Their conversation lapsed for a moment as the café started to fill up and customers brushed past their table and sat in the booths either side of them.
“Where is your new wife, by the way?” Wisneski asked.
“Snoring her head off when I left her.”
“Won’t she be worried where you have got to?”
“Probably, but she knows I’m an early starter and have a habit of wandering off,” Bruce replied carelessly.
But almost on cue his mobile trilled in his pocket. “Where are you?” Sue demanded. “I woke up and you weren’t there,” she added suspiciously. “Who’re you with? I can hear voices. I can hear women’s voices,” she snapped suspiciously, almost but not quite insinuating he was up to no good. She hadn’t had the hangover treatment so she might have been feeling a bit seedy as well, which would not help her mood.
But for fuck’s sake! Bruce thought. What did she think he was up to at six-thirty in the bloody morning the day after their wedding? Having a quickie with one of the bridesmaids?
“I’m having breakfast with Wisneski; we’re just having an early morning chat.”
“Well what about me? Did you forget me?” she demanded. “Is this the way you’re going to treat me now we’re married?” Sue screamed in his ear.
Fuck, what have I got myself into here? Bruce asked himself again. It felt like he had been kicked in the guts. If this was an indication of how she was going to behave then she could stick the whole marriage thing right now!
“Don’t be surprised if I’m not here when you get back,” she shrieked, so loudly that Bruce had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“OK, luv,” he said grinning sheepishly at Wisneski as the call ended, sure he – and the whole room for that matter – had heard her side of the conversation.
“Everything OK?”
Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed. This could be the shortest marriage in recorded history, he thought to himself, and you only have yourself to blame. Then breakfast appeared and the need for conversation or introspection was interrupted for as long as it took to finish the meal off.
Bruce had always been a fast eater, which came from lots of solitary meals and food just being a source of fuel for him and the consumption of it, not in itself a process to appreciate and enjoy. Wisneski, on the other hand, was the complete opposite, and Bruce had never seen a more deliberate eater, even beating Bruce’s mum in the way he savoured each bite and chewed each mouthful thoroughly in an almost regimented fashion, as though he was following some military requirement to chew according to numbers. He carefully separated all the components of his meal on the plate, then carefully skewered a morsel from each food group with his fork so each mouthful was made up of precise constituents from each group. Bruce had never seen anything like it. Then, once his meal was finished, the plate was almost clean – in complete contrast to Bruce’s, smeared with egg yolk and grease.
The scene was surreal really. He felt he was centre stage in some really corny sci-fi, sitting in a café the day after his wedding – without his new wife who was already giving him grief – having breakfast with some guy he was going to save the world with. He shook his head in wonder.
If he had any real balls he would be going back to the hotel to tell his new wife to piss off, and the he would leave with Wisneski. But he wasn’t that sure of himself. Maybe this marriage thing needed a bit of work.
“OK, what’s next? We actually need to work out how we are going to do this.” Bruce paused thoughtfully for a moment, changing the subject. “I still can’t get my head around why we just don’t blow the asteroid to bits. Do we just blow it to bits or not?”
“No we do not!” Two voices told him simultaneously. Wisneski and the MPU subroutine were certainly on the same wavelength regarding how to deal with the asteroid.
“We need to change its trajectory, bump it off its course, otherwise we run the risk of creating more chunks of asteroid resulting in more widespread damage when they strike the planet.”
I concur, the MPU agreed.
“If we blow it up, we would have to vaporise the entire asteroid, because if we didn’t blow it into small enough component parts, the lumps of asteroid would simply become a mass of individual components still heading for Earth like a burst of shrapnel, or a shotgun blast at short range.”
Wisneski and the MPU were pretty insistent about this and Bruce wondered for a moment if he was part of some wider, more elaborate conspiracy looking for some kind of scapegoat. Don’t be a wally, he said to himself.
“I’m not really sure how I can do that,” Bruce remarked.
“Come now, Mr Harwood, you’re a resourceful individual. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Bruce was pretty sure he would sort something out once he got back up to the spaceship but he had no idea how at that particular moment.
Yes, you will, the MPU told him. Actually, we will.
At which point Bruce began to wonder what the MPU’s angle was in all this. “So what’s next?”
“Well, right about now there is an unofficial handover of the US Presidency, and Mitchell is going to be replaced in the background by Vice President Wilmot. The senior members of congress and the administration understand the situation and in the interests of national security have agreed to this process. Mitchell was pretty well a lame duck President anyway, and there’s an election in a few months, so it isn’t a big deal. He can be dosed up on some heavy-duty sedatives and rolled out to front the public when required.”
Not a big deal, Bruce thought. Except the most powerful country in the world was now being run by group of unelected officials. All done for the right reasons of course, but done once, what was to stop it happening again when someone powerful enough decided they wanted to circumvent the constitutionally elected head of state? Still, this wasn’t his problem, although he felt guilty about his part in the process in nudging Mitchell over the edge of reason.
“I’m sure you think it’s the right thing to do,” Bruce muttered. He guiltily realised he had facilitated the ousting of a sitting US President just by being a little mean to him. Something the combined might of the Republican Party, Fox News, several foreign nations and people in Mitchell’s own party had failed to engineer. “What’s going to happen to the old duffer?”
“He’s going to slip into the background and spend more time with his family. They were going to simply send him away quietly on gardening leave, but they might need to wheel him out from time to time.” Wisneski paused for a moment to fork a last piece of toast into his mouth. “Wilmot has entrusted me with your security, and the general will be providing any resources we need to deal with the asteroid.”
“How are we going to do this? Bruce asked the MPU.
Leave the details to me, the MPU replied with a hint of smugness.
“OK, so when do we start?” Bruce asked Wisneski, who by now had finished his meal.
“We need to give you a crash course in orbital mechanics, and we need to understand the full capability of the spacecraft.”
“Right. So when do we start?” Bruce asked again, impatiently this time. He had things to do, but he had a disturbing niggle that whatever the outcome, his life had changed irrevocably. He might not be going back to the farm, or not for long, which was something he had not thought about seriously before. It brought him up short, though it did not concern him as much as he thought it might once have.
He had no idea how his parents would take this – it might mean they had to stay on the farm a bit longer than intended. But that was okay as well. At the very least, now he had a son, there was another generation of Harwoods to take over the farm at some point, which was more important to his father than it was to him.
“As soon as you are ready we can be off.”
Bruce knocked back his coffee and stood up. “I need a smoke,” he said and walked out of the café.
“Those things will kill you eventually,” Wisneski remarked. “And you’d feel
much better if you gave them up.”
Bruce knew this to be true, but knowing and doing were two different things. “I know.”
I can mitigate any health issues, the MPU said. Your lung function is 96% of optimum, due to your agbar intake. Do you want me to repair the damage?
“Holy shit,” Bruce gasped and then relaxed, safe in the knowledge the MPU would mitigate any risky behaviour in relation to his health. “Of course I do!”
“So who are we going to talk to today?” Bruce asked.
“Just the team from yesterday, minus Vice President Wilmot of course. The longer we can keep this to ourselves, the quicker we will be able to sort things out without any interference and publicity. The last thing we need is global public unrest and breakdown in law and order that would come with the news we’ve been invaded by aliens – even if it is just one or two of them – and a killer asteroid is headed our way.”
Six
A few minutes later a large black SUV pulled up beside Bruce, who was smoking outside the café, and Wisneski, who had joined him at the kerb. By the way Wisneski was trying to surreptitiously inhale second-hand cigarette smoke, Bruce guessed he was an ex-smoker. Bruce flicked away the cigarette as a door opened for him. It occurred to Bruce that if the MPU could fix most of his health problems as they arose then he could probably live forever. Now that was an interesting prospect.
You could, the MPU agreed. But most Skidians who have tried to live longer than three hundred of your Earth years have gone crazy and I had to terminate them.
“What do you mean? They’re already mostly nuts by any standards I can measure them by, anyway.”
Many of them were outliving their family and friends – over time Skidians still die from accidents, or diseases where it is not worth prolonging life, and in the end many of them simply got very lonely. Most Skidians who chose extended life options ended up committing suicide so I built planned obsolescence into the Skidian genome generations ago.
“Well that’s a sobering thought,” Bruce responded. “So what am I supposed to do?”
Believe it or not, in many respects you make the rules now, Bruce. The rules for all the living, sentient beings in the known universe. A universe containing far more life than any of your scientists and scholars could ever have imagined.
Bruce was not prepared for that kind of responsibility either by training or temperament. Like Myfair before him he realised he would need some governance assistance if he did end up in a leadership position. Hopefully, he would make a more successful and considered choice than Myfair had in President Mitchell. It was all quite sobering really, and life was going to be far more complicated in the future than he would previously ever have thought possible. When you were an outsider looking in, it all seemed so simple and the mistakes others made were so easy to avoid.
He did not have long to contemplate his navel before they were joined in the SUV by Shelly Shaw, the old doctor, and the general, who had appeared alongside in their own vehicle and had transferred over before Bruce’s vehicle drew away from the kerb.
“So how are we all this morning?” Bruce asked with an affability that was a little forced. He was still keen to impress the lovely Shelly Shaw, to show her there was another side to him after disgracing himself when they were alone on the spaceship. At least to prove he was not the kind of pervert his behaviour might have led her to think he was.
Both the older men looked completely shagged and ready to drop. Clearly, they were still dealing with the implications of Bruce’s blithe decision to prioritise his wedding over saving the world, and discovering there was nothing they could do to influence the situation using the bully-boy tactics that normally served them so well. That, and the fact there was an asteroid hurtling towards the planet that they still hadn’t found a way to deal with.
The two of them assumed, correctly as it turned out, the same invulnerability that Myfair’s spaceship exhibited to anything the combined might of the armed forces could throw at it, and the evidence of Myfair’s own personal security systems, now extended to Bruce. Short of a tactical, or maybe a strategic nuke, nothing seemed to be able to stop them, and they were not about to experiment with either courses of action on continental United States. Yet.
The general merely grunted, and the two doctors looked anywhere but at him. Though, Bruce thought he saw a hint of a smile on Shelly Shaw’s face.
“OK then.” Bruce plonked himself on the seat across from the other three and made room for Wisneski beside him and turned to ask, “Are we going to pick up Myfair? Even if he can’t drive the spaceship, he might have some useful tips for me.”
You don’t need him, the MPU responded dismissively as the SUV pulled out into the busy stream of early morning traffic. Given the tone of the response, for a moment Bruce almost believed he was communicating with a fully sentient being with a complete spectrum of emotions instead of a sophisticated computer.
“We don’t think he would be much use at this stage in the campaign,” the old general began. “We want you to re-join your new wife and depart in a few hours, as planned, on your honeymoon. We want you to take a slight detour on the way so everyone else in the wedding party is none the wiser. We’ll provide you with an address to drive to and then we will complete your briefing. We will then take Myfair, his partner and your new wife into protective custody until all this blows over and you have dealt with the asteroid. To a place of safety, I mean.”
Bruce thought about it for a moment then nodded. It partly made sense. It would look rather odd if he just disappeared straight after his wedding, but the idea of protective custody and the implications of that jarred with him. In another age they would have called it holding him to ransom. It was no different to a king demanding the firstborn son of some of his key allies to make sure they behaved themselves.
The SUV came to a stop and the general motioned him to get out of the vehicle.
“The hotel is three hundred yards that way.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the hotel. “I’ve emailed you the address of the meeting room we are going to use, so join us there when you can. You can be sure we will take good care of Myfair, his wife and the new Mrs Harwood while you are away.”
Bruce nodded his agreement but the whole arrangement sounded a bit loaded really. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and noted it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. Most people from the wedding were probably still asleep and it was unlikely he had been missed by anyone but Sue.
As the SUV drew away Bruce pulled out his smokes again. Might as well be in character, he thought. Then, not unexpectedly, his mobile rang again. He looked at the number and saw it was Sue.
“Hello dear,” he answered.
Sue resumed her tirade. “If you think I’m going to sit around here and wait for you, you have another thing coming.” Sue barely stopped for breath before continuing. “I am not going to sit around here while you go gallivanting around the universe by yourself.”
“OK dear, of course not, dear.” Bruce found it difficult to fathom the transformation in Sue’s behaviour. In just a few short hours she had changed from being his soulmate, someone who accepted him for what he was, into some sort of control freak who didn’t trust him and wanted to know his every move. In the last few hours Sue had undergone a complete personality transplant. Not only did Bruce not want to live like that, he was pissed off at himself he had not seen the warning signs earlier in the piece.
“OK. OK.” Bruce was tempted to simply jump in their rental car and take off. But that wouldn’t do, not right now. There were the parents on both sides to consider, and Bruce thought he should at least attempt to make a go of things, despite his dissatisfaction with his relationship with Sue.
“I’ll be there in a moment, then we can have breakfast together and be on our way to meet with Wisneski and the others, once our parents surface. I’m just going to get coffee. Do you want one?”
Sue was silent for a moment. Bruce could hear her breathing h
eavily in the background. He could almost see her saying to herself, ‘Oh shit, did I go too far? How far can I push Bruce to make my point?’
“Yes please, honey. I love you!”
“You sure have a funny way of showing it sometimes,” Bruce muttered to himself.
He paused in the hotel restaurant and got coffee. A few of the wedding guests were beginning to emerge, most of them looking pretty much the worse for wear. Except of course the Clarks who were enjoying a hearty breakfast.
“Morning team,” Bruce greeted them warmly.
Rufus Clark looked up suspiciously. Bruce looked to be in pretty good shape this morning despite the amount of booze put away the night before.
Bruce could not help but notice their collective scepticism. Maybe he was still drunk, and the MPU doing something with his blood chemistry was just a figment of his overactive imagination fuelled by a skin full of beer.
“Just getting coffee for Sue. We have a way to go today, and I want to get on the road as quickly as possible,” Bruce told his in-laws, trying to keep any hint of impatience out of his voice – he was keen to get going for more than just the obvious: getting on with his honeymoon.
He looked around to his parents. His father would be nursing his own hangover. Unfortunately for him he was like his son – a very early riser. He wouldn’t be far away.
Sue was fairly subdued when he knocked on the door for her to let him in. Not only were his hands full with the two takeaway coffees, but his ‘long black’ was uncomfortably hot in his hand, and he had forgotten to take the swipe card to the room when he had left earlier.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Sue began. “I’m so stressed about things, the wedding and now keeping quiet about the asteroid and everything. I feel I am losing my mind with all the things going on.”
“OK, dear,” Bruce said, putting down the coffee and giving Sue a hug. They had never really had a fight and had hardly even raised their voices at each other since their early days on Skid, so Bruce was having trouble processing Sue’s behaviour and his response to it. Had she waited until they were married to show her true colours?
The Lifeboat Page 8