Field Two

  All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the permission of the publisher.

  www.futurewords.uk

  Copyright © Simon Winstanley 2016

  Simon Winstanley asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First Edition

  ISBN-13: 9781539127680

  ISBN: 1539127680

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016916624

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  For Janet, Ben and Joseph,

  my constants in the great equation.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  TRANQUILLITY

  HIVE

  ANOMALY

  EYE WITNESS

  SYMBOLS

  VISITORS

  SYNC

  ATKA

  2974

  MINUTE ONE

  BLACKBOX

  UNUM

  FORECAST

  DEEP END

  EFFECT CAUSE

  TRIP

  DESCENT

  GIFTED

  SAMPHIRE HOE

  GLAUCUS

  DOMINANT

  GUARDIAN

  LAST MAN

  CIRCLE

  STARFISH

  ARRIVALS

  CHOICE

  PEAKS

  SACRIFICE

  SKYLINE

  ONE WAY

  ROOMS

  FILTER

  SPLINTER

  BISHOP’S MOVE

  CASE STUDY

  RISE

  APOLLO 54

  TRANSIT

  GREEN LIGHT

  RIPPLE

  DIAGNOSTIC

  CALCULATION

  RTO

  THE CONVERSATION

  LOS

  INTERROGATION

  CLOCK

  THE RECEIVER

  CONVERGENCE

  OFFSPRING

  DROP

  THE INCIDENT

  BREAKTHROUGH

  CORIOLIS EFFECT

  EVAC

  CHECK

  RESOURCES

  LAST TRAIN

  RANGE

  SUB-4 ALPHA

  REFLEX

  LESSON

  SIGNALS

  TRILITHON

  BEACON

  UPLOAD

  RELATIVE

  USV3

  COMPLIANCE

  REGISTER

  DIFFERENCE

  INTERSECTIONS

  WATER

  RETURN

  14.92

  FLIGHT.CHECK

  YEAR 64

  BEYOND

  BOUNDARY

  Boundary: Field series: Book 3 (Excerpt)

  PROLOGUE

  At first glance, the events appeared to be out of order.

  Like a neatly ordered deck of cards had been shuffled.

  There was obviously a definite structure at work, but the pattern seemed to defy immediate analysis. Some of the elements were recognisable, but it appeared there were deeper, underlying connections that added new layers of complexity.

  When observed this way, there seemed to be no merit in maintaining the concept of layering events in a linear fashion.

  She would need to adjust to the new frame of reference.

  It would just take a little time.

  TRANQUILLITY

  29th December 2013

  Earth’s longest orbiting companion was decimated. The focus and inspiration for countless millennia of human worship, study, love songs and brief exploration now lay in ruins.

  In its death throes, the Moon had birthed thousands of fragments of varying magnitudes. With gravitational generosity, Earth had reached out and pulled the lethal shards towards itself.

  Despite human civilisation on Earth drawing to a close, the larger of the super-fragments were documented and named according to their lunar origin; the hope being that one day the information would be rediscovered.

  Copernicus and Stadius had struck only the Pacific Ocean, but during their arrival they had converted the satellite networks into a mere expanding cloud of orbiting wreckage.

  Sinus had struck ground, removing Malaysia and Singapore from the map, and had initiated major tectonic shifts and tsunamis. The Himalayan mountain range in Nepal had shivered avalanches of snow into the newly formed sea at its base.

  The super-cluster of Palla, Hyginus and Agrippa tore a deep, fiery canyon through Africa, reaching from the Gulf of Aden to Nigeria. The fires were quenched within hours as the tidal displacement created by Sinus drowned the gaping wound.

  Throughout the onslaught, the uncharted smaller fragments continued to rain down on the terrified and dwindling population, ensuring their final hours knew no peace.

  When the largest and final super-fragment Tranquillity struck, Venezuela was converted into a new Gulf of Colombia; beginning a chain reaction of earthquakes as the tectonic stresses equalised across four major tectonic plates. Shockwaves and tsunamis radiated out and travelled north along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge line towards the Arctic Circle.

  After the tremors had pummelled Iceland’s volcanic terrain, the tsunami ran inland. When it reached the centre of Öskjuvatn Lake it encountered an artificial bubble of space-time clinging to the surface, and folded it beneath the waves.

  HIVE

  27th December 2013

  The jeep smashed through the security barrier, prompting a swift reply of machine-gun fire. The first burst peppered the rear of the vehicle with thumbnail-sized holes, the second exploded the rear windshield into a shower of glass crumbs. Instinctively, Lars hunched lower in his seat to avoid the gunfire but his low viewpoint was now obscured by the broken yellow-black barrier wedged across the front windscreen. The problem was soon resolved when the glass in front of him disintegrated as another burst of gunfire crackled from behind. Punching his hand through the shattered glass, he yanked the obstruction from his view and was immediately confronted with the sight of the main hangar’s concrete wall ahead of him. Hauling hard on the steering wheel, he skidded the jeep sideways and avoided the impact. The hangar door was ahead on the left and currently unguarded; exactly as he had been told.

  The cell phone on the passenger seat next to him was still actively displaying both the phone call and a countdown timer; he could see there were only thirty-two seconds remaining.

  “I’m at the Hive,” he shouted towards the phone, “Do you hear me? I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”

  He slammed on the brakes, arriving directly outside the hangar’s entrance. As he unclipped the seatbelt he pulled on the jeep’s door handle but the door wouldn’t open. He pulled up on the central locking button, but the result was the same; the locking mechanism had been too badly damaged during his forced entry to the base. As he climbed over into the passenger seat his jacket pocket snagged on the handbrake and he fell back again. His second hasty attempt was successful and he managed to swipe up the phone as he threw the opposite door open. As he emerged from the badly scarred jeep he could hear voices and footsteps converging from the direction of the gatehouse.

  “Can you hear me?!”
he yelled into the phone, “I’m doing it now!”

  As he ran to the access panel, another sound reached him from the other side of the armoured hangar door, an incessant droning noise.

  He reached the panel and inserted his small brass key into it. He turned it to the right and began entering digits into the panel’s number pad. At the same moment, the heavily armed guards rounded the corner behind him and opened fire. The first few shots went wide and ricocheted off the jeep’s front grill, then one found its mark, impacting him in the upper arm. He fell forward to the ground, still clutching the phone.

  “It’s done!” he yelled in pain, “I’ve done what you asked! I can still be useful to you. Please!”

  As he spoke, the thick armour-plated door began to slide open and the droning noise increased in pitch and volume.

  “Please!” he yelled over the rising noise.

  “Drop the phone and stay down!” came an urgent voice, advancing on him from a few yards away.

  “Please!” he yelled again.

  The door reached its halfway point.

  “Your Lifeboat Pass is now safe, Dr. Helgasenn,” came the voice from the cell phone, then the call disconnected, leaving only the timer counting off the last four seconds.

  As the doorway continued to widen, he began to see a seething mass of random-looking motion within the hangar. Suddenly the door seemed to pass a critical point and a fast, agile swarm of hovering, weaponized drones erupted through the opening. As he lay cradling his injured arm, the stream of rapidly departing drones swelled and thickened the air above him. Almost as one, they turned and headed northeast.

  ANOMALY

  17th August 2009

  The seals were airtight and she was confident that she’d made all the necessary exit checks. She switched comms channel and reported back to the Drum:

  “Suit and airlock checks complete. Proceeding to surface.”

  “Confirmed. Safe trip,” came the reply.

  She placed her hand on the actuation panel and, after taking a slightly deeper breath than usual, pushed. Immediately she could hear the faint hiss of the Chamber 1 airlock cycling, and the display in front of her changed to read:

  ‘Pressure:0.0 - Exit.’

  As the door opened she became more aware of her own breathing, which seemed amplified within the confines of the claustrophobic helmet. She bent slightly to pick up the handle of the case and felt the suit’s stiff material resisting her mobility. Even under this gravity the case felt heavy and its large bulk made manoeuvrability an issue.

  She stepped aside and allowed the airlock door to close behind her, leaving her standing on the rough, grey regolith. She set her eyes on the horizon; from here the Sun was a distant point source of light in a velvet-black sky. Although the suit was insulated she could feel its warmth through the glass face plate.

  “In transit to Chamber 2 airlock,” she reported.

  “Acknowledged.”

  An unknown fault inside Chamber 2 had forced the internal airlock to protect the central Drum of the Floyd Lunar Complex, denying all access from the inside. Using the new tools, it would be her job to enter from the outside and assess the level of damage. If she could find the fault, then the crew would regain access to their dormitory.

  At present, the FLC crew had been forced to take up residence around the circumference of the upper levels of the Drum; makeshift bunks situated directly below the Observatory and Prism. What little privacy the crew had enjoyed in the dormitory was now virtually non-existent and, whilst she knew the crew were probably accustomed to each other, the close confines would inevitably lead to tension.

  At the moment though, all she had to concern herself with was the issue of regaining external access. She continued to make her way across the dust-grey surface between the micro-craters.

  It was then that she saw it.

  Two parallel grooves in the regolith were leading into one of the craters.

  The tracks were too close together to have been made by any of the FLC’s wheeled equipment, so she changed direction and headed away from the central complex, in order to gain a better look.

  From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a movement.

  She was the only one scheduled to be on the surface; there should be no-one else out here.

  As she moved slowly closer, she could see that the parallel tracks had a ragged, weaving quality to them. She could also see that on either side of the tracks were rough hand-prints heading into the sloping, shallow crater.

  EYE WITNESS

  15th March 2013

  From his elevated position inside one of the London Eye’s glass capsules, Maxwell Troye could see all of the city. Far below him ran the River Thames, a thick transportation artery that wound its way through the heart of commercial London. In the distance, to his right, he could make out the curved roof above Charing Cross station, its glass panels reflecting the insipid, grey sunlight. Whilst to his left lay Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament.

  A round trip on this oversized Ferris wheel took around thirty minutes, but the power had gone out barely three minutes after he had passed the apex. He knew that it was just a matter of time before someone spotted the problem, but he felt a slight rise in anxiety. He twisted the cap off his bottled water and took a small sip; he didn’t know how long he’d have to make it last, but there seemed little point compounding any discomfort by adding a full bladder.

  The neighbouring capsules of the wheel seemed overcrowded in comparison to his own. He could see people with cell phones pressed against their ears, no doubt rearranging their busy tourist schedules, confident of their imminent rescue. He was glad that he’d paid the extra fee to buy out the whole capsule; he was also glad that he didn’t have to listen to their incessant babble. He took another sip and re-capped the bottle.

  Where the wheel had come to rest he had a direct view of Richmond Terrace and, beyond that, Downing Street. At this distance it was quite apparent that there was a huge crowd gathered at the gates; a single police car, blue lights flashing passively, stood nearby.

  In the relative quiet, his cell phone vibrated and displayed a message: ‘10’.

  He returned his attention to the distant Downing Street and raised his binoculars.

  Most of the street was in shadow but he could see the flashes of reporters’ cameras; it was almost time.

  Following the immediate financial turmoil surrounding the Siva news, Archive had promised a flow of funds and relief to the United Kingdom. Neville Asquith, who had one of the worst approval ratings of any British Prime Minister, had been given Archive’s permission to deliver the good news to an unbriefed press. By all accounts he was relishing the opportunity and was seeing the media event as the chance to reinvent his waning political persona.

  From the centre of Downing Street, a sudden and blinding flash of light erupted, lasting a whole second. It was only then that the sound of the explosion reached him; arriving at the glass capsule as a dull thud. Almost automatically he found himself thinking ‘For the good of Mankind’, before correcting himself:

  “Exordi Nova.”

  He was very much aware of his own recent reprogramming and the chemical reinforcement of the metathene compound bolstering his cold intellect, but the words had the desired effect and he felt his mild anxiety fade.

  He lowered the binoculars and witnessed the unfolding events with his own eyes.

  In the immediate aftermath of Number 10’s destruction, people fled east towards the Thames; exactly as planned. The emergency services had responded slightly faster than he’d anticipated though; in his elevated position he could see several police cars screaming along Whitehall, converging on the Downing Street crater. Not that their presence could in any way prevent what was yet to come. In fact, it would only help him; by effectively drawing the emergency resources away from the London Eye, it would be much longer before his sabotage of the popular London attraction was discovered. If at all.

&nbs
p; He knew that, in response to an act of terrorism, the transport networks would shut down next. The security services would begin their pedestrian attempt to cauterise the wound and, in the process, thousands of people would be ejected onto the already crowded streets. Later, those same people would turn to their cell phones, eager to capture and then virally share the act he was yet to commit.

  As it had been pointed out to him, the death of a Prime Minister and the destruction of a historic building would soon be yesterday’s news. What was needed was an enduring symbol, something that would provoke fear in all who saw it. His patient associate at Number 10 had sacrificed himself as a catalyst; now he must complete the process, ensuring the timing and clarity of the symbol.

  As predicted, he could see that people had begun to pour out of Westminster Station next to Big Ben. The iconic clock tower, still doing its best to project an air of authority, cast a weak shadow over the confused crowd gathering around its base.

  One of the few aspects beyond his control was the weather, but even this appeared cooperative today. It was overcast and dull; the dark sky itself a perfect backdrop for the day’s main event.

  He knew he could not afford any mental distraction in the minutes ahead so he retrieved a small silver case from his jacket’s inner pocket. He opened it, exposing a single vial of whiskey-coloured liquid and a groove in which to rest his finger. Ordinarily, the small mechanism in the case would prick his finger and measure the levels of metathene in his blood, but he knew the levels no longer mattered; this would be his last dose.

  He loaded the last vial into the case’s injector mount, pressed the flat side of the case against his thigh, and without hesitation he pressed the injector button. The thin needle efficiently stabbed between the fibres of his trousers and into his flesh. While the compound got to work, he tied back his hair into a ponytail, unpacked the components from his backpack and began assembly.

  As he worked, he could feel the cold guiding hand of the drug reinforcing his mental faculties. As an ego-morph he was accustomed to his heightened sense of perception, both in terms of how he viewed the world and how he regulated his own mind, but just on the periphery of his thoughts he became aware of something genuinely new.