by Tim Heath
And so she sat there and waited. Alison was busy on the telephone, intrigue in her voice. Putting the phone down, she looked up at Lorna.
“They're bringing someone in who was right in the middle of it all. They say he's in remarkable health.”
Lorna didn't know what to say. She'd seen the injuries to the bodies of the victims already here. They'd probably seen as many already die as those they'd managed to make a little more comfortable, but even that was just postponing the inevitable. Entirely how someone who was in the middle of it could still be alive, she didn't know. Nor did she dare to think about the extent of his remarkable health.
As with Chernobyl, the effects would undoubtedly be felt for years to come, touching the generations of as yet unborn children with all sorts of horrendous side effects.
“Lorna, I know this is a terrible time for you with the news about your husband....”
Lorna looked up at her. Alison trailed off for a moment, not sure how she was meant to finish that sentence, before starting another on a different tack. “We need your skills, Lorna. To say that we are over-stretched would be an understatement. I need to get on with this incoming patient. I've been ordered to make him the priority for some reason. They say he is one of the scientists behind the probes. We'll put him in isolation, so it'll take me out of things for a while. I'll need your experience here, Lorna, to cover me while I'm away. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. Most of the nurses out there are under-trained and under-prepared. They need guidance. You are not the only one who's lost someone today. James was a good man, and I'm sorry for your loss.”
With that, she headed for the door and was down the corridor before Lorna could mutter a response, not that anything was coming to mind anyway. She let her training kick in, going out of the same door but the other way down the corridor. She picked up the first clipboard she found and scanned through the notes of the patient in the bed in front of her, before walking on to the next, having a word with a young nurse in the process, trying to do her best, trying to do something––trying to save lives.
Lincoln Knowles was the name of the man who was pulled alive out of the control room at Point Zero. He was thirty-eight, slightly overweight, typical of someone his age in a desk job like his. Lincoln wasn't particularly active now but was in reasonable health before the incident. As far as he knew, no one he had worked with had survived. Most were killed in the seconds after the explosion. Somehow, he had survived that and the following hours. Somehow, he was breathing as they brought him into the isolation wing of the main hospital. An eager crew of doctors and nurses waited for him, masks on, protective suits in place, but his radiation output was meagre. That part was still a mystery to them all.
Alison Hesse was in charge of Lincoln's care; she was Lorna's manager. Still single and with her parents retired and living in the US, as far as she could tell, she had not lost anyone close to her in this tragedy. That made it easier for her to be professional about it all, and coupled with her experience and senior position, made her the prime candidate to oversee the care and monitoring of Lincoln. This most unusual but vitally important patient was now in her sole responsibility.
He came in confused. Most of the incident had been blocked from his memory. That was not too uncommon in such cases of extreme emotional trauma. He did know his colleagues were dead. Somehow he'd retained that one strain of memory, but aside from that fact, the incident itself was a blank. Everything from that day had gone from his short-term memory. It was unclear at this point whether he would ever get it back.
That was the least of their worries. Keeping Lincoln alive was, though it was true that his own body had done a great job of that so far regarding the radiation at least. Because even though the two people sitting either side of him in his particular office had both died very quickly from the explosion and the fallout, Lincoln, though exposed to the same levels, had remained mostly unaffected. The test results, which were now starting to come back, reported much the same. Granted, he had some issues. Some internal bleeding. There were some burns to the skin. He might not hear out of his left ear again due to a perforated eardrum. His right shoulder was broken after he was hit by falling materials when the building collapsed. But given that he was exposed to an extreme nuclear explosion, the fact that there was anything left at all was a miracle.
Two hours later, they discovered that his injuries consisted entirely of physical ones caused by things hitting him or by fire, but there was no evidence at all of any radiation damage, and the mood turned from fear to astonishment. The protective clothing was removed as he was not a threat to them anymore.
Present Day
John had been awake for some time and had told Lorna everything he had seen in his latest vision. He was sitting up sometimes now, though his wounds were still making that difficult. John had taken a little food as well, the first since he'd come in a few days before. That was a good sign, though he hadn't enjoyed the taste of the food nor did it sit well inside him now. He mentioned this to Lorna, and she gave him something to drink.
“Tell me, are you happily married?” he said. Lorna almost dropped the glass of water which she had taken back from John after he'd finished with it. He noticed her reaction.
“Forgive me, and I didn't mean to pry. It's just you wear that beautiful ring that catches the light so often and the wedding ring next to it, yet you seem so sad. There is sorrow in your eyes. And I know I'm not so unwell that it's concern for me. So I was wondering if everything was okay?”
She smiled at him, just briefly, for his concern for her.
“Everything is wonderful,” she lied. Or at least it had been the last time she was at home. She smiled her fake smile to John, but that thick knot in her soul quickly wiped the smile from her face, which John noticed but didn't mention. He could tell something was wrong. It was starting to worry him.
“Look,” she said, her tone changed and her lets-get-on-with-it attitude restored. “You need to focus on getting better.”
“I still do not know what these visions mean.”
“I'm sure it will become clear soon, John. This is happening to you for a reason, so I'd say go with it and know that I'm here for you every time you wake up.”
“Yes, thanks. Don't you need somewhere to sleep, or have a home to go back to?”
“That's quite enough talking about me,” she said a little too sharply. She caught herself. “Don't worry, I'll rest when you do, and I'm working a long shift, so that's why I'm here all the time. I'll get to go home soon; we just need to see some improvements first.”
“Look, I didn't mean to be nosey, its just I have no one to talk to. I woke up in some hospital, my body all smashed up, but I've no memory of what happened to me. And one more thing, why has no one come to visit me? Was I really the sort of person that no one wants to see?” He stopped himself. Those thoughts had been fighting for air in his subconscious but had now been voiced for the first time.
“Look, John, it's nothing like that. Your family and friends are just away at the moment. We are trying to get hold of them.” That wasn't in fact true. They had yet to be informed that he had even survived, and with so much death reported and the images now being shown on news channels around the world, it was quickly assumed he was dead. Him and the thousands of others.
One Month Ago
As Lincoln Knowles drove in to work that morning, the sun was just breaking through the early morning clouds, on what the forecasters predicted would be a bright, beautiful day. On this particular day, to Lincoln and his colleagues, the weather meant everything.
Twelve years of research, more than half a million combined lab hours and billions of dollars of UK and US investment had preceded this day. The joint initiative with NASA had been the single most significant project ever undertaken by the Royal Air Force. Its future depended on this project producing results and leading to, they hoped, many more collaborations. The International Atomic Energy Agency had been
left out of the deal entirely, so that the UK would be the ones to benefit most from the results.
They knew there would be risks involved from the very outset of the giant project. It was such new, uncharted territory. But with the Russians and the European Space Agency getting wind of the possible deal, and then the Chinese also coming looking, the British had moved quickly to tie up the deal with the Americans, much to the dismay, and calls of betrayal, by the struggling ESA.
On the surface of things, that was mostly just water under the bridge, as Lincoln cleared security and proceeded up the main approach on the base. They'd needed to call in the ESA for some specific small-scale projects, and Russian technology had also been required when issues arose about three years before with some of the launch equipment.
As Lincoln parked up and got out of the car, he walked towards the main doors. Two soldiers stood either side, and without moving from their posts, they'd checked him out, confirmed his ID and let him walk right past. Only a select few had such privilege. He worked in a medium-sized side office with two others; a man named Robert Quinn, mid-forties, who was moody and kept himself to himself, but was very good at what he did. Also with them was Eleanor Jones, who at twenty-eight was the youngest by far, but managed to hold her own, most of the time.
As Lincoln came in and put his coat on the hook, the other two were already at their desks, Eleanor finishing an apple while reading through some report, large numbers of crisp A4 paper scattered all over her never tidy desk. Robert was tapping away at the computer, the Met Office page showing detailed weather conditions for the next twelve hours on one of his screens, the next five days on another. Neither notably acknowledged his presence, but they knew he was there. Besides working together for the best part of the last decade, none of them really had much else in common. It was a set-up that worked well for them. They enjoyed what they did and got the job done. They produced results, and they got very well paid in the process. It was win-win.
And in just over five hours, they were launching the first of four state-of-the-art nuclear-powered probes that would put the British and Americans way ahead of the rest in defence and surveillance technology.
Lincoln had barely sat down when there was a slight tap at the door as Major Jeffers came walking in. At sixty-three he'd been eligible for retirement for a few years already, but this was to be his legacy. Jeffers was determined to see it through, and then he could retire a contented man. At five foot eight, what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in authority. No one crossed the Major and still had their job the following day. But it was his larger-than-life character that really won people over, and he was highly respected around the base.
He'd taken up a training post, on his way to becoming a Major, a year before Afghanistan, though he'd seen that conflict coming, and the subsequent one in Iraq, long before it was public news.
“Good morning, Major,” Lincoln said, turning and standing to greet his friend. They didn't really work in the same fields; Lincoln's was the science and research area, the Major was the RAF base and military side. But this project had brought them together, and there was mutual respect for one another.
“Good morning to you, Lincoln. I'm not a scientist, but you don't need to be one to see that it looks clear out there for launch day.” He had a smile on his face.
“We look at a little more than the clouds, but yes, we are good for take-off, Major.”
“Jolly good!” he said. He then turned and was off. There seemed no reason to delay them any further, and indeed the Major was just passing the time, increasingly nervous. There was little he could really do about things now. That responsibility was with Lincoln and his team and the teams that were situated in the other offices that were located on that part of the base, away from cameras and watching eyes, kept secret from a world that really didn't need to know too much. And one of the biggest mysteries of the last decade was finally about to be launched. There was a real buzz in the air on the base at that moment.
Twenty seconds afternoon on that bright Monday lunchtime, the first probe successfully launched, was racing up through the sky. At about half the size of a standard Mini car, and weighing about the same, what the probes lacked in size, they more than made up for in power. Their nuclear potential was by far the most anyone had ever produced, and safely up in space, it was assumed their risk would be minimal. Over the next twelve hours, the other three would be launched. Each one had its own unique orbit that consisted of anywhere up to thirty-seven loops of the Earth before it repeated the pattern. Once launched, the four probes would work together, mapping the planet in a whole new way, but controlled centrally from the base-camp computer. It was a technological first, a piece of future-proof machinery that could adapt and develop with breakthroughs on Earth. A triple blend of nuclear science, NASA experience and British engineering.
At half past one, the probe entered into its consistent orbit pattern, and its feedback showed all systems were functioning well. It was then locked into the computer's mainframe, which acted as its invisible anchor point.
Everybody celebrated the news. High-fives erupted around the office, and the press releases were being given one final read through, though they wouldn't be sent out until tomorrow when the last probe had launched. The press releases were highly censored anyway, reporting the main points but obviously leaving the details lite.
Lincoln left the office for some fresh air. It had gone two, and he was hungry, having been locked away indoors for too long, only now appreciating the beautiful weather for himself.
The Major came walking over to him, also noticeably more relaxed.
“A hell of a job you all did there if I do say so myself.”
“Thanks, Major. We are thrilled to have finally reached this stage. It's a huge boost for the UK today.”
“Yes, indeed. Well, I won't keep you. I'll come back for the other three when it's time.” With that, the Major shook Lincoln's hand and walked away. There were four-hour intervals between each of the launches, so it meant there was still around two hours left before the second of the four probes was being sent into orbit. Lincoln hoped to catch a little sleep before then, so ten minutes after going outside, a sandwich and banana successfully devoured, he made his way back in. Finding a quiet corner in a dark room, he lay down for his regular twenty-minute power nap.
It had been several hours since the last probe had launched, all four now locked into position, and the early signs were promising. The global mapping process was about to take place. It was half past three in the morning. Lincoln lay sleeping on the sofa in the break-out area; a random room put together some years back to give the personnel somewhere to sit in comfort, unwind, talk but mainly sleep.
“Lincoln, wake up,” came the call, as someone was shaking him by the shoulder. Lincoln stirred and within a moment was wide awake, a habit all light sleepers pick up only too quickly. He could tell by the expression on the face of this young assistant that something was wrong.
“It's the first probe. It's stopped responding,” he said. Lincoln jumped up, and having fallen asleep in his uniform, walked straight out of the door and into the main control room, which directly connected to his office.
Most people were there, moving around frantically or just staring at a computer screen. He could see Robert and Eleanor in the office. Major Jeffers walked over to Lincoln as soon as he appeared.
“They say we've lost contact with one of the probes,” the Major said, repeating the only piece of information that Lincoln had been told for sure so far.
Lincoln took in the screens: the monitors recording the feedback, the maps that were tracking the orbits, the latest readings before they lost the signal. None of it added up.
Lincoln put his arm on the shoulder of the Major in a supportive way.
“We'll get to the bottom of this, Major.”
“Then what are you waiting for? We have a lot riding on this, you know!”
Lincoln knew that onl
y too well. He walked quickly into his office which was alive with activity. Not looking up but knowing Lincoln was in the room, Robert said from his desk:
“The first probe took itself offline about twenty minutes ago. The other three are still responding, and everything is reading normally. We've recorded a deceleration in its airspeed over the last ten minutes.”
“It's slowing down?” Lincoln questioned.
“It would appear so, yes.”
Eleanor spoke up at that moment.
“I'm looking into the processing side, working with the last recorded readouts from the probe before losing control of it. I want to make sure it's not a programming issue.” That had mainly been her responsibility. It was therefore unlikely to be the case. She carried on typing away, her keyboard speed rivalling that of any touch-typists at over eighty words a minute.
It was going to be a long day.
4
Present Day
Lorna sat down in the new look hospital canteen, with a tray of food she probably wouldn't eat and a cup of coffee, if you could call it that, warming her hands. She took a sip and turned her nose up at it as she lowered it back to the table. At least it kept her hands warm.
She had not eaten in a long time, had been working for hours, and yet nothing appealed to her. She felt emotionally spent. It seemed as if she would soon lose the ability to handle anything. Still, she figured, maybe that was better than feeling all the hurt and sorrow that could otherwise overwhelm her.
People were coming and going around her. Two people came and sat down in the spare seats on her table. They didn't say anything. She didn't mind. Their old canteen had been reassigned to accommodate more people, using old military hospital beds. Lorna was doubtful that she had ever been in this room before. It now more resembled a fast food restaurant than it did a quiet and sedate hospital canteen. How things had changed over the last few days.