Part 7 (1/2)

Everyone reacted to that, except Kortez. Cousin Justine exchanged glances with her comrade. Mr Qixotl shuffled back into the room, an anxious look on his face. The beermats seemed edgy. Homunculette looked like his head would explode if he heard any more bad news. 'Explain,' he snapped.

'I found someone wandering around the ziggurat. He didn't have an invitation.'

Mr Qixotl cleared his throat. 'Erm, how do you know he didn't have...?'

'I scanned him,' the woman replied, emotionlessly. 'No invitation.'

Homunculette's eyes looked as though they were getting ready to pop out and go walkabout. 'Where is he now?'

'Here,' said the woman. A black hole blossomed from the front of her head, and something almost two metres tall was vomited out of her skull, landing in a messy heap on the floor of the c.o.c.ktail lounge.

Bregman lost her grip again.

Under his breath, Colonel Kortez recited another mantra. The others were making too much noise for them to be able to hear it. Truth be told, it had been years since Kortez had needed a mantra, but it was all part of the procedure. To an old UNISYC hand, it was as normal as checking your safety-catch or polis.h.i.+ng your boots.

The alien woman's face folded back in on itself. The man who'd been belched out of her head lay motionless on the floor, face-down, clearly unconscious. The other representatives were moving in on him, curious looks on their faces. Kortez felt the thing that had identified itself as the s.h.i.+ft whisper through his consciousness, eager to see the intruder through a material pair of eyes.

Homunculette nudged the intruder's body with the tip of a dirt-encrusted shoe. The intruder obligingly rolled onto his back, and everyone leaned forward to peer at his face. Except for Lieutenant Bregman, of course, who was busy being sick in the corner.

The face was striking, but hardly remarkable. Long features, smooth skin, a high forehead. The man's eyes were closed, but somehow he still managed to look gently bemused.

The mantra froze on the Colonel's lips.

What had General Tchike told him?

What had he been told about the mission?

The other representatives started arguing again. The Time Lord was yelling insults at Mr Qixotl, who was simultaneously panicking and rea.s.suring his guests that there was no cause for panic. But Kortez was already several kilometres above them, extending his spirit until it touched the roof of the world, just as his chiefs at the Goa Inst.i.tute of Military Spirituality had taught him.

Rising above proceedings. Moving out of reach of the noise. Remembering.

UNISYC'S STORY

Arizona, Earth, March 2069

We're standing in a desert that used to be a county. We're on the edge of a crater, although it takes us a while to figure that out; we're not used to seeing holes this big. The camera moves, sweeping across the landscape until we can make out the size of the pit. It's enormous, kilometres from side to side, the floor carpeted with dry bones, crushed metal, and shattered concrete.

It's the Phoenix Sandbowl. The state's most famous city used to stand here, but of course, there hasn't been anything worth seeing since the Wars of Independence. Most of Phoenix vanished in less than a minute, they they say. The people living on the outskirts moved out after that, as their homes began to slide and sink into the Sandbowl. n.o.body's quite sure why the city was taken out, even today. say. The people living on the outskirts moved out after that, as their homes began to slide and sink into the Sandbowl. n.o.body's quite sure why the city was taken out, even today. They They say it was a Tesla bomb, planted in the city foundations by terrorists from the breakaway Southern states, but no one's ever been able to explain why they'd want to get rid of a city all the way out in Arizona. Besides, who cares what say it was a Tesla bomb, planted in the city foundations by terrorists from the breakaway Southern states, but no one's ever been able to explain why they'd want to get rid of a city all the way out in Arizona. Besides, who cares what they they say? say?

So we keep turning, taking in all the little motor-home villages in the desert around us, the camps where the descendants of the city's refugees have been living since '37. There are trailer parks as far as the eye can see, battles.h.i.+p-sized caravans built to house hundreds, their wheels rusting away and sinking into the dust. But it's not the vehicles we're interested in. The camera is zooming in, auto-focusing on a patch of empty white sand off on the horizon.

There aren't any caravans there. All the people have been moved away. The area's blocked off by ”extreme force” cordons, great screens of transparent plastic wired to miniature plasma generators. The only vehicles inside the cordon are government vehicles. You can tell they're government vehicles, because they don't have registration plates.

The camera goes to maximum magnification. We see people inside the enclosure, mostly men, dressed in heavy black suits despite the Arizona heat. Most of them are wearing shades, even though the fas.h.i.+on this year is for self-polarising contact lenses (everybody knows that).

There's something in the centre of the enclosure, surrounded by vehicles on all sides. Something the men-in-black are guarding. Something they don't want us to see.

Geneva, Earth, April 2069

'It's a hole in the ground,' said General Tchike. 'We took a satellite picture, before the Americans shot down the last RetCon probe. We think it's an impact crater. A pinp.r.i.c.k, next to the Sandbowl.'

He slid his fingers across the contact panel, and the picture froze on the cinevid screen. The screen was a holograph, so the image hovered above the surface of the table at the dead centre of the War Room. The cinevid's controls were set into the arm of the General's chair, and you had to open a secret compartment to get at them. Childish, thought Tchike. He wondered if the technical staff were still fitting ejector seats in UNISYC staff cars.

There were five individuals at the table, the minimum number required for any UNISYC Conclave. It was a Zodiac Level meeting, 60-L clearance and above, so there were none of the usual secretaries or security guards in attendance. The War Room looked empty without them. Bleak. The walls were sheer black, which didn't help, the only decoration being the old UN insignia stamped across the tabletop. The UN was a joke, and had been ever since Whiteacre had signed the World Zones Accord in '38, but UNISYC still liked to pretend it took its mother organisation seriously.

'Government agents,' said Brigadier Renault, with a nod towards the frozen men-in-black on the screen. 'Dinner suits and dark gla.s.ses. The usual dress code.'

'Protecting a hole in the ground?' queried Dr Martinique.

Renault turned his swivel-chair towards Tchike. 'I a.s.sume we're not just talking about a meteorite strike here, General.'

'Skydrop Scenario Four,' Tchike replied. 'Whatever hit the ground was artificial. Alien. Our sources tell us it landed near the Phoenix Sandbowl on March 26th, at around 11:30. This footage was taken on the 27th, using an MI7 microcamera.' His hand moved back to the contact panel. 'There's more, of course.'

So we're back in the desert, but the picture's wobbling. The cameraman is running, darting between apartment-sized mobile homes with portable suncatcher generators strapped to their rooftops. When the camera stops shaking, we see a trailer caravan in front of us, its door broken off its hinges. Two of the men-in-black stand outside, pinioning a third individual between them. The victim is male, in his thirties, with grease-coloured hair hanging down to his waist, his face covered in stubble and sticking plasters. Trailer trash, then. One of the thousands who made it out of the Phoenix suburbs before they slid into the dust. He's yelling something as the men-in-black grab his arms, but we don't hear any sound.

Now one of his a.s.sailants looks up, towards the camera. Suddenly, everything goes white. We realise the cameraman has ducked behind something, although we can't tell what. The next thing we know, there's a flurry of movement. We feel like we're twining again. This time, we suspect we're being followed.

Tchike stopped the cinevid footage.

'The alien object hit the ground in the middle of a trailer community,' he explained. 'No known casualties. Obviously, the authorities took the usual precautions.'

'Witness intimidation,' noted Major-General Bael.

'I've got a question,' said Professor Cogan.

Everybody swivelled in his direction. Cogan hadn't said a word up until now. The man was English, and therefore naturally reserved. Or, to put it another way; no one cared what he had to say, most of the time.