Live Fiction: Current Project

Live Fiction is an online collaborative story that you can read and comment on as we write. It was inevitable that somebody would one day suggest we have a go at some science fiction, so please read on for our lastest offering in this genre…

No End

There was something there. Angela could see an image of a mouse but it was more like a ghost.   It wasn’t coming and going like those old Star trek re-materialisations. No, but Angela could see through it.

“How long does it take?” she queried, looking puzzled.

“Just a minute, I mean, it should be . . .” Frank’s voice tailed off. He looked hard into his controls.  This hadn’t happened since the early days.  Frank’s mind went back to some of the early tests where things would hang, half returned to reality, half lost.  They got some of them back – in time. Others remained half gone, like a sort of image of the real thing. They’d sorted it out long before trying living creatures.

Angela shrieked. The half transported mouse was twitching. It was moving, but at the same time was rooted to the spot. Frank turned his controls and the image got stronger. Angela could still see the wall of the crucible on the far side, the mouse was twitching more strongly when there was a “pop”. A small curl of smoke came up from the machine.  They both stared at the mouse. It did look OK. The device might have struggled but it did seem to have move the mouse from one place to the other.

Frank collected the mouse in his hands and placed it in a small cage.  Angela was full of questions. “How far can it go?  Have you tried it with people? What happened when the mouse was half here?  . .

“Hold on, slow down” said Frank.  “There’s a lot we don’t know. No-one knows how something can be half here, or where the other half is.  We did a lot of early work on cheese. It’s organic material and helped us sort out the details, but there are several pieces we lost, don’t know where. We had a few half lost, but generally stuff either eventually arrived or didn’t make it at all.   Mind you, in the early days there was some funny stuff arriving.”

Angela shook herself as Frank stopped speaking and decided the time had come to go home. It was clear there was a lot more work to do if people were to be moved. It was also apparent that Frank’s prototype had machinery at both ends. I distant planet would not have that apparently vital bit of kit.

As she opened the door to leave, there was a man standing outside. Angela stared at him, but he didn’t speak.

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Secrets and Lies

“Tell me the good news.”

“I’m sorry, Prime Minister, but there isn’t any.” The British government’s chief scientific advisor, Dr Matthew Harlow said to his ultimate boss wearily. “The gamma ray wavefront from the supernova is going to arrive in just over six months.”

“And there’s no way to survive the blast, or whatever it is?” The question had the hope of the scientific layman. Dr Harlow shook his head sadly.

“It’s not like a solar flare that might just knock out electronics and make birds fall out of the sky, Prime Minister; this is a high-intensity burst of gamma rays, the sort that will strip the atmosphere of all the ozone, leaving the earth unprotected. Anyone on the planet will be exposed to horrendous amounts of UV unless they live underground. It will also cause a new Ice Age that will severely disrupt the planet’s ecosystem and our food chain. You know all those post-apocalyptic movies; well it will be like that but without Hollywood’s saccharine veneer.”

“Can we build underground bunkers or cities, or something?” This question came from Sir Reginald Dower, the Cabinet Secretary.

“We don’t have time, Sir Reginald. Oh, a few people would be able to survive in old Cold War bunkers and I expect the American survivalists will be fine for a while, but the majority of the earth’s population is going to die in one way or another. We have six months, and we only know its that long because we got lucky with the new detector array under Ben Nevis and picked up some rogue particles travelling faster than light that CERN didn’t create. Normally, the first you know about a star exploding is when you see it. As a gamma ray travels at the speed of light, along with all that visible light and radio waves you are looking at with your telescope is the nasty stuff too!” Dr Harlow’s voice rose a bit.

“Calm down, Doctor.” said the Prime Minister, “Tell us what can be done.”

“Nothing, there is no good news! It is the end of the world!”

The Prime Minister and Cabinet Secretary shared a glance. Sir Reginald cleared his throat.

“Thank you Doctor, you may go. And we don’t need to impress on you the need for secrecy?” His dark eyes bored into Dr Harlow’s. “We can’t have the public finding out and panicking, can we? You will need to make sure everyone on the research team and anyone else who might know about this signs the Official Secrets Act. Keep them quiet.”

Dr Harlow nodded reluctantly and left the room. Sir Reginald looked at the Prime Minister.

“When I first heard about this, I took the liberty of getting the bunkers online. I told them it was a drill, of course. There will be continuity of government, Prime Minister. Where there’s life there’s hope.”

“Keep a lid on the crisis please, Reggie; do whatever you need to stop people from finding out they are all about to die and can do nothing about it.”

“Yes, Prime Minister, I will keep them distracted with the Olympics.”

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Come with me if you want us to live

“Frank Hope?” The heavy-set man asked eventually.
Angela’s eyes narrowed in a half squint, half eagle-eyed stare. The contrast from the inside light behind her and the colour of the man’s suit against the night had made her jump.

“Do I look like Frank to you mate?” she snapped, “I think those shades aren’t helping, I’ll tell you that.”
The man touched a hand to the side of this head. Angela put a hand on her purse and stepped forward to squeezed past him. “That’s a negatory on contact.” He murmured.
She stopped mid-step and looked up at him. “What did you just call me?” Angela demanded looking up. “Listen to me you big gorilla, I don’t know who you are, but I’m not the type of Sheila to take that – “
“Your name is Sheila?” the man rumbled, taking off his glasses.
“What? No? Why would you -”
Angela stopped pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t deal with this.” she complained. “Frank!” Angela yelled over her shoulder, “One of your sight-impaired mates are here to see you.” She’d barely walked three steps when the sight of another man in a dark suit who could have been the first gorillas twin appeared out of the blue to step in front of her. He held out a hand. It was so close to her face that she could see the pattern of lines on his palm.

“Sarah Connor?” He asked in a voice so low that she thought he might set off some sort of seismic alarm.
“Who?”
Angela watched open-mouthed as this second man also proceeded to talk into his hand.
“Negatory to Clintock.” After a second, he looked up. “Alice Bannad? Talia Lu Deville? Katherine Janeway?”
The surprise on her face disappeared as she recognised the second to last name and she crossed her arms.

“You’re talking about Frank’s fancy girlfriends with all their airs and graces, are you?” I am not one of those – women!” She sniffed. “Besides, what’s it to you?”
Gorilla one looked up in the air.
“Identity Confirmed. Miss Weiss? Have you had any contact with Mr Hope recently?”
“What?” She asked, instinctively looking back towards the front door.
“Have. You. Had. Any. Contact. With. Mr. Hope. Recently?” Gorilla one repeated patiently.
“I’m not a bloody fool you know,” Angela snapped. “Why do you want Mr Hope? Who are you?” She cringed inside as her journalists training took over, and the five “W’s” of who, how, where, when and what came to the forefront of her mind. There really was a story here, she thought to herself. What had Frank gotten himself into?
“They’re F.B.I.” piped up a voice to the side of them. Both agents whipped up handguns and pointed them to where the voice came from where three teenagers, two sporting thick woollen hats, and the other one in a t-shirt so green it reminded her of radioactive snot even in the sodium streetlights.
The first one used a be ringed hand to nudge his friend. The hand soon dropped under the weight of so much gold. “Nah, that’s a glock. Pretty sure its still not on the approved list for the feebs anymore.”
The first suited man waved his hand, and they put their guns away as quickly as they’d drawn them.
“Please step away from Ms Weiss.” He said as he stepped in front of the lads. The youth squinted.
“True dat.” He said. “Listen to him, innit. Issan English voice, so gotta be MI6. MI5 wouldn’t keep drawing down on da innocent unsuspecting public like us. My dad says issa tax fing. They don’t wanna shoot da few people who actually paying tax!” He cackled and the kids pounded fists with each other. The two men stepped towards the youths and they scattered.
“Wait until Magnus hears about this, he’s gonna love it!” one shouted happily.
Angela looked at the backs of the two suited men and walked backwards slowly to the front door. She pressed against it and cursed the lineage of all poms who have doors that keep shutting themselves as it refused to open. She turned and knocked surreptitiously. At her back, either gorilla one or two were talking quietly and she could catch the occasional phrase.
“Request emergency extraction, three, repeat three extra tango’s.” There was a pause in which she finally heard halting footsteps come towards the door. As the door finally opened, a shadow loomed over her to push the door hard as soon as it opened.
“Mr Hope. Please come with us. We’ve been sent to retrieve you.”
Frank stared. “What?” The suited agent put his own hand to the bridge of his nose.
Angela patted him on his arm. “I have that feeling too. Do you work out a lot?”

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Hasta la Vista, Baby

Angela ran. She didn’t need the hair standing up on the back of her neck to recognize the allusions to Terminator in the previous section. Nor did she want to see again the look in Frank’s eyes as the two FBI/MI6 agents closed in on him: it reminded her too much of the way that mouse had looked when Frank put it in the transporter. She didn’t want to see Frank come out of his experience half there and half here, so to speak. So she ran, and ran.

Granted that running is often pointless, occasionally it has benefits. For Angela, these were usually an improved digestion and increased heart-lung function. This time, however, she cannoned into Dirk (Dr, for short) Hadlow, coming out of an off-licence with several fancy bottles in a bag, and looking shifty. If she hadn’t already known that face and look, she would have apologized and moved on. This time, she stared at her ex-husband and exclaimed: “Oh for Christ’s sake, who is she this time?”

Dirk picked himself up, took one look at Angela and reached into his bag for a bottle of vodka. He took a ten second swig, before saying to Angela: “She’s the whole world to me, ” hiccupping, and laughing uproariously.

“Who is?”

“Mother Earth. Dear old mother, with trees and stuff. Thing you’re standing on. Ever seen a film called Melancholia?” He reached out and, drawing Angela to him, proceeded to hug her as if she were not only still his wife, but also his ideal squeeze.

Angela broke away, a little reluctantly.

“Is this about that gamma-ray burst?” she asked. “The one that’s going to kill everything more evolved than a stone in six months time?”

Dirk didn’t so much gasp as fail to breathe for twenty seconds, then hyperventilate. Angela patted him on the back, and sat down on a nearby bench with him. It was deliberately designed to be hell to sit on, and impossible to lie on, so as to ensure that tramps would have to sleep on the ground and die as soon as possible.

“I know a man,” she said, “who knows all about the end of the world. And he has a teleporter thing that he thinks will save lots of people, and some mice. Only two other men stole him tonight. Now, what do you think of that?”

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A teleporter thing

A teleporter thing?

If humanity was to be saved from the impending disaster by a ‘teleporter thing’, Dr Matthew ‘Dirk’ Harlow felt that he ought to have known about it. Angela was probably off on one of her flights of fancy – something she seemed increasingly prone to since their divorce. Then again, he’d had an uncomfortable feeling of late that something wasn’t quite right. Meetings he wasn’t invited to, emails where he failed to make the copy list. Despite being chief scientific adviser to the government, he was beginning to think that he was being deliberately kept out of the loop.

Had someone found him out? Despite being a scientist who used to pride himself on his integrity and objectivity, he had been unable to resist the temptation of exploiting his unique knowledge. If the world really was going to end (and he wasn’t even entirely convinced of it himself), people would have other things to worry about than insider dealing or breaches of the official secrets act.

He had already revealed the facts to a number of people, most of them women. He had discovered that it was possible, if he could convince them it was true, to have the most mind-blowingly amazing end-of-the-world sex. What they did with the information afterwards wasn’t his concern. Since Angela left him, he had lost touch with the parts of his psyche that dealt with caring, sharing and moral responsibility.

But he definitely hadn’t told Angela – in fact he’d taken deliberate pleasure in imagining her distress when he let her in on the secret at the last minute, when it was too late to make any plans. How long had she known? And more to the point, who had told her? In his drunken state, he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him.

‘Fancy a quick one for old times?’

Angela slapped his face.

It had been worth a try, he thought confusedly. It would have been easier to question her in an atmosphere of post-coital intimacy. But now he would have to get the information some other way.

Dr Matthew ‘Dirk’ Harlow wanted to survive. Sensing that his tenure in the circles of power might not always be secure, he had created his own insurance plan through a series of strategic dealings on the stock market. Once the news of the planet’s doom was either leaked or announced, he was likely to reap immense profits. How long they would hold their value in the ensuing financial chaos was anybody’s guess, but he was planning to use them as swiftly as possible to buy his way into some kind of personal survival scheme. A place in a bunker, transport to another planet, cryogenic burial if need be – he wasn’t too fussy as long as it got him out of the way of that bloody gamma-ray burst.

Or a’ teleporter thing’, if his ex-wife was to be believed. Now, he needed to pull out all the stops to get her on his side.

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