Field Two Page 2

  Perhaps it was down to the combination of the metathene and the abnormally high levels of adrenaline that were flooding his veins, but he knew the signs well enough to realise that the thought was not a stray one; it was uncomfortably persistent, demanded attention and, as far as he could tell, the voice appeared rational.

  By the time he had finished rigging the capsule’s interior, a few minutes later, he had absorbed the tangential voice and arrived at a new personal directive. With a subtle alteration, Archive’s spectacular launch of Exordi Nova onto the world’s political stage would continue as planned. As another method of control, fear itself would now be used for the good of mankind.

  Maxwell knew he would make Archive proud.

  In time, even Archive would fear Exordi Nova’s symbol.

  He twisted the cap off his bottled water and drank the contents; the plan no longer required his own sacrifice.

  A little over ten minutes later, people lining the banks of the Thames watched in terrified awe as the London Eye ignited. Livid, red flames swept upwards around its chemical-soaked circular framework to meet at the apex; then one of the capsules, in the upper right of the fiery circumference, detonated. It burned more intensely than the weak afternoon sun.

  Against the darkening London skies, the massive ring of fire, joined in one place by a smaller circular inferno, defiantly faced the direction of Downing Street. Almost as one, the crowd raised their phones and relayed Exordi Nova’s symbol of fear around the globe.

  Many diligently continued to record as the secondary detonations cut through the high tension support cables. The wheel lurched forwards under its own weight, crushing the lower capsules instantly and sinking the bottom of the structure into the river. The combination of sudden, intense heat and water ejected plumes of thick steam upwards through the metal spokes. As it hit the flames above, the super-heated vapour flashed into a deep orange and black fireball which rolled skyward.

  Exordi Nova’s birth cry was the ear-splitting shriek of metal as the wheel sheared itself from the central hub. The fiery symbol of fear began its slow fall across the width of the Thames, trailing a perfect arc of black smoke. In its final seconds, the mass of burning steel crushed and drowned the boats below it, before slicing London’s artery permanently in two.

  SYMBOLS

  8th February 2010

  The realisation that the FLC had suffered a minor targeting error during its first firing had only been confirmed the day before. The minor error had an unforeseen consequence. A smaller shard, that Archive had named Tenca, had been split from Siva sending it on an alternative trajectory; one that would reach Earth two years before Siva.

  Whilst the impact would not be devastating to the planet itself, it would be devastating to Archive who depended on the public’s ignorance of Siva’s potential collision. Even with all of Archive’s resources, their complex veil of secrecy must ultimately fall. Unless planned for, what would follow next would be public panic and a destabilising of the very systems that Archive depended on.

  Andersen Air Force Base had been the perfect choice as the summit location. With at least a thousand miles of Pacific Ocean surrounding it in every direction, it was remote enough to ensure the level of privacy that Archive required.

  Having collated all of the feedback from the previous day’s Think Tank, Alfred Barnes had absorbed the contents of a classified folder of Archive’s history. It was his responsibility to make the recommendations and propose a system of social control. In a state of exhaustion, he had finally succumbed to sleep and been plagued by a bizarre nightmare - a Minotaur had chased him through a maze of multiple choices. When he had tripped over his own tangled thread of choices he had awoken with the nucleus of an idea; one that quickly became a fully developed solution framework on how to deal with a time after Archive’s ‘Fallen Veil’ of secrecy.

  After following General Napier into the briefing room, he had begun to outline his proposed method of enforcing a new, controllable, social order when the appropriate time came.

  “After Tenca makes its demonstration in 2013, our enemy will become Siva,” Alfred continued, “But even then it will be more than two years away from a possible impact. It’s too distant, too intangible, to ignite action. We’ll need to give the world something real to fear, something that will be happening right now for them, something to unite against.”

  He walked to the front of the room again and deliberately pushed his spectacles back into place. It was a subtle action, but it conferred on him an air of authority and he knew he needed to maintain their confidence before continuing.

  “The anatomy of fear has its roots based in a breakdown of perceived order. We should not be seeking to create a system of social order,” he summarised, “if we want true control, true fear, we should be imposing social dis-order, by creating our own foe.”

  He paused just long enough before allowing them the mental relief of a simplified summary.

  “We need our own terrorist group.”

  Objections immediately flew around the room, but he knew this procrastination was to be expected. When he had brought the situation back under his guidance he turned to visual metaphor to assist him.

  “When people are trapped in a maze of choices, where no single choice is any more valid than another, having more choices impedes escape. Options become less clear. So the more avenues we can give people to exert their ‘free will’ the better. For them, the focus of the primitive drive becomes about out-surviving an unseen foe inside the maze, rather than escaping the maze itself. It will occupy their attention completely, while they labour for the benevolent Archive who are trying to save them.”

  “Benevolent?” Bradley Pittman snorted.

  “Benevolent by comparison,” Alfred smiled, “and that’s the key. We’ll be telling the public how we’ve been trying to help them all along, but by creating an enemy that seems to be attacking that very help, we get public sympathy, support and willingness to cooperate...”

  “And maintain constant state of fear,” Alexey Yakovna completed, “Maskirovka.”

  Alfred bowed his head slightly and smiled, “Exactly.”

  “Well I’ll be...” drawled Bradley, “While they’re trying to fathom who’s hitting ‘em, we’re handing out the bandages and the sticks.”

  “I assume you have the basis of how we’ll achieve this objective?” said General Napier directly.

  “I do,” Alfred glanced around the room hesitantly, “but I’m unsure if I’m permitted to outline it...”

  Without a word, Sarah Pittman and Chandra Patil started to gather their things.

  “Sorry Sally,” Bradley mock-consoled.

  “It’s fine Dad. Anyway, I ought to get started formulating the Debris Cascade Protection system with Dr. Patil.”

  “D. C. P.” Chandra sighed, “Great. Another abbreviation to add to the book.”

  The pair left the room and closed the door behind them. There was some noticeable shuffling in seats, which Alfred correctly read as their physical preparation for a new phase in the discussion.

  “Ego-morphs,” began Alfred, “Scary stuff.”

  “You’re damn straight they are,” Bradley shook his head.

  “Willing to kill for an authority figure while simultaneously persuading themselves that they’re doing it for the good of humanity,” Alfred summarised more for his own benefit, “And, have no vested interest in their own long-term survival. That psychological subset of humanity should be empty, but...”

  “But here we are,” General Napier stared back at him.

  “On the day we lose containment of the knowledge of Siva, on the day that Archive’s veil of secrecy actually falls, our ego-morphs will have no function.”

  “I am not understand, Dr. Barnes,” said Alexey Yakovna, “they will still have function to protect Archive knowledge, yes?”

  “Yes, but by the time we reach ‘Fallen Veil’, Archive’s knowledge will become largely redundant. There will be so much Archive knowledge out there in the public domain that they won’t be able to filter who represents a threat to us. They will still be driven to protect Archive, but that drive needs retargeting.”

  “Sweet mother o’ mercy, you’re talking ‘bout reprogramming,” Bradley leaned forward in his chair.

  Alfred nodded, it seemed that Bradley had got there quicker than he’d anticipated.

  “Dorothy Pittman pioneered the technique,” Alfred followed up, pointing loosely in the direction of the Siva folder on the table.

  “God rest her, if my mom could hear you talk...” Bradley trailed off.

  “With a small alteration, it can be made to work.”

  “You’ve never met an ego-morph,” General Napier stated, “I have. They anticipate, they’re logical...”

  “I’m depending on it,” agreed Alfred, “Just as they are dependent on us.”

  “The metathene drug?” Dr. Chen spoke up.

  “They can only get it from one place,” continued Alfred, “We’ll need to adjust their metathene compound to increase dependency, and then reprogram a percentage.”

  “Do you have any idea of the cost that...” began Napier, “...never mind. Anything else Dr. Barnes?”

  “Yes, we’ll need our terrorist organisation to be in place and making noise before Tenca hits.”

  “Why?”

  “We need to establish their credibility and visibility before panic sets in, not during. The idea of the threat has to have time to grow. It has to have time to embed itself in the subconscious, so that by the time of their first act, the fear response will be automatic.”

  “I can set back-channels for communication with Alexey,” confirmed Napier, “but best if we leave the Brits out of the loop, I don’t know how much of our
chatter will be picked up...”

  “The fly in the ointment,” Bradley noticeably clenched his fists on the table.

  “Excuse me?” asked Alfred.

  “Monica Walker,” Napier replied, “she has an annoying habit of discovering things. There are... reasons... we can’t act against her, but I’d rather limit her potential access to any new information.”

  “Excluding the British could work in our favour,” Alfred nodded, scribbling down some notes, “They have experience of politically motivated terrorism. With a suitable high-level act, we may be able to key into pre-existing fear responses.”

  “Yǔyán zhàng’ài,” came Dr. Chen’s voice.

  “Say what now?” Bradley paraphrased the others’ thoughts.

  “I said ‘language barrier’,” Dr. Chen smiled, “How do you ensure your state of fear translates globally, Dr. Barnes?”

  Alfred was now openly smiling; he found Dr. Chen’s succinct demonstration quite timely.

  “People fear the unknown, the new,” he replied, “so we give them both, and back it up with a symbol. Where language fails, symbology remains powerful. Just look at the effect of the swastika, you didn’t need to understand German to understand the fear.”

  He turned the overhead projector on and, taking a pen, drew on the bright surface so that everyone could see his proposed symbol.

  It was a circle, its circumference broken in one place by a smaller dot.

  “This is the symbol of our terrorist organisation,” he told them.

  “It don’t look that terrifying to me,” chuckled Bradley, leaning back in his seat and looking around at the others.

  “Shouldn’t it be more,” hesitated Napier through a thick frown, “aggressive? I don’t understand it.”

  “Good,” Alfred concluded, “You’re not supposed to understand it. The most important aspect of the symbol is that it is open to interpretation. Once atrocities are committed in its name, people will begin to assign all sorts of rationale to it.”

  “I see a Zero,” Alexey offered.

  “Good! It taps right into nihilism. Perfect!”

  “A new beginning,” offered Dr. Chen, tilting his head a little and making cyclical motions with his finger.

  Alfred froze, “Now that, is very good. People fear new beginnings, they want the familiar.”

  Alfred began scribbling notes again, during which Bradley voiced his opinion.

  “I see a big ol’ space rock smackin’ into the planet,” he thumped the table for extra emphasis.

  “All good interpretations,” Alfred walked back to the projector, “you begin to see the point?”

  There were noises of assent and Alfred took the opportunity to follow up.

  “I’m expanding on Dr. Chen’s suggestion here, but I’m translating it into a more arcane language,” he began writing on the projector again, underneath the symbol, “it will lend a good deal of weight to the perceived age of the organisation... plus we can track internet searches for the term, which could be useful.”

  He stood back from the projector and allowed them to see the words:

  ‘Exordi Nova’

  “It’s Latin,” Alfred explained, “it means- “

  “New Beginnings,” General Napier completed, much to Alfred’s surprise.

  They coordinated with each other to arrange the next meeting and where it should be held in the event of unforeseen circumstances, then they began to depart from the room.

  Alfred caught Bradley’s eye and asked, “Have you got a moment?”

  Bradley nodded and held a finger up, indicating to Alfred that he needed to finish his conversation with General Napier. While waiting, Alfred gathered the last of his things.

  “Dr. Barnes,” said Dr. Chen pushing himself forwards in his wheelchair and extending up his hand, “thank you. It has been a most insightful meeting.”

  Alfred bent over slightly to shake his hand, “Thank you too, Sir.”

  General Napier assisted Dr. Chen in navigating through the narrow doorway, leaving Alfred and Bradley in the room. Alfred’s analysis of the Siva file had left more than a few questions unanswered, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to dig any deeper without assistance. He also knew he couldn’t ask for that assistance; he would have to make it someone else’s idea to involve him. Alfred cleared his throat and lowered his tone before talking with Bradley.

  “Dr. Walker doesn’t know his family’s alive, does he?” he said, patting the Siva folder.

  “No, and it stays that way,” Bradley fixed him with a stare, “We need him focussed on the Node.”

  “Of course, of course,” Alfred nodded deferentially, “But Walker’s parents, er...”

  “Howard and Betty?”

  “Yes, thank you. Were they ever part of the cortical enhancement program?”

  “I... No,” Bradley frowned.

  “No. Of course not, sorry. It’s just that I assumed that because Douglas himself is, well, er...”

  “A genius?” laughed Bradley, “No that’s all him, hundred percent genius. No artificial sweeteners!”

  Alfred laughed along too, but noticed a slight deflection in the gaze of Bradley’s pupils; he knew that Bradley had just made the necessary mental note.

  Now he had to wait.

  VISITORS

  10th October 1957

  Howard and Elizabeth Walker lived in Atlanta, about five miles west of the Bradley Observatory where Howard conducted his practical work. Their house was a fairly modest single storey home, with a small veranda skirting the front to provide shade during the warm summers. In their compact living room, they were playing with their son who was busy trying to taste the shapes of various coloured wooden blocks and squealing delightedly to his parents’ smiles.

  “Blue,” Howard said, holding the rectangular block for his son to see, “Blue. Cuboid.”

  He placed it down on the thick rug in front of him.

  “Douglas?” said Elizabeth, miming ‘where’ with a puzzled expression, “Blue, sphere?”

  Douglas immediately grabbed the blue ball that had been placed on the rug earlier in the game, and began biting it.

  “Good boy, Dougie!” clapped his parents.

  The front door bell chimed.

  “Think he’s going to be bright,” Elizabeth gave her husband a peck on the cheek and headed towards the door.

  “Going to be?” he half laughed, beaming at his son, “I’d say he’s well on the way!”

  “You’re biased, remember your academic rigour…” she teased.

  She opened the door to find two men standing a few feet away, wearing identical grey suits.

  “Mrs. Walker? Sorry to disturb you, is your husband home?” said one of them.

  “Sure, hold on one second,” she said then called to Howard, “There’s someone to see you, honey.”

  She watched him scoop Douglas up from the rug and, half skidding on some home-made flashcards, he made his way over to her.

  “Here, take Dougie will you?” he said, tapping his son gently on the nose, “There you go little fella, thanks Betty.”

  She walked back to the living room and set Douglas down on the rug. While her husband talked with the men, she gathered the flashcards from the floor and carried them to the nearby kitchen table. She picked up the bottle she’d been warming and walked back to the living room sofa. She collected Douglas from the rug and settled on the sofa, ready to begin feeding him. She was just checking the milk’s temperature, when a voice came from the direction of the front door.

  “Mrs. Walker?” called one of the men.

  She shuffled forwards on the sofa in order to stand up but was interrupted.

  “No, please don’t get up, I can see you’re busy with baby Dougie!”

  Although she and Howard used the diminutive form of their son’s name all the time, she disliked it when it was used by people she didn’t know. It put her a little on edge, mostly because the man was continuing to smile cheerfully as he visibly leaned around her husband to talk to her.

  “It seems that someone broke in at the observatory,” he smiled with a shrug, “so Howard’s going to come with us and secure the premises. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, I truly am.”

  Something didn’t seem right to her.

  “Howard...?” she called, hoping that he would pick up on her sense of unease.