Excerpts from the story I'm writing (& failing on
) from which I sourced the idea for this (please excuse the poor quality, some of this is quite old & badly written):
Keshiya Dumarr strode down the corridor trailing a meteor-tail of staff and advisers, many in uniform. The aura of confidence and strength of purpose was only partially a mask. Her strong character, ambition and honesty were what had gained her position for her, bucking the odds against an African-American woman becoming the first Republican President of the United States of America in over a decade.
“So, tell me again, what’s the deal with the National Observatory that makes it a matter for me?”
Her scientific advisor, Kelly Marks, a tall, gaunt man with no apparent chin and a goatee beard to hide the fact, shrugged his shoulders. “Not a hundred percent on that, Ma’am. Seems the Australians found some rock floating in space. They looked at their data, got worried and sent it here and the UK to be confirmed. From what I’ve been told the data makes this thing look like a ‘planet-skimmer’ and it’s got the astronomers pretty steamed up. “
President Dumarr nodded, once. “Who am I meeting with?”
Marks looked at his note pad. “Four people, Ma’am. Professor Ramón Zafón, the head of the American Astronomical Society; Professor Robert Welland, representing the Royal Astronomical Society; Professor Jacqueline Li, representing the Astronomical Society of Australia; and Professor Vasyl Bazhan, representing the International Astronomical Union.”
“I think ‘steamed up’ might be an understatement, Kelly,” observed Dumarr. “That’s quite a delegation for a little rock.”
The two young Marines guarding the door to the conference room presented arms, their weapons looking none-the-less lethal for all their polish and shine.
Within the conference room, with all of the introductions and pleasantries out of the way Dumarr looked at the scientists and spoke in her usual, forthright manner. “OK, I’ve got a country to run but you’ve made enough noise that my people have decided to let you see me. What’s the issue?”
Jacqueline Li spoke first. “Your territory, Ramón.”
Ramón Zafón nodded. “Madam President, as you are no doubt aware, about ten months ago the Australians were calibrating the integration of some new software into their Jupiter orbital telescope, when they found a piece of space debris further out than any we had ever seen before. For that reason alone they dedicated time from their telescope to monitor its trajectory…” Zafón paused. “Ma’am, long story short, the British, ourselves and several other nations were called in to check their data and we concur that this object has a better than seventy percent likelihood of hitting the Earth.”
Dumarr sat silent for a moment. “And?”
“It’s big! Very bloody big,” said Li, pausing for a moment before adding. “Madam President.”
“Would you care to define ‘big’?” asked a US Air Force general, whose name tag said ‘Randell’.
“Yeah, sure,” said Li, with a grin. She was a tall, tanned and muscular Eurasian, rangy rather than the bear-like muscular of the Ukrainian, Bazhan. “It’s at least twenty percent more massive than the comet that, theoretically, took out the dinosaurs. Diameter’s about 135 kilometres, give-or-take.”
“Shit!” said Keshiya Dumarr, a sentiment echoed by Kelly Marks. “Why hasn’t Spaceguard found this?”
“Because it’s not orbital,” answered Vasyl Bazhan in barely accented English. “The asteroid is what you might call a ‘rogue’ or a ‘wanderer’. It’s been out there drifting between the stars for billions of years, now it’s tired and wants to stop somewhere.”
Dumarr waved her finger between Bazhan and Li. “Did you two go to the same comedy school, or what?”
“President Dumarr, Li and Bazhan have had almost a year to come to terms with the fact that it is highly likely that life on this planet is about to be extinguished, and they do share a rather dark humour,” Robert Welland spoke for the first time, oddly, thought Dumarr, his accent was South African. “We’ve all been over this dozens of times using the latest and best projection models available, and Professor Zafón has given you the ‘best case’ version. Our baseline is closer to eighty-five percent.”
“E.T.A.?” asked Marks.
Zafón answered. “About thirty years.”
“Thirty years? Then it’s no concern of ours, let the next administration worry about it!” said Franklin Gervaise, Dumarr’s political advisor.
“Shut up, Franklin,” said President Dumarr quietly. “What sort of damage are we talking about?”
Zafón took a page from one of his folders. “According to our experts; officially, ‘unknown’; unofficially, several huge explosions, greater than 120-million-megaton, shock waves ripping the planet’s crust to pieces, unimaginable fires fanned by winds in excess of a thousand kilometres per hour, until they’re put out by tsunamis tens-of-kilometres high, a ‘nuclear-winter’ scenario than could last centuries followed by global warming on an unprecedented scale…” Zafón shook his head. “Just when we thought we’d turned the corner on that…
“Anyway, there’s not going to be anywhere safe to hide on the planet. They, also, estimate anywhere between seventy and one-hundred percent extinction of all life on the Earth, depending on where the chunks hit.”
Keshiya Dumarr looked at her clasped hands for quite some time. She had grown up in New Orleans and had experienced the devastation of Hurricane Sasha, which had dwarfed Katrina, and the brutal horrors of the chaotic aftermath as a child of eight. Then she had been on holiday in Australia, during the rebuilding of the city, when she and her family had been caught up in the most horrendous fires that country had ever seen when over three hundred fire-fighters, alone, had died. She looked up and around at the faces looking at her, the de-facto ‘leader of the industrialised world’.
“Several explosions?” queried Kelly Marks.
“Our projections all have the rock passing close enough to Jupiter that it will probably break into a number of pieces,” said Zafón.
“Unfortunately none show it coming close enough to be drawn into it.”
“What can we do?” Dumarr asked softly.
She assessed the faces that had nodded or raised quick, quirky smiles against those that had shrugged or shook their heads and knew she had asked the right question. She doubted she would like the answers, though.
Zafón nodded. “There are several things we can at least try, Ma’am,” he said. “However, they’ll require the entire world co-operating to have much chance of success.”
“And they are?”
“Firstly, Madam President, we need to accelerate our current Martian and Lunar colonisation operations and get a global space development program under way. All of our survival scenarios require a significant population to be established off-planet.
“We have two major plans and a third, high-risk last resort. Without going into details we have: One; a Mars colony, supported by, and supporting a lunar colony: Two; this one should be in conjunction with the first plan, a threat deviation or destruction effort, think of the old movie “Armageddon” without the Hollywood theatrics and much better planning: Three; a multi-generational space ship voyage, approaching near light velocities, on a round-trip journey lasting approximately fifty-to-one-hundred thousand subjective years here and, we’re guessing a bit here, somewhere between seventy-five and one hundred years aboard ship.”
“Professor Zafón, are you aware of what the costs for these science fiction pipe-dreams will be?” asked Gervaise.
“We are,” answered Zafón. “We are, also, aware that if Plan Two should be unsuccessful those costs will have been spent to directly save the lives of about three percent of one percent of one percent of the world’s population, if all of the other plans are successful.”
“That’s about three people out of every million, in case you’re wondering,” added Li. “Of course, the cost of not spending that money is the complete and total annihilation of the human species without any attempt to save it.”
Keshiya Dumarr shuddered. She had seriously underestimated how bad the response would be. Sure, there was the money but that was, largely, unimportant. What about the psychological impact of this news, the social effects and the societal repercussions? This was going to be a nightmare!
****************
Keshiya Dumarr sat on a rock near the top of the hill watching the crowds of people still streaming to the now sealed mouth of the man-made caverns. They were so small and fragile at this distance. An older Marine in full combat accoutrements stood beside, and slightly behind her. Neither of them moved as the young Marine scrambled across the slope towards them.
“Gunnery Sergeant, the Secretary of State would like the former President to join him in the Impact Bunker right away, please!” gasped the youngster as he reached them. “Jeez, you can even see ‘em in the light, now!” he added in an awed voice.
The gunnery sergeant did not even turn his head. “It’s OK, Ahmat. You just get into the bunker. I’ll bring the President along shortly.”
“Sure thing, Gunny!” said the young soldier and turned around to climb back across to the hidden entrance.
When he was well out of earshot the gunnery sergeant whose name tag read ‘Wolfe, T. R.’ took off his helmet and rubbed his short-cropped grey hair. “Well, that was easy. Kids’ll believe anything, these days.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Troy?” asked Dumarr, without taking her gaze from bright spots in the now darkening eastern sky.
Gunnery Sergeant Wolfe looked down at the former President. She had been forty-four when she took office and had held the Job for two full terms, despite the political fallout of being the one to advise the United States of America that everything was about to change and they were going to open up their science and technology to the world.
He had been with her from the start. He had voted for her a week before enlisting in the Marines. He had stood outside the door three years later, when she had been told the world was going to end. He had fought and bled for her in the numerous conflicts of the Crazy Years. He had volunteered to be her protection detail when all the Secret Service agents had been pulled to increase protection for the current President and Vice President, and various other officials, over a year ago.
She was just over eighty, now, white haired, spritely and still quite attractive. He was battle-worn, scarred and weary, and just a few weeks short of compulsory retirement.
Wolfe looked at Dumarr and grinned. “Ma’am, you and I both know neither of us is going down into this hill.”
She grinned back at him. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me, possibly.”
“Why don’t you go down?”
“What for?”
Dumarr thought on that. Wolfe been married but his wife had been killed in a bio-terrorist attack over a decade ago; at about the same time her husband had died. He had two children, a son and a daughter. Both were married and both were off-planet; the daughter on Mars; the son on “
Endeavour”, which was seven years out, already at nearly thirty percent of light speed and accelerating away towards deep space.
“Why don’t you pull up a rock, Troy?”
“Thought you’d never ask, Ma’am,” he said and looked up as he sat. “Kid’s right. You can see them clearly, now.”
“Yes.”
They were both still sitting there four hours later, each absorbed by their own thoughts and memories, when the first asteroid hit barely five hundred kilometres away.
****************
If anyone was still alive on the planet’s surface they were in no condition to notice the fourth piece of space junk skim past Earth & plough into the face of the moon less than a dozen kilometres from Clarke Base, nor did they see the lights blink out at Heinlein &
, as the shockwave rippled through them. The occupants of the Barsoom Habitats did, though, and their hearts sank.
Even with thirty years to prepare, the Martian colonies were not yet self-sufficient &, in a mad dash to get the remaining equipment required to achieve this off planet, Earth had shipped everything to Clarke Base to be forwarded on when the asteroids had passed. Now the Mars colonists knew their time was limited. Ten years, at best, if everything worked perfectly.
There were no external observers of the decline of the colonies. No-one to hear the final plaintiff message, sent out six years later, nor the final gunshot.
****************
The shuttle bucked and yawed, slewing from side to side in the ferocious buffeting of the thickening atmosphere. The ceramic-skinned belly glowed red with the heat of friction with the dense air and streamed ribbons of fire behind it as it fell toward the ground.
Within the shuttle fifty people sat nervously in the surprisingly cramped passenger cabin. They swung in unison to the motions of the large craft. Mostly these passengers were somewhat too thin and tall for the seats they occupied, as though the designers had known the general shape of those who would be using the seats but had made a small, yet visible, error in their dimensions. Of the occupants only about a dozen fitted the seats as they were designed. Compared to their companions they appeared short and stocky, yet the shortest was over 180 centimetres tall.
In the cockpit, just forward and up from the passenger cabin, sat the four flight crew, also relatively short, who were engaged in a calm battle with the elements to control the descent of the big craft. Unlike their passengers these were clad in pressure suits and helmets.
The large shuttle eased its fall as it entered the lower atmosphere, transitioning from fall to flight smoothly, with a series of savage booms. Soon it was slicing through the tops of the clouds and settling into their grey void, then bursting out into clear skies with a screech of tearing air. Then a series of vents opened and, with a deafening noise, the great engines started.
It roared over a deep blue sea, streaked with white-capped waves, fleeing the rising sun. It came upon a mountainous land, spewing smoke and fire into the sky, over which the shuttle rose. Then it descended again, as the land dropped away to a massive plain spattered in various shades of green, brown and rusty red.
Shortly the deep, thundering engine note changed, rising in pitch and urgency, as the nose rose and engine nozzles swivelled down. Eventually, they were screaming, as they held the great vessel hovering above the ground and gently dropping it to the ground in a billowing cloud of smoke and dust. Finally, the engines were shut down and they whined slowly to a stop.
****************
For weeks it had been dust, dust and more dust. Four weeks ago he hadn’t even known what dust was, not really; it had just been a fine layer of grey which appeared on the tops of flat surfaces & computer screens if you didn’t wipe them occasionally. Now, even with the protection of the bio-suit, he was getting chaffing rashes in places he didn’t even know existed because of the dust.
Then, a couple of days ago, it had “rained” and they had discovered “mud”. Two new words, one the name for a rather interesting form of water, the other a sticky, glutinous, satanic form of
dust.
Now what was there? More bloody water! Lots of it, gigalitres, just lying around on the ground creating a “swamp”. Another new word for something he just knew was going to be trouble. Everything was around here!
Oh, and
MUD!
Mikhail Reyne was indistinguishable inside his reconnaissance bio-suit. The suit was primarily a grey bodysuit that covered him from head to toe, protecting him from biological, chemical and radio-active agents, boots and a mask that covered his face. He wished it wouldn’t fog up quite so often. A reversible two piece over-suit, white on one side & mottled greens and browns on the other, covered all of this and comprised the primary protection against the elements and any possible wildlife. Both sides had orange reflective bands around various body parts which could be removed relatively easily, if required. His mask connected to a filter unit attached to the back of his dome-like Kevlar helmet. The only thing that identified him was his 190 centimetres height and a name tag over his right chest.
Reyne had known sweat before but nothing like this! It ran in rivulets down his neck, spine and chest, even within the tightness of the bio-suit, and his face felt like it was melting. He had been drinking close to five litres of water per day and was still mildly dehydrated. Five litres was equal to his entire weekly ration aboard ship before he came down to this hell-hole, and that included bathing.
He stood in the mud at the edge of the swamp, cradling his combat assault rifle, and glaring at the slightly murky water with its myriad bugs, and water weeds and slime. Glancing back at the armoured exploration vehicle, the AEV, he caught the slight nod from Zheng Zungu, the Team Leader, in the observation dome, and the bright friendly wave of someone safely ensconced in an armoured box from Bryce McDuff, in the driver’s seat. Giving a brief salute to Zungu and the one-finger salute to McDuff he stepped into the swamp.
Water swirled around his feet and silt billowed out from under each foot as he walked to drift slowly to the left behind him in a gentle current. Reyne’s eyes searched the water, the surrounding land and the sky. He had been trained for most of his life for this role but had learned the one important fact that he hadn’t been taught fast on reaching the planet.
Everything was out to get him, personally!
Of course this was not entirely correct, so he did not shoot everything, he only had so much ammunition at his disposal after all, and he had learned to distinguish a number of generally harmless creatures. He had also identified things that it was better just to look out for and avoid, too, and some of them were
plants.
His first experience had been with a winged monster that had dropped out of the sky at him, all hooked beak and talons, and wings that stretched out more than six metres from tip to tip. Only his instincts and fast reflexes had prevented it from shredding his flesh to the bone. He had emptied his pistol into it, twice, and then had to finish it off with his knife before it would stop attacking him. After that he began carrying the assault rifle. It had been the fast-moving carnivore that had made him decide to carry the sniper rifle, as well. He had expended an entire magazine from the assault rifle to kill the beast close up, trying to compensate for its bouncing motion, when a single shot at range would have done the job.
Reyne took another step, then another. There was a wet noise out in the swamp. He stopped and searched but could not locate the source of the sound and continued on. By the time he had taken six or seven steps the water was up to his knees and the silty mud at the bottom dragged at his boots each time he lifted his foot. The dry looking patch he was heading for looked to still be about sixty metres away.
He was about halfway across, in water up to the middle of his chest, when the swamp heaved and the colossal animal rose in a burst of foam and spray. Reyne brought his rifle to his shoulder and selected the grenade launcher because the thing was big and built like a tank. However he held his fire and stood very still.
Despite its size, armoured shell and plate covered skin it looked relatively harmless. There were no teeth that he could see and there was swamp weed hanging from its mouth, which it was masticating with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The spikes and lumps protruding from its skin and shell looked purely defensive, which Reyne could well understand. Its eyes peeped myopically in his general direction and it snorted, then turned and moved away before sinking back down into the water again.
“Well, that was unexpected!” came the voice of McDuff.
“May you live in interesting times, arsehole!” responded Reyne without turning to look back at the vehicle. He kept scanning the horizon intently, searching for something but what he didn’t know.
There was something out there, watching him. He could feel it. It was not an easily explained sensation. Something like the feeling when your eyes accidentally lock with those of a stranger for a moment longer than is comfortable combined with the sensation you get when you notice someone you don’t particularly know and don’t particularly like the look of staring at you with a satisfied smirk on their face. It was like that but not exactly.
Reyne began to move slowly forward again.
