Hidden Federation, page 7
Erind sat on his right, without food, sipping from a golden metal challis. On his left were two young Miiftians, possibly the king’s children, and a female of the species. Emily guessed at female. She had no knowledge of the sexes of this species, but she had less rugged features to her pyramidal head and sported more colourful clothing.
King Debruek finished his dish and spoke, ‘Etolda, take the children from the room. I have matters of state to discuss with Erind.’
Etolda did not reply. She tapped the children on their backs and signalled for them to follow her. They disappeared through one of the doors.
‘Boy, bring me some wine,’ said Debruek and a servant jumped into action, pouring from a large, ornate and bejewelled flask into a goblet similar to that which Erind was using. ‘Do you need more?’ Debruek asked his guest.
‘No, sire. Thank you.’
Debruek rose from the table and meandered over to the same luxurious seat Emily remembered from the last scenario. Erind followed and sat in one of the simpler chairs facing the king.
‘So, Erind, no sign of the Arlucians? I said we’d see them off.’
‘Yes, sire. So far, so good, but it has only been a week.’
‘We know they can travel extremely quickly. If they were going to return, they’d have been here within a day or two.’
‘We can hope, sire. Another battlecruiser entered orbit yesterday, Your Highness and is being fitted out as we speak,’ said Erind.
‘So, we’re ready for anything?’
‘We’re ready for some things, but I fear their technology, sire. If their weapons are as advanced as their ships, we could still face trouble.’
A warbling sound could be heard and Erind took a small, flat device, like a cell phone, from his tunic pocket. ‘Excuse me, sire. I should answer this.’ Debruek waved impatiently for him to go ahead.
Erind listened. His eyes widened and, despite his features being alien to Emily, she felt she was witnessing absolute shock and horror passing across his face.
‘Sire,’ he said, but almost immediately a siren blasted out through every room of the palace.
‘What is it?’ shouted the king above the din.
‘We’re under attack, sire! A fleet of Arlucian ships.’
‘Deal with them!’ commanded the king.
‘Too many,’ said Erind.
‘How many?’
‘Hundreds, sire!’
From somewhere outside the palace came a huge explosion. The windows blew inwards and the whole building shook. Parts of the ceiling collapsed, and Emily saw Erind thrown across the room as a second shockwave from another explosion tore through the building.
All of a sudden, Emily felt disorientated and instead of looking through Debruek’s eyes, she was now seeing the scene from the other side of the room through the eyes of Erind.
She coughed, or rather Erind did, as dust filled the room and slowly began to settle. Her hip hurt, or rather Erind’s hip hurt, but she could feel real pain. Everything was covered in a coat of dismal, greyish powder. Erind could see the “boy” dusting himself off and looking towards the king. Erind turned over, let out a yell as he discovered his wrist had broken, and tried to sit up, despite the nausea which flooded through his, and Emily’s, being. Emily felt as if she was close to passing out. Should she end the course now?
Where was the king? A scree of rubble was piled, almost the height of the room, over the place where King Debruek’s seat had been.
‘Quick, get help, boy,’ Erind shouted as he struggled to his feet, yelping in pain as his wrist fell limply to his side. Emily felt the pain. My God, it was so real! She wanted to know what was going to happen.
The boy ran from the room.
Erind limped over to the pile of masonry where the king had been sitting. No sign of him.
A dozen men ran into the room, led by the boy, rushed to Erind’s side, and began to pick at the stone, tossing lumps to each side as they tried to reach the king. For a moment, Erind wondered if one of the alabaster statues had fallen into this melee of broken rock, but no – it was the king’s arm, lying there, lifeless, poking out of the rubble.
The helpers redoubled their efforts to uncover the monarch, but Erind knew he was dead. He turned and staggered to a break in the wall.
The palace sat on a knoll overlooking the great eastern ocean of Miift, which covered a third of the world. Emily, and therefore Erind, stared into the distance. Giant waves crashed onto the shore. The streets were wet with saline incursions. Bombs must have landed in the sea too, creating enormous tsunamis which would have carried away anyone unfortunate enough to have been in the streets below. He looked at the central market square. Its rag, tag and bobtail of coloured canopies was gone. What remained were a few remnants of said canopies, lying tangled and shredded at exits from the market as evidence that the square had been flooded and all had been pulled along by the retreating deluge.
He could do no more in the palace. He needed to get to the defence ministry. His communicator worked no longer. No signal. The power must have failed. He could hardly see a single building which remained standing. What had the Arlucians hit them with?
Unsteady and in fear of further hurting his wrist and hip, he climbed clumsily down the rubble and onto a pathway which circled the palace. It was blocked by further falls of masonry in many places, but slowly he was able to climb over them or around them to progress towards street level.
What was this in the street? Rounded shapes like sacks of old clothes lay here and there. He used his boot to upturn one. Emily gasped with Erind as they saw the burned and crushed face of a young Miiftian girl. What had caused the burning?
His progress was slow, and he didn’t encounter another living person. A scoggle dashed out of the ruin of a building on the right. Its fur had been burned almost clean away. It tried to bite Erind’s leg, but he managed to kick it, causing more pain to his damaged hip. The animal slunk away, whining, into the hole in a wall from which it had emerged.
No straight route was available to him and his wrist hurt with every step he took. The hospital was beside the defence building. Continuing that way was the best he could do. Smoke rose to the left, right, ahead and behind him. He coughed to clear the acrid dust from his throat, which had begun to hurt. Now his other hand bothered him. It felt hot, as if the air was scalding him, but only his exposed skin. The backs of his hands were becoming red, and marks, like the blisters of some contagious disease were appearing. Small at first but growing into painful welts. Emily didn’t know if she could stand this scenario any longer for she too, felt Erind’s pain. His walking slowed still further. Could he even make it to the ministry? What was attacking his skin?
He upturned another body. It’s skin was also red raw.
Erind unclipped his communicator, pressed a couple of buttons as he rested it in the crook of his bad hand, and swiped the screen. He lifted it with his good hand, although both were now equally painful, and waved it in the air. He stopped and looked at the screen. Emily saw pulsing red stars on the screen with the figures 153 flashing among them. She was thankful for Erind’s soliloquy which followed, or she might not have realised what was happening.
‘One fifty-three,’ Erind whispered to himself. ‘It must have been a nuclear bomb. The bastards nuked us.’
Emily felt nausea rising and then she was vomiting into the street. It wasn’t actually her, of course, it was Erind, but she felt the heaving and tasted the burning acrid mess as her stomach contents headed streetwise. Radiation was killing him. She was desperately close to crying “end course” but tried to hold on.
He, Erind, with Emily, tumbled forward and the connection was broken. Erind had parted company with Emily and with life itself. She didn’t quite see him make his final fall into the gutter for he was dead before he hit the ground.
The room faded away and the room-bot was speaking.
‘You have experienced scenario two of the Iasuqi history vista. You may remove your eye mask.’
Emily ripped it from her head and examined her hands, expecting to see blistering and peeling skin. The projection had been so realistic. The screen was once again portraying cliffs and waves crashing into them, plus inland shots of the rolling hills of what looked like English countryside.
‘You might feel unwell after that scenario, Emily,’ said the room-bot.
She still felt sick, but gradually the natural scenes dragged her back from the edge. In a minute she thought she’d recovered, but suddenly had to rush into the tiny toilet where she delivered up her breakfast. She struggled back to the seat.
‘It is suggested that you remain seated for at least five minutes to allow any disorientation to settle,’ said the room-bot. ‘You must wait at least forty-eight hours before returning for scenario three.’
It was closer to fifteen minutes before she felt well enough to face the streets of London once more. She didn’t think she’d ever return for the rest of the course. Erind’s death had been all too real.
9 Crossing Borders
General Dick Beech and Colonel Mike Henderson, both in jeans and sweatshirts, watched as the Buick slowed to a halt on US 7, just south of the border with Canada. A man dressed in tan trousers, white shirt and brown leather jacket, emerged from the driver’s door, walked around to the front of the car and lifted the hood.
Dick and Mike had been walking cross-country through the light woodland until they reached the highway. Next, they followed it south until they saw a wooden post with its top half painted bright green. They moved back into the woodland to keep out of sight of any traffic until the Buick arrived.
The driver leaned into the engine compartment, then walked to the rear of the vehicle and lifted the trunk. That was the signal.
Dick and Mike looked both ways along the highway. One car was heading in their direction from the north. They watched and waited.
The red Ford shot past the Buick, continued into the distance and eventually was lost to view.
The two men ran out of the woods, threw a couple of bulging backpacks into the trunk, jumped into the back seat and waited.
The driver looked up and down the highway, scanned the nearby woods, closed the trunk and hood, climbed back into the driver’s seat and headed south, keeping strictly within the speed limit.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Governor Arnold Pattison, Mark Lock and Bernie Laker had reached Los Angeles. Mark had a cousin who lived in Buena Park. Their nondescript Chrysler pulled up four houses down the street. They got out and walked to number twenty-two.
‘Mark,’ said a tall brunette woman in her thirties rushing into his arms. ‘We’ve been so worried. Isobel said you were heading this way, but there has been a real hue and cry out for you. You’ve been on every television channel.’
‘Guessed that, Diane. We’ve been keeping our heads down and using side roads,’ said Mark, extracting himself from the hug and introducing Governor Pattison and Bernie Laker. ‘Where’s Leon?’
‘At the store. He’ll be back shortly,’ Diane said.
‘We parked down the road. The car needs to be moved away from the area,’ said Bernie.
‘Right,’ she said, and called into the house, ‘Roger, are you there?’
A young lad, well over six feet tall, with a spotty complexion and mop of curly hair, appeared from somewhere in the hallway. ‘Mom?’
‘Give me the keys,’ Diane said to Bernie who handed them over complete with the Avis tag. ‘Roger, take this car to the mall and park it in a crowded car park.’ She looked back at the three men. ‘Anything in it you need?’
‘Yes, a holdall and two backpacks,’ said Mark.
‘Roger, go find your brothers and fetch the luggage, then get rid of the car,’ said Diane.
‘Right, Mom,’ the youth said, then called his brothers to help him with the bags.
‘Come on in, let me get you some coffee or tea. Which would you prefer?’
They’d only just got their coffee and biscuits when the sitting room door opened and in marched Mark’s cousin, Leon. Introductions were made all round.
‘What’s your plan, Governor?’ asked Leon.
‘We’ve decided to get out of the country and try to work against Slimbridge from Federation territory,’ said Arnold. ‘What do you think is the best way over the border?’
‘I’m told there are no checks going out,’ said Leon. ‘If I drive, we should be able to get straight through. I’ll leave you once you are in Federation Mexico and come straight back. Already done that a few times for others. You’ll need to register as visitors to the Federation or residents but that’s all done well over the border. You’ll be in the clear by then.’
‘You’ll be safe too?’ asked Mark.
‘Yes. No bother. If there are police watching for you, we’ll return when they’re gone. Frankly, I think Slimbridge is so glad to have prevented California joining the Federation, that he’s really not too bothered about a few people heading over the border. From his point of view, it is the potential troublemakers who are leaving. Suits him fine.’
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Peter Stone, the Internet billionaire who was now a Federation citizen living in Canada, had been a key player in the successful operations of the Free America group. He was finding it very frustrating that he was unable to make use of Federation technology to assist further. Today he travelled to Moscow, trying to follow up a lead to obtain, of all things, a starship.
After checking-in to his hotel, he walked a few hundred metres and entered Red Square. On the left was the enormous department store, GUM. Inside, he entered the coffee shop near the fountain and ordered a light breakfast. He sat and placed his trilby on the table to one side and his camera and phone to the other.
Ten minutes later, a plump, middle-aged Russian woman sat down opposite him.
‘You having a good breakfast?’ she asked.
‘I am. Excellent.’
‘Peter Stone?’
‘The same. Are you Olga?’
‘I am,’ she said.
‘Are you able to help me?’
‘Indeed. Pay for your breakfast and come with me, I’ll be in the doorway,’ she said, standing and leaving the eatery.
Peter flashed his chip at the device on the table, rose, and ambled towards the entrance.
‘Come,’ Olga said.
They made an odd couple, walking through Red Square, dodging its hordes of tourists, until they reached a parking area outside the main square. They climbed four steps and entered the back of a box van.
Inside, there was a red circle painted on the floor.
‘Stand within the circle,’ Olga said.
Peter entered the circle and turned to face his host. All of a sudden, neither she nor the van were there. He’d arrived in the comfortable lounge area of a Federation starship.
An Arlucian walked over to him, looking slightly comic with its short legs and long torso. ‘Yol Peter Stone, yes?’
‘Indeed. Are you Yol Twedin?’
‘I am, welcome to the Golden Orne starship. Come over here, we’ll have some privacy.’ The Arlucian led Peter over to a sitting area beside a large window, through which most of Africa could be seen.
‘Coffee?’ asked Yol Twedin.
‘Please.’
‘You want a starship? To buy or hire?’ asked the alien, as he signalled a robot to take the order.
‘I’d like to buy one. It must be equipped with beaming technology and will need a crew.’
‘Small starships can be hired for a few thousand afeds, but it is rare to actually own one. They start at about a hundred thousand without QE drives. They would be fine for getting to and from your moon. To buy one of those, a large number of you would have to club together.’
‘That doesn’t suit me, Yol Twedin. I could arrange payment in US dollars, by setting up accounts for you and the crew, but I’d require a full starship with an on-board meeting room and two separate holding areas,’ said Peter.
‘My goodness, Yol Stone. It sounds as if you are planning something illegal. You sound as if you need a seventy metre ship, which would need a skipper, crewman and a few robots. That would cost in the region of six million American dollars. I could be the captain. How would this work?’
Peter leaned forward and spoke quietly. ‘That sort of money is no problem and can be deposited in a US bank for you. An additional one hundred thousand dollars would be deposited in American bank accounts for each of the crew. How does that sound?’
‘Who would be the owner? It is illegal to sell technology to the United States.’
‘I’d be the nominal owner, but the money would come from a corporate body in Seattle. Can you work with that?’
‘Yol Stone, you are risking a lengthy stasis if you are caught doing this, so will any crew and, unfortunately, myself. What’s it for?’
‘Sorry, Yol Twedin, that’s not something I am going to divulge.’
The Arlucian looked hard at the Internet guru. ‘Not enough,’ he said.
‘Name your price, but take into account, that when we finish with the starship, you will have it back and can sell it to someone else.’
‘Okay,’ he said and continued to think. ‘Ten million for the ship, five million for me and two crew at five hundred thousand dollars each, and you have a deal.’
‘You drive a hard bargain, Yol Twedin,’ said Peter. ‘You have your deal. I’ll tell you when we want it and for how long. Probably only a week or two. I will require a room on board set out like page one in this folder and two holding areas for male and female humans in a separate area. You are to change the ship’s name to “Spangled Banner”. Is that all clear and agreed?’
‘I want my five million paid in advance before I start work,’ said the alien.
