Earth in Torment Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Ronald D. Thompson.

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording without the permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, persons living or dead is coincidental or they are used fictitiously.

  Cover design and layout by www.spiffingcovers.com

  Smashwords Edition

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: The Alias

  Chapter 2: The Incident

  Chapter 3: The Chosen

  Chapter 4: We are not Alone

  Chapter 5: The Killing Chambers

  Chapter 6: Area 51 the Conference

  Chapter 7: The Counter Plan

  Chapter 8: The Rescue

  Chapter 9: Suspicious Minds

  Chapter 10: The Missions

  Chapter 11: Operation Freedom

  Chapter 12: The Sting

  Chapter 13: The Close

  Chapter 14: Xenox

  Chapter 15: Ambushed

  Chapter 16: Homeward Bound

  Chapter 17: Earth’s Response

  Chapter 18: A New Threat

  Chapter 19: The Evidence

  Chapter 20: The Message

  Chapter 21: No Show

  Chapter 22: Squalor Revenge

  Chapter 23: Ice Caves

  Chapter 24: World Crash

  Chapter 25: The Deal

  Chapter 26: Earth – Living Hell

  Chapter 27: Resurrection

  Chapter 28: The Retreat

  Chapter 29: The Exodus

  Chapter 30: Planet X1285

  Chapter 31: The Hour Cometh

  Chapter 32: The Drayzaks

  Chapter 33: Shut Down

  Chapter 34: The Daxzus Factor

  Chapter 35: A Chance Meeting

  Chapter 36: Operation Ice

  Chapter 37: The Courtship

  Chapter 38: Blind Side

  Chapter 39: The Payload

  Chapter 40: The Dane Attacks

  Chapter 41: The Capsule

  Chapter 42: Bones

  CHAPTER 1

  THE ALIAS

  Robert Stave looked at his reflection with a wry smile. The procedure had been arduous, almost six hours; the recovery equally as painful. The bandages had been removed delicately from his face by his personal nurse, Iris. Holding the photograph in his right hand, he scrutinised the resemblance. Even though his face was still a little swollen, dried blood obvious evidence of the gruelling operation, the likeness was remarkable. Iris was bemused that her patient owned such a relic; paper photographs hadn’t been in circulation since the late 21st century.

  The year 2218; the date 2nd February. Robert was ready.

  It hadn’t been easy to find a surgeon willing to put his credentials on the line, to risk his ability to practice, to lose his licence, but eight million credits sealed the deal. Robert had connections, a network of vagabonds who could move crypto currency undetected, and now the final piece of the jigsaw, a surgeon too greedy to check the validity of his underworld dealings. The plan was hatched. By 2070, paper currency had dissolved, transactional encrypted currency movement ensured money laundering had been eradicated, or at least that was the theory. The underworld had to be more creative. They were, and Robert knew how.

  “The surgeon will be with you in a moment Robert,” said Iris.

  “Thanks, Iris. Now we can go out on that lunch date you promised me, especially now that I look dashing! What do you say?” asked Robert.

  “Mr Stave! You know we are not allowed to fraternise,” said Iris in a sympathetic attempt to dissuade Robert without hurting his feelings.

  “You’re a tease, Iris,” replied Robert with a resigning smirk.

  “Robert,” said Doctor Humphries as he walked in the recovery room, “that will be all, Iris,” ushering her away in order to have a private chat with his client. “All looks fine. Now, it will take a few days to settle down.”

  “Will it heal in time, Doc?” asked Robert.

  “There’s no worry on that score,” said Humphries as he looked around the room to ensure complete privacy. “I assume you have taken care of the balance.”

  “Already credited, Doc. It’s in your designated crypto wallet. Non-traceable,” said Robert.

  **********************

  The year hailed the 200th anniversary of the start of ‘The Great Alien Wars’, the period which changed the world, sculpted our very existence. Robert’s plan was to alter the trajectory of time, even at the risk of his own life; now he had a purpose.

  Robert lived in the outer circuit of a district which used to be known as New York. The Great Alien Wars changed the very fabric of society – geographical areas which mankind used to hold dear were changed beyond recognition in the aftermath; cities were re-sculpted, renamed.

  The alien elite kept the unruly in tow, at a cost. Human numbers were reducing significantly.

  Humans embraced the huge technological advances, overlooking the cultural differences between the many alien species, which were causing unrest. Robert ached for a return to the old ways, when we were truly independent of these other alien forms, especially monstrous undesirables from distant planets. Even though he hadn’t known that era, his grandfather had told him stories of days long gone, great tales passed on by his grandfather, where the world was different, a paradise in comparison.

  The alien technologies grew more extravagant, more unreal, but the emergence of the time capsules gave Robert the inspiration to act. He had meticulously planned his operation; this was his destiny.

  Most of the advances in technology were sabotaged both by governments and the military – the normal underhanded tactics to ensure civilian subservience – just as it was prior to the Alien Wars, as it had always been. These days, however, the stakes were higher.

  Time travel had been available to the military since 2197 but had gone through a barrage of undesirable failures. Portal travel had opened new galactic connections, an intertwining of ideas, new fads. It was inevitable that our species would dabble in unknown advances; this technology was highly sensitive; security was paramount. The problem was that the source of this new time travel technology wasn’t particularly reliable, so a series of trial-and-error experiments followed for many years, unsuccessfully.

  The ‘Council of the Light’, the galactic police, decided to monitor the usage of this highly sensitive technology, test the equipment, ensure absolute safety where possible and restrict usage to only those individuals registered with the Council, limited to a handful. Alternate universes were feared to be a side effect, all sorts of Doomsday predictions were associated with this untested method, no alien species was absolutely sure how the interference, with the past or the future, may change the present. Many theories evolved, multi-universes being one of them, suggesting that these time machines could toll the death knell of our very existence. As usual, though, the military wasn’t interested in the risks.

  The capsule had been given the once-over by the Council. The report was inconclusive; it was given the status of ‘hazardous’ and they insisted that a disclaimer must be used in the event of any fool who wished to take their chances. This didn’t worry the military either.

  It had been tested, then tested again. First on animals, with some measure of success but with no obvious feedback, then on humans. As very few individuals had clearance by the Council and there were serious risks involved, there were few volunteers. Several had been lost in the experiments; the capsule had exploded on many occasions culminating in an agonising death. Being burned alive in an enclosed space was enough to deter the majority, even though the experience would be the most wonderful for the recipient, if successful.

  ************************

  By 21st February, Robert’s swelling had gone. The transformation was complete.

  The anniversary of the event known as The Incident had led the now-diminished Security Council, representing the human species, to consider obtaining evidence. They needed a willing volunteer, someone prepared to risk his life. Colonel Alfred Patterson fitted the bill. All the necessary checks had been carried out, he had no spouse, his only son had died tragically in battle whilst trying to emulate his father’s achievements; Alfred was their man.

  Colonel Patterson was the double of a historic figure in ‘The Great Alien Wars’ called Hank Richardson; the resemblance uncanny. This was the break Robert needed. Once it had been announced via the news in holovision (superseding television in the 22nd century when holograms became the rage), Robert seized his opportunity: the announcement of the Colonel’s time travel, in what was being hailed as the newly advanced and tested time machine, was several months before his scheduled transportation, giving Robert the time he needed.

  The time travel principle worked on the theory that no physical matter in the universe has ever been destroyed, just reassembled; molecules merely re-shaped, continually leaving an imprint. As the imprints changed every nanosecond, the illusion of our existence was complete. These imprints are left in the fabric of space, etched in time. To track the imprints and mimic the molecular assembly at a chosen time would recreate the present in a different era. Imagine a child moving a sparkler rapidly in the dark: the movement is captured by the shape of the light emanating fro
m the firework; tracing back the light would re-create where the sparkler had been, thus going back in time. This was the concept. The software to trace and reassemble molecules in the past at a given date, without affecting the present, led to many years of struggle, but eventually a prototype was created, unproven, but a workable prototype nonetheless.

  Robert walked into the holding room, the time capsule visible through a transparent screen, to be versed on the procedure by an engineer and, more importantly, to agree to the legal terms which clearly stated that the Security Council held no responsibility for the accidental death of the said volunteer. To Robert’s astonishment, nobody suspected a thing. His eight million credits had been spent wisely. The Doc was worth his weight, he thought.

  The capsule was oval shaped, completely transparent, with one seam down the middle separating two halves of the time machine. Each half of the capsule parted, allowing the volunteer to sit in the moulded seat whilst the co-ordinates were remotely set from the small adjoining room. Once comfortable, the capsule would close, securing the occupant. The individual was dressed in what was known as the ‘one suit’. Reasonably fireproof – though not enough to cope with the furnace should the capsule erupt – it was sufficient to convince the victim that he or she had some protection at least. The military wasn’t interested in the suit’s effectiveness.

  The plan was to set the destination, time and date to the precise scene of The Incident inside the force field in order to gather evidence, bring a case against the abductors with The Council of the Light and gain compensation for their illegal activity. A lot was at stake; interplanetary trading, which was hugely profitable, a claim on the vast resources of the alien nation who violated the propagation laws and, more importantly, a favourable ruling from the Council to rid Earth of these unsavoury aliens, who were enjoying these benefits illicitly.

  The time capsule engineer, Samuel Parker, acknowledged Colonel Alfred Patterson.

  “Follow me this way, Colonel Patterson,” said Samuel.

  Robert Stave followed as commanded.

  “Colonel, we need to set the capsule to your voice,” said Samuel. “Could you just say your name out loud, please?”

  Robert paused. “Colonel Alfred Patterson,” said Robert, convincingly.

  “Excellent,” said Samuel, “it is set. Colonel, the capsule will react to your voice. Any instruction will activate the control centre. When you arrive at your destination and you wish to return, simply instruct the capsule to open. Once comfortably inside, instruct it to close. We have already programmed the co-ordinates to return you to the present. You simply have to say, ‘Return home’. Do you understand, Colonel?”

  “Yes, perfectly understood,” said Robert, who still found it strange that he was being referred to as ‘Colonel’.

  “I can’t decipher the language,” said Robert.

  “No need, Colonel. This is a universal time machine. As you know, hieroglyphics are the adopted galactic communication, so you only need to be concerned with the date,” said Samuel.

  “What if I accidently changed the date? I wouldn’t return to the present,” said Robert, feigning concern. In reality, he was checking the override procedure. He had no intention of returning to the present.

  “This button here activates the override,” said Samuel, pointing to a red button on the dashboard. “I strongly advise that you don’t touch it. If you’d read the manual, Colonel, you would know that you can simply say a date out loud once the override is activated and it will automatically change. Does that alleviate your concerns?”

  “Perfectly,” said Robert, trying to appear as if he had forgotten. In all honesty, he had never seen the manual. “And the destination – is that voice controlled?”

  “The destination is fixed for your own safety. Both arrival and return.”

  The two halves joined with a clunk. The engineers checked the historic date, back to the date of The Incident in 2018, and the precise location.

  The fireproof shutters surrounding the small 3-metre-squared room descended, covering the glass, precautionary in case the unthinkable occurred; even the operating engineers’ direct view of the room was obstructed. A visual of the proceedings was viewed via a 3D monitor. The engineers said a small prayer.

  Inside the capsule, Robert waited. The technology there was mind blowing: technical data everywhere; transparent screens displayed complex formulae, graphs, hieroglyphs; this was technology way beyond his comprehension. In effect, it was alien technology, adapted. He said a small prayer, too.

  The body of Colonel Alfred Patterson turned up three days later, his throat cut, his military garments removed. All his identification documents stolen, his ID and coding to activate his entry into the time capsule also missing. His body badly bloated, floating down the river surrounding the circuit city renamed ‘The New Manhattan’.

  Of the three engineers in the adjoining room, two had been murdered whilst Robert was receiving instructions. Samuel had been forced, against his will, to change the location for the occupant, Robert Stave.

  The destination: Area 51, Nevada; the date 23rd February 2018.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE INCIDENT

  At 1pm on 15th February 2018, The Incident was first reported. Three individuals captured this mysterious event on their phones and sent in their footage to an Italian news channel. Rai News broadcast the following:

  We interrupt our news coverage to report an extraordinary incident which occurred at around midday and begs the question: is this an elaborate illusion or is this an alien abduction captured on film? We have received two video clips and a selfie, taken on phones from witnesses, which appear to show individuals holding hands in a circle before mysteriously disappearing. This all happened in St Peter’s Square.

  The video footage was shot by Sasha da Silva, a French student visiting Rome on a school excursion. Sasha’s clip showed a panoramic view of the square, panning from left to right. She noticed a group of individuals forming a circle and holding hands in front of a backdrop of the Vatican City. Sasha completed her panoramic shot, then quickly returned to the area where the individuals had formed the circle. Suddenly, there was pandemonium as the circle of individuals appeared to evaporate into what resembled a swirling kaleidoscope. Struggling to focus on the subject matter, her phone shook as she attempted to record the incident. It was clear that something extraordinary had happened.

  This footage was to be a record of this important single event in human history.

  ************************

  James Eaton received the email on 8th February 2018 confirming that his application had been accepted. All his travel arrangements were booked, his flights and accommodation paid for, and clearance for his trip arranged on his behalf with his university.

  He was going to Rome.

  James picked up his phone. Gold and uniquely designed, he had acquired it in Monte Carlo. It wasn’t space-grey like the majority of his university friends’ phones. James preferred being different; his mates in Edinburgh always ribbed him about this quirky trait.

  His father, called Charles, was a senior partner at the firm Eaton, Chadwick & Thompson, a successful law firm in Manchester, England; a profession James despised.

  “Dad, it’s James,” he said in his usual matter-of-fact manner.

  “James, good to hear from you, son,” replied Charles, who placed his hand over his phone in a futile attempt to muffle his voice. He whispered to his wife, Irene, that their son was on the line. Little did he realise that the caller could hear every word. With Charles it was a case of old habits dying hard after years of using telephones with a dial.

  James didn’t call too often – no need as he had an elaborate network of friends in Edinburgh who were far more interesting than his father and far less judgemental. Charles figured the call was for one reason, the same reason James always called: to top up his fund allowance. Charles always joked with his partners at work that when his son called it wasn’t a case of ‘Hello’ but more a case of ‘How much?’

  Despite the temptation to enquire at the likely cost to his pocket, on this occasion he refrained.

  “Everything all right, son?” the typical opening line when James rang.

  “Yeah, Dad, everything’s cool,” whatever that meant – a mystery to Charles and Irene. Did ‘cool’ mean he was excelling at his work or was his social life on the up? Only James really knew the translation for ‘cool’ in this instance.