The Lifeboat

by Keith Fenwick

  Myfair walked towards the water at the bottom of the slope. Water lapped gently at the sand at the waterline, an occasional larger wave pushing tendrils of foam further up the beach. Myfair had never seen anything like it in all his life. He walked down the beach and experimentally poked his toe in the tide, quickly withdrawing it because it was so cold.

  While he stood there trying to comprehend where all this water came from, an extra-large wave broke and a startled Myfair quickly found he was standing in water up to his knees.

  He stood transfixed and then started to panic as he felt grains of sand flowing away from under his feet and imagined he was going to be sucked away into the water. He frantically stumbled up the beach to the sound of Bruce’s laughter and realised he had never really been in serious danger.

  Then it started to rain. Not rain in the sense Skidians normally experienced it, but a deluge from the sky that further spooked the two of them. Intellectually they knew what rain was – rain on Skid was programmed to fall when required at a time when it would have the least impact on Skidians, mostly in the early hours of the morning. This was the first time they had ever been exposed to rain during the day.

  In a matter of seconds low clouds obscured the hills and the waters of the bay, so that suddenly their entire world had shrunk to a small pocket several hundred metres across.

  “Hey!” Myfair heard Bruce calling to him and Leaf. “Run up to the house or you’ll get soaked!” Bruce unceremoniously handed little Bruce to Ngaio and took Mrs Pratt’s hand and dragged her along to the house and shelter.

  “What’s going on here, Bruce?” Ngaio asked as they climbed up the steps to the veranda around the house. “Aren’t you supposed to be in America getting married? And who are these people? What have you been up to, Bruce Harwood?”

  “It’s a long story, Ngaio. Let’s get in the house and dry out and …” His next words were drowned out by a sonic boom.

  Bruce knew what the boom meant, someone was already making a statement. They were pretty quick off the mark, he thought. He half expected to hear an explosion as the jet bored into the hill up the end of the valley, or perhaps the sound of exploding bombs as the Americans decided to try and blast him out of existence. He guessed the jet must the Americans announcing themselves and using it as an intimidation tactic to pressure him to agree to their vague and unspecified demands.

  “The air force has started to use this area as a flight path when they’re doing engine tests,” Ngaio explained. “But that one was pretty low.”

  “I didn’t realise the air force had any planes that could fly faster than the speed of sound,” Bruce muttered to himself.

  For the first time he took a good look at Ngaio, realising how attractive she was and how she had bloomed into full womanhood since he had last seen her.

  I will warn them off, the MPU said to Bruce. I won’t tolerate any interference.

  “Just make sure you don’t destroy their planes indiscriminately. By the way, how can you contact them?”

  I have developed an effective communications process with the American authorities, the MPU chided him, implying; ‘I know what I am doing’. Bruce would have been a little disconcerted to find the communications channel was as tenuous as relying on Wisneski not losing his mobile.

  Myfair and Leaf had joined the four of them on the porch while Bruce looked around for the key in all the normal hiding places, without success, and was about to give up and smash his way in when Ngaio cleared her throat beside him.

  He turned and found her holding the key up in front of him with a smile on her face. “Looking for this?” she asked.

  Bruce’s heart skipped a beat and in an instant he asked himself why he hadn’t taken Ngaio seriously before.

  1

  At that time Myfair had just returned from taking Bruce and Sue back home. Bruce had been kidnapped and taken to Skid because he was believed to be an expert on organic food production and Skid was in dire need of alternatives as the synthoplants producing all food on Skid had failed. Ultimately the plan to produce alternative sources of food had also failed and for some reason Myfair’s father had decided to return the offworlders to their planet rather than kill them off as was the normal process.

  Only the MPU was aware at this stage that the ultimate failure of the plants was in fact caused by its own inability to fully appreciate what closing the plants down one by one to eradicate a nasty viral infection would do to overall production and the supply of the food to the Skidian population, a population that was ultimately the MPU’s role to protect and sustain. Of course, almost sentient or not, the MPU was not about to own up to any mistakes at this stage of proceedings.

  Three

  Wisneski’s mobile rang. He glanced at the device and saw it was a number not stored in his address book, which was odd and concerning. His mobile should be secure, and few people were supposed to know the number, so someone he didn’t recognise was a bit of a concern. On closer inspection the number did not conform to any format he had ever seen previously. What the fuck was going on here? Wisneski stared at it, debating whether to answer or not. Before his curiosity got the better of him and before he swiped his finger across the icon to answer, the speaker came to life – which was even more disconcerting. There was a brief crackle and hiss like on an old poor-quality copper landline, then a familiar voice was speaking to him.

  “Afternoon, Wisneski.” The voice startled him with a sudden improvement in clarity. Wisneski had only half believed Bruce and his passenger had burnt to a crisp in the car still smouldering not a 100 metres from him. It seemed the car was out of control before being hit by a couple of missiles, as the Skidians had probably beamed Bruce and his lady friend aboard the spacecraft and out of harm’s way. He was sure this would be confirmed once the fire was out and the remains of the car had cooled enough for the forensic guys to start to do their thing. They needn’t bother; by the looks of things, here was proof they weren’t there.

  The air force had used some pretty impressive firepower to deal with the car; the term overkill came to mind. The General had wanted to make sure he got his man.

  They were obviously pretty pissed that, in the course of the action against a supposedly unarmed target, two of their state-of-the-art, highly armoured, stealth attack helicopters had been swatted out of the sky without warning and their crews dumped unceremoniously on the ground wondering what the hell had hit them.

  At least nobody in the helicopters had been killed. However, in some ways this just made losing the machines worse. Something had managed to destroy them but save the people inside. This was a new sort of attack and not one anybody from the bewildered aircrews, right up the command chain, knew how to deal with.

  Nobody had been able to get close enough to the car yet to see if anyone was in there. The local fire service, which had just arrived and was making leisurely preparations to dampen the final flames and were not in any hurry. They needn’t bother searching through the wreckage for any bodies.

  “Yes, Bruce?”

  It’s not Bruce. I have just employed his vocal characteristics to make you feel at ease. OK?

  Or maybe not.

  “Yes, of course it is. Are Bruce and his lady friend OK?”

  Yes, they are both well, replied the MPU without elaborating.

  “Good,” Wisneski sighed. He had not felt particularly comfortable about being involved in blowing Bruce off the surface of the planet just because he refused to give General Smith and his cronies access to the spacecraft and a trip to the Skidian home planet so they could arrange to pillage Skidian technology, believing it was theirs for the taking.

  Despite all the uncomplimentary statements Sue Harwood had been making about Bruce right up to the moment the car he had been driving had blown up in front of her, Wisneski was pretty sure Sue would be relieved to hear this as well as she had just been led away in a state of shock.

  Even before the MPU confirmed it, Wisneski had not been convinced Br
uce had been blown to bits as he hadn’t been convinced that he was even in the car when it blew up. As he replayed in his mind the events immediately prior to the missiles exploding, the car had started to weave out of control and had just about left the road completely when it was hit. He had not shared this thought with anyone else. Neither had he shared the view that he was coming to believe that Bruce had done the right thing in not simply handing over the keys to the patrol ship. Not that he was going to share this view at the moment anyway, as that would be career-limiting in the present environment. But this view of the world would now influence how he might act if the situation presented itself.

  Wisneski knew it was not really a good idea to try and stop Bruce by force, having witnessed the patrol ship’s complete disregard to having everything bar the kitchen sink thrown at it in terms of military hardware and Myfair’s casual dispatch of a group of thugs who threatened him. Given all he had witnessed; he had decided it was not a good idea to antagonise the Skidians. Not only did they appear to have immense firepower at their fingertips, they were able to swot helicopters out of the sky at will, and if Myfair was anything to go by, they were not shy in employing the capability if they felt personally threatened.

  Bruce appeared to be in the safe keeping of a group of aliens that could operate on planet Earth with impunity, which made him a formidable adversary in Wisneski’s book.

  Unfortunately, the likes of General Smith and the rest of the establishment seemed to believe they were still able to deal with the Skidians and their human representative in the same way they had seen off the Russians in two cold wars and were still holding China at bay. That they had thoroughly destabilised the half of the world they didn’t count as the ‘good guys’ in the process – and even some they did –was immaterial to them. Dealing with the Skidians would be a totally different kettle of fish, and Wisneski knew who was going to come off second best in any confrontation. He felt had nothing to lose by cooperating with whoever or whatever had contacted him.

  “What can I do for you?” Wisneski asked calmly.

  Leave Bruce and his family alone. I know this is a tall order but there is no need for any more conflict. We will engage with humanity in the fullness of time to share our technology as we see fit.

  “I can certainly pass the instruction on,” Wisneski replied. “But I can’t promise anyone will listen.”

  The MPU must have detected a hint of sarcasm in Wisneski’s voice because it added, Do I need to make another demonstration?

  “No, you have been quite clear, and I for one understand your capabilities even if my superiors will continue to try and ignore the obvious until it is too late.”

  For example, Wisneski knew the US Government had already put diplomatic pressure on the New Zealand Government to hand Bruce over on trumped-up charges if he showed up back on home soil. Special forces teams had already been dispatched; intelligence teams and aircraft had the Harwood farm under constant surveillance.

  Indeed, it is your job to try and make them see the error of their ways. I know this might be a thankless task but it is yours nevertheless.

  Wisneski supressed a grin. The voice on the other end of the phone could have been Bruce.

  Please keep your mobile communication device on you at all times. We will use you as a conduit to your government, which should give you some leverage, as we will speak to them through you and you only. You can feel free to inform them of that.

  Wisneski’s heart sank a little. He had hoped he might be able to slip into some sort of obscurity now Bruce, his son, the Skidians and the old lady they had picked up on their travels had disappeared, but it seemed that was not to be.

  “Very well,” Wisneski responded after a moment. “Can I contact you on this number if I …?” But the connection was dead before he had finished his question.

  Wisneski scrolled through his mobile and called General Smith.

  “What is it, Wisneski? That’s quite a mess you made down there; it’s all over the news.”

  Wisneski was not the least concerned that it was probably the general who ordered the airstrike but the old boy would never admit it to him.

  “But don’t worry, I’ve covered your ass. America is under attack by terrorists. Again.”

  Wisneski didn’t think it was fair to blame him for everything that was going on, and although he did not realise it at the time, this moment was the final catalyst for his decision to take sides with Bruce and the Skidians.

  “Just heard from Bruce Harwood, sir,” he reported. “He was not in the car when we interdicted it.”

  “Have you checked the wreckage; it could be a hoax.”

  “No, sir, the local first responders have just arrived, and we won’t be able to confirm if anyone was in the vehicle at the time of the attack until they have searched through the wreckage. My view is the call was genuine.” Wisneski failed to add the little nugget that Bruce hadn’t been on the end of the line. The fact that the voice had insisted that Bruce be left alone indicated he was alive. If Bruce had hightailed it for home, they would soon know from people on the ground there already.

  “Is that all, Wisneski?” Discovering Bruce was still alive might not have been a surprise to the general after all.

  “No, sir. I have actually heard from Mr Harwood,” he reminded the general.

  “Junior or senior?” Wisneski detected the scepticism in his voice.

  “Junior, sir. He just wants to be left alone.”

  “Fat chance of that happening, son. It’s simply far too important to the future of this country not to get our hands on the technology those Skidian’s possess before someone else does. We need this to keep an edge on the Chinese and the Russians. You understand?” General Smith was not averse to rolling out any bogeyman who suited his purposes. Russia, China, Islamic suicide bombers, the socialist threat massing on the borders – there was one for every occasion.

  “Yes, sir.” Wisneski did understand. This was all about keeping a small bunch of angry, white rich men in power and supporting an increasingly marginalised ideology.

  “Don’t yes sir me in that tone of voice, Wisneski. I can detect your insolence from here. Can you confirm where he is? Harwood, I mean?”

  Wisneski rather thought he could and assumed the general had the same idea as well.

  “I am almost certain he has gone home, to his home, sir. He did mention it in passing when were on board the patrol ship.”

  “Well get yourself back here as quickly as you can.”

  The connection ended and Wisneski looked ruefully at his mobile. He was struggling to get over the idea that, despite the obvious failure of the enterprise to gain control over the alien, well Skidian, technology, the general and the rest of – Wisneski supposed – the highest echelons of the US Government assumed they were still entitled to take whatever took their fancy.

  His government still clung to the outdated conviction that if they believed their cause was righteous, often and hard enough, then the overbearing weight of American self-belief and sense of entitlement would make it so. This sudden insight rocked Wisneski’s own belief in the system he had served for so long without question.

  In some ways this overshadowed his involvement in the very real achievement of managing to save the planet from almost certain destruction. An achievement suddenly, maybe, was an event in itself that might not be all it seemed. The circumstances around the asteroid and the timing of the appearance of the space patrol ship was suddenly all too cute for Wisneski. If he was investigating a security breach based on similar evidence he would be thinking hoax or misdirection. But the asteroid itself was real and its collision course directly with Earth was real. So what was really going on here, and who was pulling everyone’s strings like some almighty puppeteer?

  At that precise moment Wisneski lost faith in his leaders. They were living in some kind of fantasy land that was completely disconnected from reality. He felt the pride he had always felt in serving his country and
defending its borders slip from him. In some ways it felt more like an enormous weight of expectation had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Yes, he would report back to his superiors but he would now serve his own interests first and foremost. He would remain in place to be the conduit for Bruce and the forces who controlled or drove him. These were the forces he thought were the source of ownership for the spaceship and the odd-sounding planet called Skid and all the technological wonders they all believed existed on that planet. Given their behaviour to date, the Skidians were no real threat to mankind. Quite the contrary. He believed that if people like the general and the interests he represented ever got hold of the patrol ship, Skid would be at a greater risk from them.

  The patrol ship, its near invulnerability and the ability to move people and equipment across the galaxy via some kind of teleporting process was tantalising evidence of far greater technological capability than General Smith, Dr Roach, the Vice President and anyone else in the loop – possibly the likes of the abominable Ronald Chump – assumed would be on offer if they gained control of the ship and somehow its planet of origin. Quite how they thought they could pull that off was anyone’s guess, more evidence they were deluding themselves if they thought the Skidians would be a pushover.

  Wisneski thought a little more about this for a moment then sauntered back towards his SUV. He signalled Shelly Shaw to join him and together they decided on the quickest way to return to Washington and the command centre General Smith had set up.

  He went over to check up on Sue who was curled up on the backseat of the SUV being comforted by a medic. There was nothing physically wrong with her except for the little matter of witnessing her recently estranged husband supposedly being blown to bits. Or she thought she had.

  “He’s OK,” Wisneski said. “He got out before the missiles hit.”

  “So where is he?”