The Stars That Beckon
Page 9
The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a white lab coat walked in, holding some kind of electronic tablet. “Ah, Dr Perryman. Our monitors indicated that you had woken up. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve got a headache and I’m thirsty. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I had a hangover. Where am I?”
“First things first,” he replied. “Let’s get you optimal, and then we can answer your questions.” He looked at the screen on his tablet. “Your biochip readings indicate that you are mildly dehydrated, but apart from that you seem in good shape. Blood pressure, heart rate and O2 saturation are all nominal. In fact, they are better than nominal. You seem to be in very good shape.”
“I keep fit. Where am I? And who are you?”
“I am Dr Francis Leibman. Do you remember me?”
“No. Should I?”
“No. I didn’t expect that you would. Here, drink this,” said Leibman, taking a small, clear plastic bottle from his lab-coat pocket and handing it to Zac. “It is an ultra-fast rehydration formula with a mild pain suppressor. You will feel better almost instantly.”
Zac didn’t need convincing. He unscrewed the top and downed the fluid in a series of thirsty gulps. Licking his lips, he said, “You still haven’t answered my question. What is this place? And how did I get here?”
“As to the first question, you are on board Genesis, a DANSA starship, currently in orbit around the moon. You were brought on board less than two hours ago and were given a fast-acting sedative with an extremely short half-life. There should be no residual sedative left in your system by now. As to how you got here, the answer is a little complicated. Dr Wisecroft has requested that he speak with you as soon as you feel up to it. I think he can best answer your questions.”
“A starship? Why? What are we doing here? And why did I need to be given a sedative?”
“As I say,” replied Leibman, “I think Dr Wisecroft is best able to answer those questions. Are you happy to meet with him now?”
“Sure. Let’s go. Wisecroft has got some explaining to do!” Zac got to his feet and stretched, feeling considerably better already.
Leibman glanced furtively at Zac and said, “Would you like us to provide you with some more suitable clothing, Dr Perryman? Perhaps a jumpsuit, or at least some more practical trousers and shirt?”
Zac glanced down at his holed jeans and Hawaiian shirt. “Why? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Dude, these retro-threads cost me a small fortune!”
“As you wish,” replied Leibman, with arched eyebrows. “I’m sure they are the height of fashion somewhere. Please follow me.”
Walking out of the cubicle, Zac found himself in a well-equipped medical unit: a long, wide corridor that had treatment cubicles to the left and various medical stations to the right, in a similar generic layout to most hospitals worldwide. Leibman and Zac turned right into a short corridor, ending in a series of lifts, one of which was already open. As they entered, Leibman held his wrist under the biochip scanner and said, “Bridge.” The doors closed, and a few moments later, with no sensation of movement, they opened again onto a completely different scene.
A short corridor from the lift opened onto an expansive bridge that extended 50 metres to left and right. The front wall comprised a large central screen with a series of smaller screens to each side. Some showed external views, while others displayed visual readouts of various systems. The central screen displayed a stunning view facing forward of the ship, with a partial view of the moon to the right of the screen and the star-speckled blackness of space to the left.
“Ah, Dr Perryman,” said Wisecroft. “It’s good to see you up and about. As you can see, we are in stable orbit around the moon at the moment. It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” Wisecroft was sitting at a console in a long line of consoles, staffed by crew in official-looking uniforms. “You’re feeling better, I hope?”
Zac stared ahead, taking in the view and trying to process his surroundings. “Considering I have no memory of how I got here, I guess I’m doing OK,” he replied.
“As to that,” said Wisecroft, “it may be better if we adjourn to the conference room.”
He led Zac to a room opening off the back of the bridge, furnished with a rectangular table and twelve chairs. “Please, take a seat,” said Wisecroft, indicating a chair to his left as he seated himself at the head of the table.
“No, I’d rather stand, thank you,” replied Zac. “The last thing I remember is you interrogating me, accusing my wife and I of being terrorists. Where is Annisa? Have you found her?”
“Dr Perryman, quite a lot has happened in the last few hours. The base was attacked by terrorists. Three bombs were detonated, and three shuttles were hijacked and used as missiles to create further destruction.”
“What? Why don’t I remember this? Where was I?”
“I apologise, Dr Perryman. We thought you might have been involved, and we needed information urgently. We gave you a harmless but very effective drug—a truth serum. The drug is also a powerful amnesiac, which explains why you have no memory of the events immediately before and afterwards.”
“You drugged me?!”
“We were in the midst of a crisis and we were short of time. We quickly discovered that you knew nothing.”
“Of course I didn’t! I remember telling you so!”
“Yes. I apologise, but we had to be sure. We were desperate to find the missing staff.”
“So, where is Annisa? You can’t surely still believe she’s a terrorist?”
“Dr Perryman, I need to show you a video. I think it would be best if you sat down for a moment.”
“What video?” Zac asked, remaining on his feet.
“I’m sorry,” said Wisecroft. “There is no easy way to do this.” He leaned back in his chair. “Play video,” he said.
A video started playing on the far wall, with no sound. Zac watched in growing horror as he witnessed the slaying of staff in some kind of control room. As the terrorists turned towards the camera, smiling triumphantly, Zac took a step towards the screen. “Annisa!” He watched incredulously as she and her colleague stood arm in arm, fists raised in defiance, until a blinding flash brought the footage to an end. He collapsed into a chair and continued staring at the blank wall. “No ... no ... it can’t be ... she would ... she would never ... she’s not ...”
“I’m very sorry, Dr Perryman. Your wife apparently fooled us all. As did the others.”
“She’s dead?” Zac asked, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry. Yes. As are her fellow conspirators.”
Zac sat down and placed his head in his hands. Everything he thought he knew about his world, his life, now seemed uncertain. Had Annisa just used him to gain credibility? Was he just her cover? Did she ever truly love him, or was their marriage just a convenient sham? His mind was reeling. A sob escaped his lips.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Dr Perryman.”
Zac was dumbfounded, unable to speak.
“The base was completely destroyed,” continued Wisecroft. “The fusion reactor went critical. Hundreds of lives were lost. We barely managed to escape in time.”
Zac shook his head in disbelief, as if trying to shake himself awake from a bad dream. “I think I need to be alone for a while.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Wisecroft. “But, firstly, you need to be aware of the full extent of what has happened.”
“There’s more?”
“Unfortunately, yes. The result of which, you and everyone on board are going to need to make a choice.”
“What kind of choice?”
“The kind that will determine the rest of your life.”
19
Zac’s mind was reeling. He had been given a temporary cabin in the crew quarters, two levels down, and for the past hour he had sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything that had happened. Despite the devastating, world-shattering events that Wisecroft had described to
him, Zac couldn’t move past his overwhelming sense of betrayal by the woman he loved and who he thought had loved him. He was overcome with a strange mixture of grief and anger. How dare she use me like that! He kept thinking back to their first meeting in the university student bar one Saturday night. Annisa had seemed such a vibrant, flirtatious girl, and Zac could not clearly remember who had chased who. He just remembered feeling as though he had won the lottery when she had let him kiss her. Six months later, they were married. Several friends had commented on the speed of their whirlwind romance, but Zac had waved their concerns aside, caught up, as he was, in the euphoria of their new romance. Was it all a sham? Did she ever truly love me? At what point was she recruited by the Caliphate?
He scanned back through his memory, trying to find clues that would make sense of it all. His mother had never really warmed to Annisa and had even tried to talk him out of their hasty engagement. When Zac reacted angrily, his mother answered in her usual forthright manner: “I won’t pretend to like her, Zac. There’s something insincere about her that troubles me. Something that doesn’t ring true, but I can’t put my finger on it. Can’t you at least put the wedding plans back another six months to give yourselves time to get to know each other?” But Zac had refused to listen, and his relationship with his mother had been strained ever since.
He continued to dredge through his memories. Were there any hints of Annisa’s secret loyalties? Any signs in their brief life together that she had been keeping things from him? The only incident he could point to was about six months ago, when he walked into her office at home and she immediately shut down her comm link, terminating whatever discussion she had been having. He remembered her guilty expression, which she had quickly tried to cover with her usual vivacious teasing and joking.
“Who was that?” he had asked.
“Just one of my many old boyfriends trying to seduce me again, but I told him I wasn’t interested since my husband is such a red-hot lover.” Her passionate kisses soon led them to the bedroom, where whatever half-formed questions he may have had were soon forgotten.
Was I that easy to fool? he wondered. Was she already radicalised when we met at university? Probably. But he would never know now.
A beep sounded over the cabin comm, followed by Dr Wisecroft’s smooth voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the information meeting will take place in ten minutes. Please ensure that you are comfortably seated and can easily see a viewing screen.” Wisecroft had announced, nearly an hour ago, that there would be a meeting to update everyone on their situation. Zac was already aware of much of the information that was about to be presented, and it only added to his consternation.
In consideration of the grief that Zac was experiencing, Wisecroft had given him the option of remaining apart from the other passengers, who were all congregating in the dining and lounge decks, in Zone II. Being fully cognisant of all the facts now, Zac anticipated that there would be a lot of grief and shock among the passengers following Wisecroft’s imminent broadcast, and he hadn’t thought he could cope with that on top of his own personal pain. But as he sat on the bed, he suddenly felt the overwhelming need to be with others. He needed to feel connected; that he wasn’t alone. He walked out of his cabin and along the corridor to the bank of lifts. Entering an open lift, he held his wrist to the scanner and said, “Dining.” Wisecroft had given him clearance for a number of areas on board the ship.
A moment later the doors opened, revealing a huge open space, about 100 metres by nearly 200 metres. The space was interspersed with dozens of floor-to-ceiling columns, each housing several food and drink dispensers. Hundreds of people were seated at tables and chairs, some with bandages and various cuts and bruises. Zac found the noise overwhelming after the solitude of his cabin, and he was suddenly unsure of himself. He stood looking at the sea of people, all talking and gesticulating, and felt lonelier than he had ever felt. I’ve made a mistake, he thought. I don’t want to be here. As he turned to re-enter the lift, he heard a voice say, “How was the pool, Doc?”
He turned around, searching for the owner of the voice. Sitting at a nearby table, against the back wall, was a young lady looking at him with a mischievous grin on her face. He scanned his memory and recognised her as the shuttle pilot who had brought him to the moon.
“The what?” he replied, perplexed.
“The pool,” she said. “You were going for a swim in the pool.”
“What pool?”
“Exactly.”
“Um ...” he articulated, with a stunning display of vocabulary. “Er ...” he added, just in case anyone should doubt his verbal prowess.
“You look like you could use a coffee and a seat,” she said. She kicked the spare seat next to her out from the table. “Come and join us. You seem like you’re mostly harmless now.”
“What was I before?” he asked, taking the offered seat.
“You were off the charts. You were quite amusing, actually. They could put you on the stage as a comedy act.”
“Oh no,” Zac said, wincing. “Please tell me I didn’t do anything too embarrassing.”
“Nothing X-rated, if that’s what you mean. What were you on, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It was something they gave me, against my will.”
“They?”
“Dr Wisecroft.”
“Bastard!” Kit said. “He almost killed me and two security staff. Martinez was one of them,” she said, indicating the dark-haired girl with multiple facial piercings sitting beside her.
“Bastard,” Martinez echoed, giving Zac her steely glare.
“Well, it seems as though we have a unanimous verdict on that issue, at least,” said Zac.
“What’s with the Hawaiian shirt, Doc?” asked Martinez, with a smirk. “Did you catch the wrong shuttle or something?”
“What’s with the nose ring?” countered Zac. “Is that to hang your front door key on?”
Martinez turned to Kit and said, “I think I liked him better when he was high.”
Kit looked at Zac and cocked her head sideways. “Nah, I like him better this way. He was a complete dork when he was high.”
Zac cracked his first smile in hours, and said, “You do know that I can hear you, don’t you?”
Kit said, “Did you hear anything just then, Martinez?”
“Nope. Unless you’re referring to that mildly annoying buzzing.”
Just then, four large screens around the perimeter of the room came to life and Wisecroft’s face stared out at them.
“Here we go,” said Kit. “This should be interesting. Did anyone bring popcorn?”
20
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. I am Dr Simon Wisecroft, head of DANSA research and, at this point in time, the commanding officer of this vessel. The purpose of this communication is to provide you with a detailed, frank assessment of our current situation.” He paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts.
“We have just undergone a significant terrorist attack. Three bombs were exploded on our moon base, and three hijacked shuttles were crashed into our facility. One of the bombs precipitated an uncontainable meltdown in our fusion reactor, which necessitated our evacuation of the base. Twenty minutes after our launch, the reactor went critical, resulting in an explosion that destroyed the entire base, creating a new crater over two kilometres wide on the surface of the moon.”
Kit turned to Martinez and said, “Twenty minutes! There was plenty of time for them to wait for us!”
“Bastard,” said Martinez.
“Bastard,” agreed Kit.
Wisecroft adopted what he hoped was an empathetic facial expression and continued. “We have experienced significant loss of life. Many of you have lost friends, colleagues and loved ones. There were nearly 900 people living, working and visiting at Luna City. Only 328 people were successfully evacuated on board this vessel.” He paused to let that information sink in.
“Unfortunately, the terrorist attacks we experienced on the moon were only the tip of the iceberg. Significantly worse events have taken place on Earth. The event we have feared for centuries has come to pass. A major nuclear exchange has taken place between the Democratic Alliance of Nations and the Caliphate, with devastating results.” There were gasps and shocked murmurs throughout the dining room.
Wisecroft pressed on. “Over the last few hours, we have pieced together a picture of what took place. Nearly 200 thermonuclear missiles were launched, many of them carrying up to a dozen individual warheads which separated during flight and targeted different locations or facilities. Some would have been destroyed by our laser satellite defence system, but it appears that many warheads, hundreds in fact, slipped through. Hundreds of cities and towns world-wide have been levelled.” Groans and cries could be heard all over the dining room, but Wisecroft, safely ensconced on the bridge, simply ploughed on.
“All the manned space stations and most of the satellites have been destroyed. Kepler Station is gone. The Equatorial Tether Lift from Macapá has been destroyed, as has the city itself. The Earth is now covered by many hundreds of nuclear mushroom clouds. We have been able to establish a link to a minor weather satellite that remains intact, which has provided us with an image of our planet as it now appears.” A view of Earth appeared on the screen: a murky ball of grey-brown cloud. Circling the Earth were hundreds of thousands of shimmering pieces of wreckage, the remains of space stations and satellites that had been destroyed. The volume of shocked, heart-broken groans and cries intensified, and Wisecroft, anticipating this from his elevated distance, allowed some time for people to absorb the terrible image on the screen.