “We’re best to hurry!”

  “Where are we going,” Michael asked, bewildered at the unexpected turn his morning had taken.

  “You are in trouble, boss.”

  “I’ve seen you around here, haven’t I?” Michael asked, sure now the grizzled face was familiar.

  “A year or two back you walked here with your woman,” the old man stated, quickening his pace through the coarse bushes.

  “I knew it! I remember seeing you on the track. Is your house close?” Michael asked, anxious to help the old man back to his house and get back to his office.

  “Where’s an old fella like me gonna live around here? I’m with my son in Marsfield.”

  The old man pointed in the direction of the scrub-covered hills.

  “He’s a national park ranger around here.”

  “Look!” Michael said, stopping on the track. “I have no idea where you’re taking me, or even why I am even following you, but I have to get back to work.”

  The old man turned with surprising speed and stepped within a foot of Michael.

  “Trouble’s waiting for you up there, boss,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “You best come with me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Michael asked in alarm.

  “We’ve no time to yabber,” the old man called out over his shoulder.

  The brush opened up and Michael saw a dust covered red Jeep parked under a tree. The old man was already behind the steering wheel. He waved for Michael to get in.

  The astronomer stayed put. “I have been up all night, and I have a ton of work waiting for me in my office,” Michael said. “Unless you can tell me what the hell is going on, I’m turning around and heading straight back to the observatory!”

  “In a few more minutes it will be gone!” The old man told him as he reached across the cab and threw open the passenger door. “Believe me. This is a good day for you! You are alive.”

  “You’d better tell me something that makes sense,” Michael said, taking a step back from the Jeep.

  “Bad men come looking for you, boss.”

  “What?” Michael said, feeling suddenly sick. “Why?”

  “They want to hurt you.”

  A succession of dull thuds came from the direction of the peak and Michael felt the percussion through the soles of his feet. He turned to look back at the hill. The sky had clouded over just as it did almost every single day by mid-morning as if by clockwork.

  “Jump in,” the old man called out, pointing to the empty seat beside him.

  Michael hesitated and looked back one more time at the peak and he saw the thick column of black smoke rising over the treetops. The ground shook with another thud. Before he could snap out of his state of shock, a strong hand grasped his arm and he found himself in the cab.

  From the direction of the peak above them came the sound of a vehicle traveling at speed. Tires screeched on tight corners. Beyond the trees, in the direction of the main road, a truck engine roared into life. Inside the jeep, the two men froze as they listened to the noise of the two vehicles. Hidden by the trees they heard tires screech a final time as the driver turned off the road leading down from the peak and onto the straights.

  They waited until they could no longer hear the noise of the two vehicles traveling away from them at speed.

  “Was that them—the bad guys?” Michael asked, but he already knew the answer.

  “They were looking for you,” the old man told him with a frown. He reversed the Jeep, spinning the steering wheel like a professional and accelerated forward.

  The astronomer grabbed at the handle of the door as the tires jumped ridges and broken wood lying on the rough ground. Each bump lifted him from his seat. Fearing being slammed headfirst into the dashboard, he found the seat belt and snapped it in place.

  The old man swung the vehicle wide as they hit the bitumen. Still fighting to bring the Jeep back onto the road, he glan
ced up to gaze into the rear vision mirror. “Look behind us,” he said.

  Michael turned his head and his heart sank at what he saw. Heavy clouds of thick black smoke coiled up from the peak and as he watched he saw tongues of fire between the trees.

  “Turn around!” He bellowed.

  “They won’t be alive,” the old man said softly.

  “How do you know? Turn back!”

  “We are going to Marsfield to hide you,” the old man told him.

  “I’m not hiding from anyone,” Michael yelled. “I want you to turn back right now!”

  “Everything is burning up back there, and you want to fight them killers?” The old man said, shaking his head.

  “You mean people came out here to kill us?” Michael asked, his voice breaking in anguish.

  “That is what they do,” the old man said softly, glancing across at Michael with a look of concern.

  Michael’s head was spinning. How could the old man know what was going on up there? He was only a community elder, responsible for showing tourists around the National Park. How could the old feller possibly know in advance about a murderous gang attacking the observatory?

  The old man glanced at Michael and saw the pain in the astronomer’s face. “I’m sorry for your friends. Them buggers came like foxes among the rabbits.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me earlier?”

  “It doesn’t work that way, boss.”

  Burning Hill

  As the director of Siding Spring Observatory was doing his best to catch up with an old aboriginal man on the trail down from the peak, Arnold sitting behind his desk in his cottage. He had a habit of delaying the walk from his front door to the observatory. He lived beside the telescope and that meant he was likely to run into someone who wanted to stop for a chat. It was always one of those empty conversations that technicians and office personnel, in particular, seemed to enjoy.

  He found chatting an irritating waste of time. If only people would confine themselves to a simple greeting. What was the point in discussing the weather or a similar triviality?

  When he heard the knock on the front door he groaned. Determined to ignore the interruption he continued to flick through a folder of papers, but the rapping only grew more persistent.

  “Hello?” He called and when there was no answer he called again, much louder the second time. “Hello?”

  “I am looking for Doctor Arnold Klein,” a man’s voice called.

  It was without a doubt one of those salesmen touting their useless software packages.

  “I’m busy!” Arnold shouted.

  “Are you Doctor Klein?” The man called out in reply.

  “Oh, come in!” Arnold shouted and slapped the folder closed.

  The figure in the doorway was disheveled. No, worse than that, he was lopsided. The man dressed in an open-necked short-sleeved shirt and khaki longs resembled nothing so much as a tired passenger recently disembarked from a long haul flight.

  “Doctor Arnold Klein?” the stranger asked again.

  “Yes-yes—I am he,” Arnold snapped.

  A pair of soft eyes surrounded by long feminine lashes peered out at Arnold from under a lock of greasy fair hair that hung over his sticky forehead. A battered beige briefcase dangled from one hand. The man looked awkward and ill at ease.

  “Well?” Arnold asked, fighting a strong urge to push the interruption back out the front door.

  “I am Simon Burns,” the man replied, gazing with evident interest around the room. “I’m from the company,” he said, shifting his attention back to Arnold.

  “What company?” Arnold stared at the man. But his amazement at the man’s entrance was only momentary, as his irritation at being disturbed flared again. “What is it? I am quite busy!”

  Burns walked up to the end of Arnold’s desk. He lifted an open carton labeled ‘Property of the Conrad Observatory of Geophysical Research, Austria’ from a chair Arnold had placed against the wall as a temporary shelf. Loops of seismogram paper spilled out as he set the box down on the floor.

  “Hey!” Arnold exclaimed, standing up behind his desk. “Don’t touch that!”

  The man pulled his seat up to Arnold’s desk and set his briefcase on the desktop, knocking the folder of papers to one side.

  “The company you send your reports to each month, and issues you your instructions. The one that regularly deposits an electronic payment into your Credit Suisse account.”

  Arnold swallowed. “Oh, that one.”

  Arnold walked around his desk to peer out the doorway of his office. Satisfied there was no second unwanted guest outside, he pulled the door closed.

  “It’s all a little unusual. Aren’t you supposed to call me first before you show up like this?”

  “I assure you, it is quite normal for an accountant to attend to such matters as these in person. Particularly, when—ah—the term of an employee’s contract is about to reach its completion date.”

  “Oh, alright,” Arnold sat down and took a deep breath. “What can I do for you?” he asked and pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “The company has made changes to your policy,” he said as he opened his briefcase. “I am here to guide you through a few important procedures.”

  Burns glanced up as Arnold shifted in his chair.

  “Please do your best to relax. This won’t take long.”

  Arnold noticed a trace of an accent. Perhaps Burns was Swiss or South African. Arnold was no expert on accents and it really didn’t matter. That the man represented the company was all that was important.

  “Couldn’t you have simply—” Arnold began and stopped when he recognized his visitor was not listening.

  Burns took out a memory stick and slid it across the desk. He pointed a finger at the screen.

  “Close all open folders and locate file A.”

  “Would that be A for Arnold or A for accountant?” Arnold asked as he inserted the stick into a spare USB port.

  “Double-click the file inside,” the accountant said, ignoring Arnold’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Wait for the browser window to open. Enter your usual username and password in the client login box. Then click on the first account button that appears.”

  Arnold did as he was told and when he saw the digits pop up, he sat back with a start.

  “My gosh! What is that for?”

  “That—is for you. It’s your completion of contract payment. The account you are looking at is registered in the Cayman Islands. We like to keep the final payment separate from the regular deposits. Taxes and whatnot as you would appreciate. It is—as they say—a delicate matter. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes. I guess so.” Arnold’s voice was shaky. His eyes darted several times over the figure on his screen, and he licked his lips.

  “You will be able to access this account once we have your final report. Of course, I should not have to remind you of the confidentiality obligations you have signed that will continue in perpetuity.”

  “Yes, of course!” Arnold said, breaking away from the screen to stare at the accountant with wide eyes.

  Burns glanced inside his briefcase, his long lashes lending him an absurdly demure appearance.

  “So, everything is good then?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Arnold nodded.

  “There is one last matter I must attend to before I leave,” Burns lifted a large brown paper bag out of his briefcase.

  It landed with a heavy clunk on the desktop.

  “Have you bought me breakfast? Arnold asked giggling at his own joke.

  He was feeling good. With only two months of his project remaining, all he had to do was avoid Boulos. It was true he needed to attend scheduled meetings with the director, but now he was almost looking forward to them. He needed only to remind himself of the small fortune sitting in an account in Switzerland under his name. He felt—expansive. He peered into the bag and pulled his head back with a start. Arnold’s cheerful mood had vanished.


  “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “You take it out.”

  Arnold picked up a corner of the bag and emptied it. Then he sat back in the chair, staring in awful fascination at the handgun that had tumbled onto his desk.

  “This is for your protection,” Burns explained. “In recent times, many of our researchers have met with an untimely end. The company suspects a gang is targeting our scientists. It’s an extortion racket, you see? The gangsters have moved on from hacking. Now they choose high profile victims and blackmail them for their data. No one can refuse their offer. The company does not want this to become public knowledge. We do not want people to think we are unable to protect our own.”

  “What about the police? I am sure there’s an appropriate agency—”

  “Doctor Klein, it is our policy to supply individual contractors, such as yourself, with the means to protect themselves,” Burns explained patiently. “We are an international corporation. We do not wish to place the business reputation of our clients in jeopardy.”

  “But what if these gangsters show up once I have completed my contract? I can’t carry that thing around forever!”

  “Then—you give them your account number,” the accountant said with a look that said his patience was not endless. “What you must not do—is speak about your work.”

  Arnold wiped perspiration from his top lip with two shaking fingers. “I didn’t expect...”

  “What were you expecting, Doctor Klein?”

  “I don’t know,” Arnold said, swallowing his saliva. He rested a shaking hand on the desk, accidentally bumping the gun. The barrel rattled on the wood surface.

  “I am required to give you a brief run through on how to handle the weapon,” Burns said and he got up and walked around the desk to stand beside Arnold.

  “Is this even legal?” Arnold bleated.

  “The company deals with all issues as they arise, including any to do with local laws. Please…” He gestured for Arnold to pick up the weapon.