Prometheus' Fire
Prometheus' Fire
In another room a separate machine was printing out a transcript of the signal, the paper cascaded down to the floor, and there it lay, and lay. No-one saw the paper, nor the lights, no-one even heard the beeps, no-one was expected to, but it was that hope, that chance that made it possible, that made it all worthwhile.
Actually, to say no-one saw that message is true, but a later message, 33 years further on was noticed, and not just noticed but scrutinized again and again. The implications of which far outweighed any of the first piece, but still, that first one was the beginning.
'Ok, I'll get to the point, you were right, your calculations are completely fine, we are all gonna die, satisfied.' He didn't shout, but still he hoped the tone might at least phase the character, but no, still he stared back, he seemed emotionless, that cold exterior seemed void of all feeling. 'For God sake, say something, the world as we know it will end and you just sit their, with your smug I told you so grin, say something.' Niall shifted uneasily in his chair, he wanted so desperately to regain control of the situation, but as the time passed his power slowly faded. Until, gone. He walked out.
His visitor shrugged, stood up, straightened his tie and entered an adjoining office, someone spoke.
'Phillip Jackson,' he was greeted warmly, that firm shake of the hand made Phil smile to himself 'good to see you, how you been, sorry about just now, well you know Niall, doesn't like being told his job, but, then again does anyone.' The speaker was a ageing man, well tanned, his hair was greying around the ears and behind his neck, his cigar and bright smile made anyone who met him, feel like he was their eccentric rich uncle. They would not be far out. Andrew G. Calder, made his first million by the age of twenty-eight, his second million a couple of months later and never looked back, a shrewd investor in the computer market he made Bill Gates look like Mickey Mouse, well, more to the point, he made Bill Gates feel like Mickey Mouse. It was his money that employed Phil, and most of his fellows, his annual donation of a hundred million dollars, was not just strange, but unheard of. However, being who he was, Calder did have an ulterior motive, those dreams, those endless dreams...
'Have I ever told you about that dream I keep getting?' he asked.
Hundreds of times. 'Not that I remember.'
'It goes like this, you know we sent that message off to the stars, 1973 I think, from a telescope somewhere in South America.' Just down the road in fact. 'Well, what happens is, I see this room, there's these lights flashing on and off, on and off, the signal is being received. Then it all goes blank, and returns, same room, just older, another message is received, a single word, from a single voice, the word was loud and prolonged, a scream it was 'help' and the voice, it was yours.' Phil moved he squirmed a little in his seat, you never mentioned that before. 'Of course then I wake up, I'm sweating, I'm panicking I just don't know what to do or were to go.' That's why I set up this project. 'That's why I set up this project. I want to send messages to stars that may actually receive them while peoples memories of me are still around.' It'll take a while to forget you. 'Which is why, I am slightly curious as to why my best astronomer is busily looking at an asteroid rather than the stars.'
It's a darn sight more interesting. 'Well, I was off duty at the time, and I thought it wouldn't do any harm, and in fact it didn't, I have made the breakthrough never repeatable in the history of the mankind.' To an unaccustomed observer, he pronounced the last nine words a little too proud given the circumstances. 'I just don't know why no-one noticed it before, a shift of that much is bound to be noticed by somebody, and the way it appears to be rotating quicker.' Given a couple of weeks we won't see anything. Pause. 'I assume now, given my findings you want them all focussed on it?'
'What, and miss our saviours? Now is the time we really need to look. Onwards and upwards.' He patted him on the shoulder and left by the main door, repeating his last phrase. Phil shook his head. He's gone.
The decor of this office would make it's owner out to be a cool, calculating determined man, mind firmly set on his own goals, and, as happens with all theories at one time or another, in this instance it was right. In it sat two people, one firmly in control of the situation, John Harris was his name, this was his office, and he wasn't going to let any of his employees tell him what to do, here of all places. The employee was looking very nervous, the strain on his face was so pronounced that he seemed to be fifteen years his own senior. He seemed to be mumbling.
'What exactly is your point, I would appreciate it if you could reach it soon, as I have an appointment in ten minutes.'
'Well,' not a good start, he admitted, but still a start, 'me and the guys, we think that, perhaps, just perhaps, this is not the best idea.' He gulped hard, the strain grew, his age increased.
'Just who, are 'the guys'?' Harris asked, his tone indicating not only impatience, but, ingratitude, annoyance and a general belief that this guy may actually be right.
'Us technicians, we don't think that we should change something that may have such a big impact. It just doesn't seem right, it's not like moving house. Perhaps, we should think about it more.' Bad thing to say, already fifteen years had been spent preparing, now, only a couple of months a way from the date, it might be seen as a little over-cautious.
'Isn't fifteen years enough, and if we don't someone else will. They'll all be grateful in the end. But, I'll tell you what' his voice seemed very calm, 'you worry about whether it will work, and I'll worry about whether it should. Now get out of my godamn office, and back to work,' he finally boomed. The technician beat a hasty retreat, and let Harris mull over the latest problem.
The daily traverse to work for most earthbound engineers might seem slightly ordinary when compared to the means of conveyance employed by this sextant. After first entering their suits, depressurising the intermediate chamber, and leaving their confines, they must board their buggy and travel at the comparative snails pace of 5mph (to avoid reaching escape velocity) to the building, then the same rigmarole is employed again, only in reverse. All for money, is it worth it? Probably.
Andrei Krychek, a former Latvian citizen, made his way to The Base, the call he had just received, had changed his mood dramatically, it meant working over 'night' at least two out of the next five days. Bad enough for terrestrial engineers nevermind 'aquilaneers', as they had christened themselves with their first, and last alcoholic drink. Andrei navigated the air locks in a leisurely pace, the news could wait, bad news always could, soon he was in the main chamber, the reactors already being brought up to pressure, a month later, this entire area would be uninhabitable. Just thirty days, and fifteen years planning would either be rewarded or otherwise wasted, and he knew it would be his responsibility either way. He walked over to the control room, there was a certain bounce in his step, but due to the situation, this was to be expected. Already there were the two others from his shift, Josh Reynolds and Paul Stirling, they were sitting playing cards, just as he entered Josh tossed down his last two with a flourish, they seemed to lurk in the air just that little bit too long before they slowly fell on to the pile.
'Two Jacks and out,' he explained. Andrei coughed, they looked up, he was looking a bit the worse for wear, his stubble, a month old and was now turning into a fully grown beard (must remind logistics to send electric razors, wet-shaving is a knack strangely impossible in less than normal gravity). His hair was a mess, unkept and greasy, he might as well have just come off from the streets, if he hadn't ben wearing his pristine white jumpsuit.
'Nothing to do?' Andrei asked, there was little menace in his voice, mainly because without his supervision, there was little possible.
'Just waiting for you,' as Josh spoke, Paul overturned the cards, they were in fact two Jacks, he sighed and collected them up. 'We're ready now.'
'Before we start, news from Harris, apparently his bosses are losing interest, they want results within a couple of months, which means it must be set going in a fortnight, ie we have five days to finish and start the tests, can we manage it?'
'If we could...' Paul started.
'I didn't ask for how we could, just if we could.'
'Yes.'
'We'd better get started then hadn't we.'
The next five days, in rotation with the other shift, they worked solid, when the limit was up, all work was completed, now the tests began, each reactor was put through over two thousand separate checks, and due to lack of computing power, no more than two of the fourteen reactors could be done at the same time. With two days to go it was obvious that time would make it impossible to complete the last two, Andrei called Harris to explain.
'I don't care how much it takes, we need them started the day after tomorrow.'
'Yes, but, we haven't checked all the reactors.'
'Any problems in the ones you have checked?'
'No, none of any importance.'
'Well, there probably won't be in the last few, what the hell, take a risk, if we don't were sunk for sure. When your stuck between a rock and a hard place, it's always worth shouting 'opensesame'. We might as well try.'
For an educated man, Harris made little sense when worried. 'Ok, but I want you to know, I'm against the whole idea.'
'Your opinions are noted, now get on with it.' Unwillingly he did.
Andrei sealed the airlock for the last time, and clambered in to his seat, the other five waiting for the go. He gave it. The capsule flew off, and with it the last people ever to set foot on the asteroid.
'I don't think you really want to know,' Niall Keegan was the speaker, how he'd been picked he'd never know, but the fact of the matter was everyone else had said a straight 'no', he'd said 'I'd rather not', and thus here he was.
'I think I'm a big boy now, tell me.'
'You remember about the dinosaurs, the meteor that killed them?'
'That bad,' he gulped.
'No, that was around 10km in diameter, when it hit, this will be about 35km. It's mass is about forty times more. If it hits, without any influence, every one at ground zero, and a couple of hundred, maybe a thousand miles around will be dead, burnt, hot ash, the rest? Well, apart from those killed in tidal waves, earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamai, the dust blown up cause a sort of permanent winter, for a couple of years at least.'
'That bad, huh. So what can we do?'
'That's the main point, we can do a lot, one hell of a lot, but we don't know how much good it will do. We could blast our arsenal of missiles, if we're lucky, we could break it to such a size so as to bide us some time, or save some people, but other than that,' Niall shrugged.
'This winter, can we survive?' the President asked, 'No, first, how long do we have?'
'Our estimates say about ten days.'
'How come it takes us months for the same distance?'
'They've got fourteen fusion reactors going flat out, we have a couple of liquid thrusters for only part of the journey. Anyway, their working on accurate figures now. The winter could be survived, if the meteor is smaller, and probably only if. but most will die, it won't just be the cold, but the lack of oxygen caused by the ash, it could kill within a few months. Our best bet is to try and nuke it, but we can only manage that at close range, about 1000km, maybe a bit more, I haven't the exact figures yet. But due to the acceleration, distance, gravity, and perfect accuracy. Earth was, I mean is, it's target, we have about ten maybe fifteen seconds to hit it, and only if we judge it accurately. We can't have them hit without exploding. We will need complete governmental co-operation.'
'I'm sure I could get that.'
'Anyway, if we miss in our first, and perhaps last sortie, we need preparations, otherwise everyone is dead. By the way, if we're lucky, we can just manage two sorties.
'I can get my team, and a few other departments working on the destruction, but we'll need some working on preparations in case some, or all hits.'
'I'll get on the phone to Britain, Russia, China, and the rest, see what I can manage. But, before you go, honestly what chance do we stand?'
'Honestly,' he thought for a minute, bugger all 'some.'
'One more thing, what,' he seemed to struggle for the word, 'happened?'
'Have you heard of the Cryston Labs?'
'I think so,' he glanced at his computer, keyed in the word 'Cryston', he read the text. 'Yeah, I helped get them permission for some tests on an aster...' He trailed off. Niall nodded
'Let's just say they tried too hard to play God.' Niall stood up and left with a sigh, the President muttered 'ship' several times, or at least that's what it sounded like. He glanced down at the screen saw one name then pressed on his intercom, one of the few idiosyncrasies he allowed himself, an archaic device.
'Joan, get me John Harris on the line... Yeah that's him... Oh, and while you doing it, get Jack to cancel any government contracts we have with them... Yes, I'm goddamn sure... get him to get any dirt on them and their employees and tell him to prosecute the pants off them, for anything from parking tickets to treason, he can call me here for the reasons if he wants.' That felt a little better. 'Oh, and, give Niall Keegan top clearance, anything he want's, and I mean anything, he gets, he's my new er... Special emergency administrator, equivalent military rank of Commander-in-Chief... Yes, the same rank as me... Sod the constitution, I'm re- writing it... I'm the President, you bet I can............ Ok, make him, directly below me, but any trouble and tell them to come to me.'
He picked up the hotline, admittedly it wasn't a nuclear crisis, but as good as.
'Welcome again,' how shall I start, here goes. 'The world, as you know is in one of the biggest struggles of it's life, the energy race is at it's peak, every industry is working like mad to keep up and make money. We are well out of the world recession. Now, more than ever the grossly over paid, so I'm told, bosses, they, well need a break, a place to relax, and what better place than space, a tailor made hotel, built on an asteroid. The perfect place, not just novel but relaxing, a gravity of virtually nothing, what better way to relieve stress. The holiday the weather can't spoil, because there isn't any,' a few laughed that kind of loyal laugh, only done by employees.
'How do we get it, I hear you whisper. We move it.' A proud smile crossed his lips. A few nervous laughs arose from the crowd, a British voice joked 'yeah, ring up Pickfords' no-one got it. An American said, 'strap a couple of boosters to it's back' they laughed.
'Close, we have actually bolted fourteen fusion reactors to the far side of an asteroid called Aquila, in a few minutes they will officially start working.' Someone muttered 'fusion' then a couple of tuts. 'Yes, fusion, it may seem ironic that terrestrial power stations must go through thousands of tests by independent bodies, we, in space don't, but what the public don't know won't hurt them.' An aide walked up on to the stage and whispered something. 'Ah, yes, we are about to start, if you can get comfortable, we will start the countdown shortly.' The British voice seemed about to hum something but decide against it. Harris stepped down from the stage and sat on the front row as a screen was slowly uncovered from behind the blue drapes, the lectern, and podium upon which it was sat gently lowered, giving a clear view of a blank screen. The room darkened. The screen flickered to life, in the centre a photo, or was it a video picture, of the asteroid appeared, on it's left was a figure, 268 352 241km, above it was the word 'distance'. To the left of Aquila, was written 'Reactors', below that a column of numbers, one to 14 and 'off' beside them. The bottom right had a countdown clock, it read one minute twenty seven seconds, and lowering. The silence that filled the room wasn't even nervous apprehension, there hadn't been time for that, ten minutes after entering and an asteroid was going to be shifted for a hotel, it would be classed as unbelievable, but it had to be believed, it was happening, the timer neared forty five seconds, when someone mustered up a voice.
'Stop, are you mad, this is wrong, this is very wrong, do you know what this could do, you must stop it,' the timer continued, it trickled down to twenty seconds, another person stood up, 'he's right, you can't seriously do this, it's not yours to play with, so what if it makes you money...' but no-one was listening, no-one was even looking, all eyes stared intently at the screen as the timer reached nought, one by one, the reactors turned 'on', all but number fourteen, it lingered off for several minutes, Harris called into a mouthpiece and soon it was on. The time for complaints was over. It had begun.
Few stayed longer than necessary, they left quietly, stunned into submission. At T plus ten minutes, they were all gone, Harris was alone, he talked into his mouthpiece.
'What was wrong with fourteen?'
'Some connection got stuck, we're A OK now, though. Just under twenty hours before shutdown. We can mange from now on.'
'Fine, I'll see you tomorrow.' With that he left.
'Yeah?...What kind of problem?...Fourteen, the one that wouldn't start?...How bad?...None of them?...No over-ride?...That failed as well?...What will happen?...You're kidding?...Everyone?...Jesus...It sure has, and a nuclear powered fan at that...Nothing we can do?...I suggest?...Suicide sounds a good option.' He hung up.
His body was found slumped outside his window, six floors down, a single note in his pocket read, 'To hell with capitalism.' The paramedics, did their best, but in their words, 'he'd lost the will to live.'
A purr.
A click.
A voice.
'The White House, how may I help you?'
'The President please, this is Niall Keegan.'
'I'll put you through to one of his secretaries.'
'No, not his...' the connection was already made.
'Assistant Presidential secretary, how may I help you?'
'I'm Niall Keegan, I need to speak to the president.'
'I'm diverting you to my superior.'
'No, the President...' Too late, the connection changed, light specially prepared calming music designed to soothe even the most annoyed person failed in it's job. A couple of minutes later.
'This is the President's senior secretary, how may I help?'
'I... NEED... TO... SPEAK... TO... THE... PRESIDENT... DO... YOU... UNDERSTAND'
'No need to shout, Mr er...?'
'Keegan, Niall Keegan.'
'You should of said, we've been waiting for you to call. I'll put you through.'
'Thank you' Thank God. Pause.
'Niall, any more news?'
'No, just want to know, Press?'
'Not if we can help it, Russia isn't helping, doesn't believe us, Britain is keeping it under wraps but will help, the rest say they'll follow our lead. What do you think?'
'Your the boss.'
'No, in this instance you are, I've appointed you my direct deputy, militarily and politically, you know more, I will bow to your knowledge. Anyway, if it hits, the public won't care, afterwards anyway. If it doesn't hit I'll either be a hero or a criminal, I can't tell. So up to you.'
'...'
'But my aide just want's to point out something.'
'Project Wells, done every five years, estimates panic about catastrophe's. You know, Orsen Wells' War of the Worlds scare. It says, in this kind of instance, the public will be fine for the first day, a few may panic, after that the rest will panic, it will take a fortnight or more for everyone to come to their senses, and even then they may not be much help. The report recommends if any crisis will happen within two months from the date, press blackout, anything longer than that, full disclosure.'
'Fine, blackout.'
'I heard you had some trouble getting through, I'll get my secretary to give you some password or something, that should solve the problem.'
'Good idea. I'll call when there's more news.' There the conversation ended, the secretary gave the code.
Niall glanced down at his pad. The scribblings were completely incomprehensible at first but slowly the list formed in his eyes. He made a few corrections:
Exact calculations
Nuclear arsenal - clearance?
Food - water - AIR! - clothes -- how much can get? where? when?
Secrecy! - no press
Shutdown - try Cryston, probably no chance, probably already tried
Sabotage - no, too fast, can't get on
Help!!!!!
He scribbled out the last word. No time for emotions, we got a job to do. He rang around a few places. After half an hour, a couple of dozen disbelieving gasps and a near heart attack, his team was organised. They decided to meet here, at his house. It wasn't much but it would do.
They began to arrive after five minutes, Angela Miles, the first entrant lived just down the road, Niall offered a drink and quickly detailed the problem. He'd prefer to do it all together but with time at a premium, he needed people at work promptly. Angela was a spectacled young lady, mid to late twenties, ginger hair, not breath-takingly attractive, but a face you couldn't help staring at, she was rather on the short side. She was an expert, though not the best, she would be the first to admit that, in the field of theoretical physics, in particular, space. She should be able to perform the needed calculations. When the explanation was complete, there followed a series of questions. Have you got a computer, yes; where, over here; can I have a cup of tea and a pizza, just a minute; the door bell was ringing. It was someone for Angela, an assistant, he suspected, in one hand a pizza and the other a flask of tea. Niall welcomed him in, and showed him to the work area. They started talking and Niall left them to it. Walking back to his main desk, he made a detour to the drinks cabinet, just about to pour himself a drink when the phone started. It was ICI (USA), sales manager, curious if he really wanted that much oxygen, and in such a short time. Yes, he confirmed. That's the President sorted out. He walked back to the cabinet, reached for the bottle, then declined, reaching instead for a Coke, clear head.
He sat down and thought through it all again. It just didn't seem as complicated now. Wait for it to get near enough, fire the missiles, just make sure they hit accurately, and we're home and dry. Get everything else just in case. No problem. The chance of us missing such a large thing with so much preparation is minute. We can do it. With that positive thought, he slept.
'How advanced are they?'
'Not much, but they showed promise.'
'Ours are keeping hidden well?'
'As far as I know.'
'Check! It is important they are not seen, you must know that by now.'
'Yes, sir. Never the same mistake twice.'
'Good, see to it. Report your findings when you have them.' The voice dismissed the officer.
'Well, that is what it seems. What are your orders?'
'Arm ours, contact any agents find when they are to be launched and use ours to disrupt their launch sites as well as possible. We must be prepared.'
'Good choice, sir. Right away.'
Nikolai moved from the door sat at his desk and continued the typing, thoughts mulled over in his head. Plans beginning to hatch. Must tell them. Vladimir left, a smile on his lips and thoughts in his mind. The Americans will not know what hit them.
'Nikolai, here.'
He did as he was bidden. 'Yes? President.'
'I want you to send a message to one of our operatives in the west. The communication suite will be empty. No-one must know. The message is mission engaged, use channel 17. That's all.'
'Right, President,' and left.
The President picked up his phone, dialled. 'Kill Nikolai Bryzant, He is a spy, he will be transmitting a message to the west. Let him send the first message.' He hung up. Nothing must stand in the way.
As Nikolai headed to the suite the thought struck him, all channels are monitored, I could send a separate message, or even add to the message. No, alert him, use second message, Channel D, secure enough. He reached the suite, it was empty as promised. First message was sent, his message being mentally encoded, suddenly the door flung open, two armed guards entered, four shots hit his head, the soldiers turned around and left. Nikolai lay on the floor, his head virtually destroyed, yet still he was thinking. God they're right, oxygen still gets to the remaining brain, I'm still... His thoughts trailed off as death overcame his feeble mind.
Niall dialled a number. 'This is Hercules, I need to talk with the President.' First part of the code, no trouble, but why Hercules?.
'With regards what, sir?'
Second part, 'Prometheus.' Why?
'I'm putting you through.' Click.
'Niall, news?'
'Accurate figure, nine days, two hours and five minutes, Friday 19th, at fourteen twenty two hours. Impact in California.'
'Anything else?'
'Could you speak to NASA, I need access to their computers, they don't believe me.'
'No trouble. That all?'
'For now.' Click.
Niall waited ten minutes, checking on the various teams. All the groups were facing similar problems, press and lack of time. Just hope we can destroy it. The military section were working on trajectory for the missiles, 'two days and it will be perfect double checked, ready for the off. What impression it will have on it we don't know, and because we don't know enough about it, we can't work out if it will hit afterwards.'
'Fine, just make sure it's perfect...' the phone rang, 'excuse me.' He walked over and answered it.
'... Yes... A room with computers... Large... Washington... Has it got access to the main network... That's all that matters... Address?... That's 36 Chris Kraft Road... Yeah got it... Thanks.'
'Right I need everyone's attention, all those who need computers and more telephones can go to 36 Chris Kraft Road, I'm sure you can find it. Everyone else can stay.' Several groups collected up various bits and pieces and left. Soon the house was empty.
'Fine! I'm going to bed, wake me in a couple of hours,' he said to no-one in particular.
'Sure,' they replied.
Many people have tried to break away from the convention, many have failed. It seems that the public, the readers, want a good happy point in the story. The want this poor lead to have some happiness, after they have saved the world, nearly been killed, whatever, it seems only fair. Only a daring writer would break this rule.
I'm a coward.
'Bugger.' The phone rang.
'Yes?' she enquired.
'It's Max, from NASA. Thought you should know. Something big going down. President rang up my boss. Says give Niall Keegan anything he wants. Quoting National Security as the excuse. Interested.' Vicki had always admired the way Max could manage to get shorten such a simple story so it was the same length and completely incomprehensible.
'I'll give it a try, thanks.' Max breathed in, he seemed about to say something. 'I won't mention you.' A sigh of relief on the phone. Click.
'Keegan, Keegan, Keegan, Keegan.' The name rang no bells.
She grabbed her phone book, looked up the name, reached to tear it out and suddenly there was an image in her head. A pile of phone books each with on page missing, the cost in total beside them. Reality. She reached for a pen and copied out the name.
She found the place quite easily, a nice house, cheery. She waited in her car, examining the occupants. There appeared to be just the one, he was pacing nervously. She got up and walked to the door. Let me see, I don't know him, I don't know what it's about, I don't even know if it's true, why am I doing it. She rang the bell.
'Just seen?'
'No, seen and identified.'
'I thought you said they were not advanced.'
'They aren't, weren't, it just seems a fluke.'
'Fluke? This fluke has caused the loss of one ship and a hell of a lot of data, not to mention a promising officer.' A queried look appeared in the officers eye. 'You.'
'Hello?' No reply. He replaced the receiver and walked to the door.
Opening it, 'Hello?'
'Vicki Walden, Washington Post, could you spare a few minutes.' She flashed an ID card.
'Shit, shit, shit' he mumbled, and tried to slam the door. Too slow. Her foot was already in the way.
'I could quite easily tell every journalist in Washington, if not America if you prefer, I'm sure they'd be fascinated, by this cover up.' Cover up? she thought, risky!
Niall thought for a minute then, 'but, any information you write, can only be published next Saturday, the 20th.'
Eh? 'Sure.' He let her in.
She surveyed the interior. It was plain without seeming surgical, the main colour was black, but that was offset by the general light pastel shades of the walls, and hints of other colours at various points around the house. The main seat, three-seater, was covered in papers and various books as well as several cans. Niall rushed to clear it off so she could sit, but by the time he had, she was out of the room looking round the rest of the house. To her it seemed very enclosed, she asked about it.
'I know, I went to university in England, I liked their houses, cosy they call it.'
'Cramped, I think,' she replied. Niall shrugged.
She tried the kitchen, very full, every single cup, glass, plate and mug seemed to have congregated in the area where a sink should be, it probably was there. She left hastily otherwise she would feel obliged to help clear it up. The bathroom, empty, it was very surgical, almost blinding so. Bedroom, it had a kind appearance to it, the bed quilt crumpled up like an impossible origami model, the corner housing a wicker chair, in another corner a TV. Vicki picked up the sheets, shook them up, they landed perfectly on the bed. She sat on the corner. Rule number one of interviewing, take control, make the interviewee as nervous as hell. Niall walked over to the chair and sat.
'Impertinent aren't you?' he asked.
Control? 'Curious,' was the curt reply.
'Well?' he asked, eyes staring intently at her face. It was calm, not cool, but warm, friendly, very off-putting. Stare somewhere else. Down. Her legs, he stared at her legs, she crossed them. Not the legs. Up. Her mouth. She smiled. No, down. Her chest, she breathed. Phew, maybe not. He gave up and decided on the eyes. She stared hypnotically and he changed to the picture behind her.
'Well what?' What am I here for? Oh yes, I know. 'Oh, I'm just wondering why you haven't told anyone about it, it seems very newsworthy.' Safe start.
'We don't want to cause panic. If you though that thing would hit you, you'd panic.'
Something's going to hit? Where? What? When? 'Where will it hit?'
'Central California, but it's so big and so fast it will affect everyone, possibly fatally.'
Fatally, she gulped, when, what. 'When will it hit?'
Does she actually know anything? 'Next Friday, the 19th.' That's it, straight short answers, no more information than necessary. Don't embellish.
What, though? How can I ask, without him knowing I know nothing? 'Er, how big is it?'
'30 kilometres in diameter.'
Call from NASA, must be in space, no space station that size. Must be a comet. Or asteroid. 'This comet, what's it's name?'
Comet? Did I say it was a comet? 'This asteroid, is called Aquila. And before we go any further, you do remember your promise. I'm sure being a journalist, you're likely to break it, but don't decide what you are going to do until you here the whole story.'
Being a journalist? And he says I'm impertinent. But it seems fair. 'Fine.'
He explained everything.
'Yes, his name is Simon McKenzie, he's one of our best,' the reply came from the Deputy Director of the CIA, he seemed very proud.
'And, if the Russians are planning anything, he'll tell us?'
'He'll find a way, and just in case, we have a second guy there, Allan Statesley, working in the military, a secretary I think.'
'So, every aspect is covered, that silence they gave me seemed very ominous.'
'Nothing to worry about, they're just being Russians.'
'But, that's what I am worrying about.'
'So, is it print and be damned?' a cynical menace seemed to leak into his voice, unintentionally.
Git! We're not all the same. One more comment like that and I'm out of here. 'No, you can trust me.'
Trust? 'Trust you? I don't even know you.'
'Do you want to?'
'What?'
'Get to know me.'
Yes! no, well, maybe. 'You journalists like these loaded questions, don't you?'
She got up to leave.
A voice inside him screamed, he stood up, 'wait' she was out of the room 'I'm sorry' down the hall, 'I do,' she paused, 'I do want to get to know you.' Happy now.
'Good' she walked back to the room. She sat again. Niall did likewise, he put his elbows on his knees, and cupped his forehead in his hands. A silence filled the room. He lifted his head, his hands sliding down his face until his chin was resting on his thumb joint. He stared at her again, her face, her lips, her eyes, her smile, her hair. To say she wasn't beautiful would be a lie, she was, but it wasn't just that that made her seem so different, it was... he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Meanwhile the silence prevailed.
Vicki broke it. 'You seem so calm and straight, even boring as well as being strong, but you now seem to be weak, awkward, positively shy. Why? Is it me?' Just one question Vicki, why did you ask that?
'In a way it is you. Shall I explain?' She nodded. 'Well, at school, I was always the quiet one, I always behaved in a certain way, it seemed to me that that was the way people wanted me to act, and so I did, I did it mainly because it was easier than being who I was, which was something I didn't even know myself. Anyway, it seemed that living my life how others wanted me to live it, or how I thought they wanted me to live it, annoyed me, it just didn't seem right. So I blamed everyone else, not verbally but mentally, I kept saying to myself it's all the fault of society, it's not your fault. After a few years like that I realised that though society has a lot to answer, for my problems weren't included. So I changed, I acted how I wanted, it seems so much better. Now I only resort to my earlier stage when people get to know me more than I feel I should, they seem too close. Then it takes me a while to work out that you can't be too close, in this world you need all the help you can get.' It seemed he had hardly thought for a second in the entire speech, Vicki was impressed.
'You think you are getting too close to me?'
'No' Great, self-denial, pretend it isn't true, if you don't know how can she. 'Maybe.'
'But, don't even know me, as you said.'
She's right. Oh shut up. 'I just thought of a great analogy, remember the early cameras?'
'Not first hand, but...'
'Well, over the first few years, people refused to have pictures taken of them, they said it took part of the soul. That's what it's like, it's like each time I open up, I lose part of myself, I am not so much me, more er, well, something else' good start, crap ending. 'Anyway, tell me about yourself.'
'I don't think I can be as personal as you were, I am a journalist after all, but..' she told him.
Niall listened intently, he was fascinated. It seemed she was going to go to MIT to do a course in Astrophysics, then go onto NASA, but, she just didn't seem to fit in, after just half a term she left, returned home and started to work for the local paper. It turned out she was quite good at it and a couple of years later she was snapped up by the 'Washington Post' as their Head of Scientific affairs, admittedly their wasn't that much stuff they printed but the pay was good and every shuttle launch of any significance gave her something to do. She liked music, not classical, nor any of that modern stuff, 70's and 80's she preferred. She loved reading and travelling, but sport doesn't appeal to her. She went on about her family and childhood. When she finished Niall got up and got a drink each, then they settled down again.
I decided to have this part as a 'choose-your-own' bit. And in fact, surprisingly, that is what you do. You can choose that they:
a) have wild rampant sex through half the house (perfect for the lecherous old men)
b) fall asleep in each others arms re-telling childhood anecdotes (ideal for the corny romantic)
c) they discuss world politics in a heated debate (good fun for you bores)
d) they play chess (wonderful for the intellectuals among you)
e) one of your own, on the condition that they are still speaking at the end and that Vicki leaves the house in a good mood at around eight the next morning.
Personally the second appeals to me, but, as I said, that's my choice.
Now wasn't that fun!!
The idea was simple, ever since the cold war there had always been the threat of accidental war, so what was decided was that the head of the military should be the most trusted person, this worked for several years until Chechenya, the second time around, but it was an uninhabited part anyway. The new idea was to have three generals in charge, and two must agree for anything to happen, it was called a troika, a three horsed carriage. And it worked, so far anyway.
Leonov corrected the letter. Reached for the next one and continued.
From the main door in walked three men, all in uniform all with hands behind their backs. 'Brzeski!' shouted one.
'Nikolai is dead' said another.
'Who?'
'Nikolai Bryzant. Simon McKenzie,' came the reply.
He flinched, or he thought he did, dead? 'Both of them, I'm sorry, did you know them.'
'You did. You knew him.'
'No, I think you're mistaken, I'm not the only Brzeski you know.'
'You calling me stupid,' said the stupid looking one in the middle. He looked impatient, nervous, his finger itched.
'No, just mistaken.'
'Right' He pulled the gun from behind his back and fired at Leonov's leg.
The pain seared. He screamed. A look of disgust crossed his two comrades faces, Leonov wasn't sure if it was at him or the stupid one.
'Did you know him?'
'No!' The second shot struck his shoulder bone an unlucky (lucky) ricochet caused it to fly up and embed itself behind his eyes, death came within seconds. The other two looked shocked as he collapsed. It was all wrong, it wasn't, meant to be this way. They all left calmly.
'Friends, we are gathered here firstly to mourn the loss of one of our ships and all the crew, yet they are not dead, it is one of the cruel ironies really. Friends, relatives, acquaintances even complete strangers are being mourned by us, yet they are still alive, to themselves at least and will be forever, who would want immortality. But then again they knew the risks, as do you, they knew the problems of living how they did, but, it just still doesn't seem right.' He paused, letting this sink in. 'Anyway, I have asked our greatest if they can come up with an alternative. And here they are.' Two stood up some distance from the chair.
The left one began first. 'To decide on a better method and whether it is really necessary, we must first ascertain what went wrong. As you know our ships are able to travel infinite distances between infinitely different universes, and then between different stars in them etc. We do this by not actually existing.' This always gets them. 'We slip into another dimension so we do not actually exist in any universe. We can hide like that for however long we want, but despite no actually existing we do leave a slight trace in the universe we are nearest, this is generally in the form of a sharp bright light. Sometimes it is seen by the specimens, but is ignored as a star. But, as in this instance, it can be identified as what it is. Once that occurs, it exists, it can no longer travel the distances needed, it is, in effect, mortal. To use an analogy of these specimens, it is like Schrödinger's cat, if you put a cat in a box then a vial of poisonous gas in with it, and the vial will only break if an isotope decays, the cat is neither dead nor alive until you look, our ship is neither here nor there until it is observed, once it is observed it must comply with that universes laws of physics, it must exist.'
The other one finished. 'The only way in fact we can improve it is if we make it so we leave no visible sign on the current universe, which I am afraid is impossible. With no link, we cannot return, we would remain beyond time forever. We just have to live with it.' Or die with it.
After a little ceremony the court closed.
The drive to the building was as horrible as driving could be. The traffic was slow but moving the people hot and bothered, the tempers flaring. It was long slow slanging match. He arrived just after nine thirty. The building was quite full, half of the people asleep at their desks. He walked over to Angela, [What do you mean 'Angela who'? Angela Miles, I mentioned her 8 or nine pages back, halfway back from here, she's working on when the asteroid will hit exactly, and how to stop it. Yeah, you remember the one with the computer, asked for a pizza. That's the one.] she'd just woken up, a polystyrene cup of tea in her right hand and a cold slice of pizza in her left, he smiled, she grimaced.
'How's it going?' he asked.
'We now know exactly where, when and how hard it will hit, we know at what point in the trajectory to fire the missiles, we know when to explode them, and we know what effect they will have.' Niall raised his eyebrows.
'?' he asked
'Well, roughly what effect it will have. Which is, it will split in two and both will miss. Well what now?'
'I'll get back to you' He walked over to the press team. They seemed bored. It seemed it had been kept well under wraps. He thanked everyone gently and suggested that if everyone thought they could afford it they should go home to get some rest. A volley of cups flung themselves from the people who had just slept on keyboards and swivel chairs. Niall decided it safer to leave.
He wandered out of the building and walked over to he park, Thomas Paine Park. Built to commemorate the bicentenary of his death, about time they did something it was decided. He stopped off for a paper, The Washington Post he decided upon. He glanced at the folded top half:
EXCLUSIVE:
THE END OF
It read. She's done it, he thought, she promised, but she lied, the bitch, cow, [and various unpleasantries only possible as thoughts]. Meanwhile, during this verbal, sorry, mental, barrage, the paper slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor, the rest of the headline showed:
CLARKSON?
A story about the latest presidential scandal. Oops. He picked up the newspaper and walked over to a bench, he sat and glanced through, see if there were any articles by her. Two it turned out, the first a half page on animal testing, the needs for it. And the second a couple of paragraphs about computers, the vile and horrible spores of satan, the breath of the devil, they were worse than the Jackson's, even worse than the French, and for her final insult, more despised than her mother-in-law on a bad day. This through Niall a little. He just sat there, staring into space. He put the newspaper to one side. Suddenly in a flash of coincidence [you know, in stories, films etc., the ones you hate but always wish would happen] a voice was heard.
'Hi, how are you, what are you doing here?' [it's Vicki if you haven't guessed]
'Pretty bad, feeling pretty bad.'
Her smile left, 'fine, why?' she said realising it was probably going to be her. She sat, first picking up the paper, spotting her article.
'That' he said jabbing his finger at it.
'Which bit?'
'Read it.'
She did so. Nothing. She looked blank.
'Again'
She did, this time she saw, she laughed. 'Have you ever heard of poetic licence and using a cliche?'
'Oops, I never thought of that.'
'Now that's sorted, want a hot-dog'
Niall sat there feeling rather stupid, and hungry, then decided he might as well just feel stupid, and followed her.
'Aren't you slightly annoyed I didn't trust you.'
'Obviously, but me being annoyed would make you feel guilty, and you feel guilty anyway, so why bother.' She smiled.
'Fine, fine, logical, I think.'
'Two hot dogs please.' Niall looked up to see she wasn't talking to him but to the vendor where they had just arrived. 'Mustard?' she asked Niall this time.
'No, ketchup, can't stand mustard.'
'Everyone has mustard on their hot dog, it's tradition, it's American.'
'Not this American.'
'Not even a little.'
'No.'
'Sure.'
'Listen, I do not like mustard, I never have liked mustard, I never will like mustard, no mustard, zero mustardo, nil mustard, mustard de nil points, mustard,' he made a och err sound, like in game shows when people are wrong 'I DO NOT WANT MUSTARD!'
'You know what, when your angry, your not very funny. Nothing new there. Anyway you don't want normal mustard, how about some whole grain mustard' Vicki was grinning, 'only kidding.' She paid the vendor, they collected their snack and walked further down the path. They ate in silence for some distance.
'Did you know that Martin Luther King wrote Jackie Kennedy a letter after Dallas?'
'No?'
'It said, in the final section: Dreams are just misplaced realities' his eyes glazed over in the kind of, poet reading a favourite line, style 'and sometimes a man must become a martyr for people to notice.'
'It's beautiful, and ironic. I'd never heard that before.'
'Nor had anyone else I just made it up.' His face still as straight as ever.
'What?' her face full of incredulity.
'Kennedy never inspired it, King never wrote it, Jackie never read it, no-one but you and I ever heard it, funny really.'
There was another silence, they continued to walk, until they found a quiet shaded spot, when they sat on the grass.
Vicki broke the silence this time. 'It's strange.'
'Very' Niall replied deep in thought. 'Sorry, what did you say.'
'I said it's strange.'
'Mmmm,' he thought a little, 'what is?'
'Things generally.'
'Hhmmm,' a little more thought, 'anything in particular.'
'Well, it's strange how little things remind you of big things or vice versa.'
'Like?' he prompted.
'Like, people sitting in the park, talking, reading papers, playing, reminds me of a song, when I was young, Hey Now, I think it was called, a line in it went: And the papers today tell of war and of waste, but you turn right over to the tv page.'
'I remember, it was called Don't Dream It's Over, by, whadyacallit, whatstheirname, Australian group, Crowded ........ something.'
'Crowded House, the lyrics may not be accurate, but, well, it reminded me of it. People living their lives like before, like nothings happened. It's mad.' A phone rang. Niall answered, it was his mobile.
'Yeah... Hercules... Prometheus... ok' he rang off.
'Well?'
'Would you believe I was just live on Washington Rock Radio, and I've just won a trip for two to Malibu?'
'No.'
'Good choice, I've got to see the President, I'll tell you about it later, dinner, my place, eight thirty' he got up, kissed her on the forehead then hurried off before there was an answer.
'Why me, WHY ME.' A passer-by gave her a strange look. Vicki did likewise then left.
'Well done, but I want you to check the figures, just in case. Something this important can't be mucked up.
Anyway, the real reason I asked you here, is the papers, I know we promised no publicity, but I think to be on the safe side a little leak might save some lives if it hits.'
Take the heat off your troubles President Clarkson. 'I'm sticking by my recommendations, I think it will panic people too much.'
'One, er, has been thinking about that.'
Has one, 'yes?'
'How about we say there is a chance of a major earthquake in California possible, and that evacuation is recommended. It's always being hit, no-one will notice. Why not?'
It's immoral, political, devious, lying, unnecessary, and scaremongering. 'An absolutely brilliant idea.' And it might work. 'Shall I take care of the rumours?'
'I think I have that under control.'
'I have a friend on the Post, she's science editor, do you want someone to speak with her, I could do, I'm meeting her tonight.'
A slight sigh, 'I'll get the details faxed you.'
'Thank you. Anything else?'
'Oh, yes, Harris is dead, killed himself, just after hearing the news.'
'Pity, he could have helped. Nevermind.' With that he left.
'Joan, let him in now.' In walked the Director of the CIA. He had returned.
'Well?'
'No news, it seems we're in the clear.'
'Sure?'
'No, but as good as.'
'Good. You can go.' The abruptness shocked the Director, but he obeyed. The President returned to his work, something was going to go wrong, he could feel it.
He answered it. 'Hi Vicki, come in' he said without thinking. She remained there, something seemed wrong, she seemed pale, tragic, distant. He noticed, eventually.
'Is there something wrong,' he asked in a more compassionate way than it sounds.
'Nothing, just one of those days,' she regained her composure, and walked in. He took her coat.
'You sure, you look terrible.'
'Thanks, you really know how to cheer a girl up.'
'You know what I mean. What's wrong?'
'Well, I'll tell you, after dinner, what is it, it smells lovely.'
Aargh, shall I tell her, or lie. Tell her, it's easier. 'It's pizza, what toppings do you like?' He walked into the kitchen closing the door slightly.
'Oh, fish, you know, prawns, tuna, anchovies.' She seemed fine now.
'I know what fosh is.'
'Fosh? What exactly is fosh?'
'Pardon?'
'You said I know what fosh is.'
'No I didn't, I said fish,' he remained passive, just saying the necessary.
'Fosh,' a slight menace crept in to her voice, she was enjoying this.
'Fish,' and if she was cheered up, so was he.
'Fosh'
'Ok, you win, I might have said fosh, does it matter?' No reply. He returned to the main room.
She changed back, she was distant again, she didn't even notice the hand wave in front of her eyes fo a few seconds. 'Sorry, just thinking.'
'You sure your ok.'
'I'm fine, just stop asking me.'
'Ok, ok.' He walked back into the kitchen, closing the door more this time. He reached for the phone, dialled the pizza place and ordered the pizza. Now the smell. He turned on the oven, then reached into the bread bin, removed half a semi-stale french baguette, he cut it into slices diagonally width ways, got some garlic puree and butter, mixed the two and spread them on. He placed them on a tray and but a massive dollop of puree there as well. He put the tray in the oven and prayed. He walked back in and chatted for a few minutes. Slowly the smell wafted through, a distinct garlic smell, a smell of bread cooking, a pizzaey smell. He left and removed the bread, they were burnt to a cinder, he binned them, they'd done there job. There was a knock on the back window. A young kid stood there with a couple of pizzas in his hand. Niall opened the back door and let him in, took the pizzas, paid him, asked if there was any trouble with the request for the back door.
'No, the lady at the front said you'd want it at the back.' He left, before Niall had chance to kill him. He turned round. She was waiting.
'I expect this looks rather stupid,' he said
'Yes, it does look that way, what is it, can't cook, wont cook or busy day? I'd chose the latter, you look terrible.'
'How did you guess?'
'You managed the garlic bread so skilfully.'
'How did you see?'
She pointed to the wall, the hatch was still open, 'I saw it all.'
'Well, you hungry, now?'
'It would seem a waste to let it go cold.'
They ate it in silence, there seemed little to talk about, she was waiting till afterwards to tell of why she was how she was, and Niall was waiting for her to tell him why she was how she was. A bit of a vicious circle. When the last of the pizza was finished, Niall cleared the boxes away. Vicki sat down on the sofa and relaxed, wine in hand [I didn't mention the fact that Niall got a couple of glasses of wine out, mainly because it didn't seem important at the time and it would slow the narrative down, but also partially because of the fact that I only just decide they were going to have wine, which seems pretty obvious to any normal person, but if I was a normal person I wouldn't be writing this. Anyway, back to the story.] She tried her hardest to look beautiful, and a cheeky, rude person might say she had her work cut out to do it, however they would be lying. Niall returned, sat opposite her and asked her, again, what was wrong.
'It's just one of those days.'
'What days?'
'Well, I think there are three kinds, the first, you wake up and think, yes, the world is wonderful, I can make it better, there will be peace, everyone will be happy. The optimistic days. Then there are the God, the world is a dump the problems are rife, people are dying, everyone is corrupt, there's no such thing as charity, blah, blah, blah. The pessimistic days. Finally there is the type of day in which neither apply, you just don't seem involved, the whole day just passes by so quickly, it's like watching TV but with less control. The viewing days. I just been having a mixture of all three. It really takes it out of you, you just don't know what is what. Anyway, where did you rush off to, and why did we have pizza?'
'Firstly, I told you, I went to see the President.'
'I thought you were lying again.'
'And secondly, the traffic was terrible. Anyway, the President said that they are trying to evacuate California, using the excuse of an earthquake. He said he'll fax me the details, I'll just check.' He did they were there. 'You might want to run a story about it.'
'You bet.'
'More wine,' he proffered the bottle.
'Go on, first I think I need the loo.'
'Whatever happened to little girls room, or I want to powder my nose?'
'It just didn't seem appropriate.'
'There's one off the kitchen, it's nearer.' She went.
Niall stood and walked over to the patio doors, he opened them and stood outside. He looked up, it was a clear night, the stars were out in full assembly. He stared, there was something different, a twinkle that shouldn't be there, too high for a planet, and wrong side for the asteroid, as well as the fact that that would still be too far away. There was something odd about it. The entire universe seemed to fade into insignificance, the star filled his mind, his head was full of ideas, that star could just be like our, a planet, with people, with hopes, dreams, lives, and loves, we were not alone, we have others. Or perhaps they are undertakers, perhaps he's right, it could happen.
'Penny?' Vicki asked.
'Eh?'
'A dollar then?'
'What?'
'Last offer, dollar fifty?'
'Sorry, you lost me, could you come in again and speak English.'
'For your thoughts, penny for your thoughts.'
'Oh, yeah, sure,' he seemed bewildered, 'you can have them for free. I was just thinking about a book I was reading, The Fall Of Man, by Shawn Kirkup. It's about the end of the world, and how when everyone is gone, a super intelligent race of immortals comes down and records the achievements and when they managed them etc. a kind of curator of civilisations. They travel beyond time and space and the only thing that connects them with a universe is a single light, if this light is spotted and observed then the ship becomes real, it is in that universe forever, it can never return home.'
'Sounds plausible.'
'It's just a thought.' A pause filled the room, like it so often does when one offers a crack-pot theory
'What was all that about Hercules on the phone?'
'Oh, that's just my password, Prometheus is the project name. I'm not sure about why, mythology never was my strong point.'
'I know a little, Prometheus was meant to be tied to a rock and have his liver eaten by eagles for all eternity because he had stolen fire from the sun for man. Perhaps they thought that the guy who did this tried to take what he shouldn't. Bring fire from the heavens for man. Hercules saved Prometheus from the eagle. So you're meant to be the saviour, I expect.'
'I hope to God I am.'
If this was a film, prepare for a day calendar to have pages fly by, until the actual day arrives, as it isn't, prepare to have this explained to you how a book would do it.
'The President says we are to fire at the base so they destroy it at fourteen twenty hours their time exactly. We must get the advantage.'
'We can manage that,' the other non-stupid looking one replied.
'I'll get them to key in the data,' said the stupid one, and walked off.
'I'm not sure about this, comrade. It seems wrong, there's something not quite right.'
'There's an British author who wrote a poem, not as good as our poets admittedly but: Ours not to reason why ours but to do and die. Perhaps you should take heed.'
'Yes, but what if we're wrong.'
'We won't be wrong, the President never is.' The stupid one returned.
'Alexi here does not trust our leader, what shall we do with him?' he asked the stupid one.
He reached for his gun. Alexi dived for cover. The first shot caught him in the leg. Hiding behind some computers, he held it tight. The stupid one rounded the corner, held up the gun and fired.
[So what if I'm helping to build up stereo-types of Russians, no-one actually believes it. No-one with any sense anyway. I hope.]
'T minus one minute thirty.' A pause, suddenly a radio crackled to life, the video link-up disappeared, a voice screamed, 'they've gone and done it now.'
Half a minute later some anonymous radio operator explained.
'We've just had two nuclear missiles explode at about a mile up. The computers in the missiles have gone down, but the main computers are operational, lead cladding. We can fire them but not target them. We're in the shit now.'
'Can't we use other missiles.'
'No, there the only ones ready. We weren't expecting this.'
'Impact minus forty five'
'Anyone got any ideas?' Niall pleaded.
'Run to the nearest park.' Someone shouted. 'Somewhere open. We'll survive the earthquake. We'll be crushed in here.' There was a rush for the door. Four waited for the rush to subside, Niall, Vicki, Phillip and Andrew G. Calder. They quickly followed through the door. Half a minute later with everyone near or in the park, and running for the centre, somewhere over in California the asteroid hit. Ten seconds later the whole of California and surrounding states were razed to the ground, five seconds after that the earthquake hit Washington. It's force, if anyone was there to measure it would exceed twenty two on the Richter scale. The ground opened up, some of the team fell, Phillip was one, he was caught on a ledge, an aftershock hit. He plummetted. A prolonged scream filled the air, a single voice, a cry 'helllllllllllllllllllppp!'
No-one noticed.The next few days, around the world, eight seven people in every hundred people died directly as a result of the earthquakes, tsunamai, volcanoes. That was as high as ninety nine point seven six percent in North and South America. Niall and Vicki survived the first week, being in the park saved them, then when searching for food another aftershock hit, the building they were in collapsed. They died together [aaahh int that nice].
The rest of the world was slowly asphyxiated over the next month. All that is, apart from most of the Congress and Senate, who managed to reach their bunker in time. British politicians did likewise, as did French, German, Russian, Spanish, in fact most of the worlds politicians survived. They rightfully survived because they were destined to build a new and better world from the ruins of the last, to work hand in hand and fight natural adversaries, put past differences aside and live a life of peace for the rest of their lives. [I don't think so.] A few eventually died of starvation, and some resorted to cannibalism, but the majority did the only brave thing they'd done in their entire lives and shot themselves. Well, at least some good came of everything.
'Burn it, eat it, it makes no difference. Whatever makes you happy. We might as well get comfortable, eternity will not be fun.'
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Page last updated on 27th October 1998
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