Visitation - Exodus (book 2 of 2)

I had never seen a door open that quickly.

Normally a gentle run of fingers along the wall would open a door of its own accord and at its own speed. This one swung open inwardly, towards me, at some speed. A figure I had not seen before came bounding in through the opening; a young, lean man with loads of natural energy and slightly taller than me.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re Ian aren’t you?”

“Don’t want to collect the wrong guy.”

“Come on mate, let’s get a move on.”

“Come on, follow me; now.”

He just kept coming at me with these staccato statements, like quick fire bullets. I stood my ground, or rather stayed put in my seat and continued chomping on a small pork pie that my sticky fingers had just got wrapped round.

“Are you not ready, you should be, come along; now.”

“You were told I was coming weren’t you?”

“You must have been, come on, let’s go.”

This young man seemed full of beans as though he was off to some great adventure. His timetable had no relation to mine, whatever that might be even if I had one. He was running way ahead of me on some agenda I had no recognition of.

“Pick up some of the food if you haven’t finished. Stuff it in your pockets, if you like, but we have to go now. We need to hurry, come on, jump up mate, come on let’s go.”

This full-of-beans approach took me instantly back to my military days, many, many, years previously. Stuffing food in a jacket pocket because time was short had been not at all uncommon practice in those days. In fact, this chap had all the attributes of the keen, lively lance-corporal not only had I once been but all the others that I had worked with in the military. How nice it was to be that young and energetic. I empathised with him, and he awoke the warmth of old memories in a manner I guess I should have expected.

He just stood there staring at me with a clear impatience as I let the memories roll.

“Could I ask who you are first,” I ventured in a measured manner, trying to slow him down a little.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on Ian, no time for day dreaming or questions, let’s go,” he shot back at me. He wasn’t going to be slowed down by my simple question or swayed by my drifting thoughts.

“We need to move; NOW!”

His words now come in the form of an order, not a request, and my feet obeyed simply from years of practice. I did have a couple of sausage rolls stuffed in my pocket and as soon as I finished the next chicken leg I was attacking, I promised myself I would start on them.

He shot through the door ahead of me and I took the opportunity to pause in picking up the half-filled glass of juice and slurp it back.

His head flew back in through the door with the look of surprise of someone who was certain that he had what he needed with him, but then found he did not, so had backtracked to find out where he left it; me.

“Don’t do this to me mate, for f*** sake, you’ll drop me in the shit, come on, now; stay with me and get those legs moving.”

He clearly had no idea who he was talking to but I’m sure if I tried to tell him it would make no difference, so off I went dropping my false reluctance.

The speedy walk, with me now placed in front and to much badgering to go faster than the best I could manage, was being directed by the ‘lance-corporal’ to my rear. I was walking as quickly as my feet would carry me while maintaining my concentration on the chicken leg. He just kept pushing me, not only verbally but with the occasional gentle, yet physical, dig to my shoulders in the direction he wanted me to go, to some place I had not seen before.

I thought better of it than to start complaining. With another distracting thought, I considered that I had seen so little of the base and at this moment was actually finding, in some odd manner, the change of décor quite pleasant but not while being driven like a sheep.

Along another blank walled corridor, there had to be doors along it but I couldn’t see where, to the end where the wall opened all by itself, away from me into another room. Not having waved my arm or anything like it, I came to a complete halt.

My energetic companion, who was not coming to a halt behind me and was probably expecting me to walk on straight through the open door, collided with my back but simultaneously managed to push roughly past me. I decided it was now my turn to follow, except that a pace further forward I instantly ran into his firm, unyielding figure as he had also now come to a swift half. I quickly stepped backwards.

“Sir - Ian.”

I was suddenly announced by his loud voice to a group of figures I could not see properly.

“As you requested and with your permission Sir, I will now shoot off.”

“More work for me to attend to, Sir.”

“Wait one,” came back the terse reply.

I recognised these words, the style of them, and the manner in which they were delivered. I really did feel very much at home.

My 'lance-corporal' friend stayed where he was; I stepped sideways and forwards to pass his static frame.

My sidestepping entry, besides being something of an oddity, was none-the-less undertaken with a sense of curiosity, lacking in any hesitation and took me straight into the centre of a brightly lit, what I could only take to be a very clean workshop.

It left me stood on my own, a little like a silly schoolboy suddenly thrust into the middle of some schoolroom class I had forgotten about and was now late attending.

Several pairs of eyes turned in my direction and their continued stare reinforced the nervous schoolboy feeling, although I did my utmost not to show any sense of insecurity.

I was ushered over to a group of five persons standing by the far bright white wall. Looking round it was clear that all the walls, floor and ceiling were the same bright white, sort of plastic, finish. It didn’t smell like plastic but something a bit odd, something I couldn’t put my confused thoughts to.

“Have we finished admiring the décor Sir,” a sarcastic voice, without a smile or hint of humour, chipped in from one of the five.

“This is serious business; your life may depend upon it.”

“I give in,” I replied chirpily, “whatever I’m here for, can we get on with it. Oh, and before we do, is there somewhere that I can deposit this?” I held up the mainly eaten chicken leg I had devoured before considering attacking one of the remaining sausage rolls.

One or two of the anonymous faces managed a smile. The one doing the initial talking, which I assumed was the leader of the group, did not. He just stood glaring at me.

“Get rid,” the leader barked at my 'lance-corporal' friend, “and then you can disappear.”

Lance-corporal quickly took it out of my hand away to some refuse bin that I could not see before he shot rapidly out of the door, which I also still could not make out properly.

“What do you think, a size seven top but a six, or maybe even a five lower section?” the main man queried with one of his staff.

It was true; I was a short-arse. Upper body sizes were always greater than my corresponding trousers; I was not a consistent and regular shape.

One of the group had another door in the wall gently slide open behind him and he took out what appeared to be the upper half of some sort of ‘space suit’ off a hanger arrangement.

“Put this over your head and slip your arms down the right holes,” I was told.

I grabbed the last sausage roll out of my pocket and stuffed it complete into my mouth.

“Pho cayth,” I spluttered, meaning to say OK as it went over my head, crumbs going everywhere.

“Stop. Take it off,” the leader barked, clearly annoyed.

For some reason, I almost broke into the giggles; I was finding the situation funny. Perhaps it really was the after effects of whatever had previously put me under, or my new-found reality and sense of elation.

I didn’t know nor did I really care.

The leader’s voice barked out another order again, “You, get the vacuum cleaner and remove every crumb from the inside.”

The chap chosen was not at all pleased that I had been the cause of this particular chore. He disappeared, presumably to find the vacuum, while glaring most severely at me chomping my way through a very tasty sausage roll. I stuffed the last few pieces of pastry into my mouth and swallowed them as quickly as I could.

  Still spluttering a little, I apologised in a jokey sort of way but managed the explanation that I had not been given reasonable time to finish my food. I had not expected to be brought here, wherever here was, for at least another hour.

I realised that I was responding in a flippant manner and did not know why. I realised that I was stood central to the gathering feeling and presumably looking very foolish with a daft grin on my face. I was being a right comedian without a drop of the good stuff crossing my lips.

Why I was being so flippant and foolish I didn’t know, but it was a not at all an unpleasant experience. I had to make the effort, however, to pull myself together and sober up.

“I hope that you are a bit more responsible than this if the going becomes tricky,” the serious voice of the group leader interrupted my rambling thoughts.

“I appreciate who you are but I would have expected this small process to be taken with a lot more seriousness than you have shown so far.”

The vacuum orderly returned with a hose device in his hands, one end of which he plugged into the wall with the business end laid to rest on a bench. Another lifted the top half of this suit off me over my head and laid it on the bench.

‘Vacuum man’ got to work removing the crumbs from the inside and he wasn’t smiling.

“Turn your attention to me,” the leader barked.

“Listen carefully to what I have to say. Watch my lips,” he more or less ordered; it certainly sounded like an order.

With his nose now almost touching mine and his hard eyes fixed intently on mine, his hot breath wafted up the front of my face; I was getting the ‘hair-dryer’ treatment.

“You are being fitted for a life protecting suit that may be required if you end up in the vacuum of space instead of where you should be.”

“This is very serious stuff and you’re the last to be kitted out. There is a limited amount of component parts, we have not had much call for them, and we have to get the best possible match to keep you alive if all comes to the worst.”

I tried to straighten my face. Where was my sense of the ridiculous coming from still? It had to be the after effect of the drugs that I assumed must now be wearing off.

Was it a sense of elation I was experiencing from understanding my place in this great adventure and the historical context of it all. I wasn’t too impressed with that idea?

Perhaps it was simply a fall-back method for dealing with a very serious situation by compensating in a silly comedic manner with a dose of the giggles?

I found myself wondering if this, perhaps, is what happens after the mind is stressed a few steps too far, a sort of self-defence mechanism.

“Please accept my apologies for the flippant behaviour, I really am sorry,” I managed.

This was an apology I meant; I sobered up rapidly.

“The apology is accepted Ian. You’re probably correct about the effect of the drugs wearing off,” a voice I knew came from behind me. I turned and there was Caterin, fully suited and reading my mind but speaking out loud.

“You are excused this once only, but can we get a move on, this IS serious business.”

Now I did feel like a schoolboy receiving a telling off by a headmaster, or should it be headmistress. I let this thought permeate my sense of reality and started smiling again.

My thoughts had been heard by the boss.

“Ian, enough of this humour, pull yourself together and let us get a move on. Consider why it might be that you will need this suit to be fitting well and where you may be going while wearing it.”

Caterin’s dulcet tones were bouncing in my ears (or was it my mind) with a real degree of seriousness.

This still did not feel like being brought to my senses by a cold shower, although I realised that perhaps it should.

I did my best to come to my senses.

I stood there and then sat on the bench to have my shoes removed. I had to stand up and sit down again and again, while different combinations of the few available tops and bottoms were tried on me until, finally, a fit had the approval of the leader of the fitting team.

Then a set of boots of the appropriate size corresponding to my shoe size were brought and with me sat back up on the bench again, they were checked to see if they fitted correctly; thankfully they did first time.

My arms were lifted up in front of me by one of the assistants while another slipped on a sturdy pair of gloves that somehow seem to connect themselves automatically to the arms of the top as, indeed, had the boots with the legs of the bottom of the suit only a few moments earlier. Now only my head was protruding from my bright white enclosure. I was encouraged in short order to get to my feet.

Standing there within a white space-suit that seemed only a fraction of the type I had seen astronauts wear on TV, I was about to ask a question when a domed helmet was placed over my head.

“It’s good that you are considering the question, Ian,” Caterin’s crystal clear thoughts reached into me. “This shows that you really are coming back to normality; keep it there.”

Caterin was picking up on my thoughts of me trying to be serious and I realised that while I was hearing her very clearly, as a result of the mental communication talent we both possessed, all sound in the workshop, fitting room, or whatever it was muffled and indistinct. Caterin’s words were penetratingly clear.

“I am trying, I promise,” I managed by reply and with some sort of conscious control. I had not really tried that much but suddenly came to the realisation that I really did have a control over the volume of my thoughts, as it was promised I would, and had just employed it.

“That is an improvement, Ian,” Caterin came back to me again. Listening to her was exactly the same as listening to a spoken voice; audible when in use and silence when not.

“And that is how yours must be. Now is the time to practice and ‘feel’ the control you have. You are almost one of us, stay that way,” she continued.

A pack of some sort was fastened to my chest and then a connecting hose fastened to the domed helmet and suddenly all sound became clear.

It was as though I was actually standing openly within in the room and not within the enclosure of the domed suit. I was pleasantly surprised.

A heavier pack was fastened to my back and connected, again to the dome somewhere, and sweet fresh air suddenly pervaded everywhere. The weight of the pack pulling at my front seemed to be balanced by that affixed to my back and I felt a sort of balancing of the loads.

The overall effect was not at all the strain on my strength that I had anticipated when I had seen the packs being brought out.

I turned round, loosely shook my arms and felt, to my surprise, remarkably comfortable.

I reached up to the dome on my head. The hinged internal visor catch of the dome was not secure or maybe I just thought that it was not. I didn’t see or know how, but raised it up with ease. The outer visor was already in the raised position. I would have to become familiar with the intricacies of this suit as quickly as possible and was pleased that this small task I had given myself had gone well.

“You have worn these suits before?” the team leader came at me accusingly.

"Where did you learn to adjust a dome visor like that?”

“You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

“You’re extracting the proverbial son.”

“Explain yourself and be smart about it.”

I wasn’t taking the proverbial and had lifted the visor from sheer good luck. I was an engineer after all, and the one trait we all possessed was that of fiddling successfully with anything we touched, at least that’s how it seemed to others outside of the profession.

The style of his guy rang a lot of bells with me and I was taking good notice of what he was saying, asking, or whatever. I found myself very much at home with his attitude, that of a senior military rank of the type I had once known, a Sergeant Major perhaps.

“You are very correct in your assumptions,” Caterin spoke now, answering my thought openly so all could hear.

“Ed did serve in your armed forces for some years before returning to us, and yes, he did reach the rank of Warrant Officer in one of your UK infantry battalions. You should really feel at home; do you or do you not?”

I did, but before I could respond a nose was placed right in front of mine; well as close as the suit and dome ring would allow but that was close enough. I sensed that the hair-dryer treatment was about to be inflicted again.

“I don’t care what position you hold in this team,” the voice of the nose growled, “you address me just once as Ed and the only mission you will be on is one to a hospital bed. Capiche?”

“Sir.” That just came out naturally.

“Understood; Sir.” I responded again without any need for consideration.

I automatically adopted the role of a rank lower than that of a Sgt. Major even though or perhaps because, I had once worn three chevrons on my arm as a senior rank later on in my career.

Ed smiled slightly and then developed a broad grin as he backed off.

“I know that you are ex-forces, Ian, I’ve done my homework. I could not resist finding out if you had gone completely native civvy or still retained some of the discipline that you are going to need. You’ll do for me.”

I couldn’t resist joining in the great practical joke that had just been played on me and laughed along quite naturally with Ed and all his crew; even Caterin had good smile on her face. The laughter was genuine and was with me, not against me.

Ed offered me his hand and with mine inside the suit glove I gripped it as man to man. Then an attempted man hug reminded us both of the limitations of wearing suits such as these while sealing a friendship of a type known only to those who have served in uniform.

“You can call me Ed if you wish, Ian, all the guys here do. There’s none of the formal ranking you and I both experienced. None of these guys understand, so excuse the odd stares, they really are civvies, through and through.”

“Welcome mucker, welcome.”

That last phrase meant a lot. I had come home again and was now in the company of an 'old friend' who spoke the same language as me. It didn't matter which unit we had served with, we had both worn uniform and had, in an instant, become muckers amongst civvies.

I felt Caterin’s discrete thoughts enter my head but without words, only a sensation of, “I think I understand.”

Caterin decided to continue her verbal explanations.

“These suits are way ahead of anything the astronauts of Earth have the use of and yet they are thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of years, old. What, if anything on Earth, can last that long.”

“They are very light yet incredible insulating and resistant to abrasion or the impact of small particles. Cosmic rays cannot penetrate them to any significant effect. Your dome, and the visor when it is lowered, will change its appearance according to the amount of light to which you may be exposed but you will not see the difference from the inside. That is correct, is it not Ed?”

Ed nodded in the affirmative and added, “Lower the visor for full suit mode and where the light coming in your direction may be particularly strong. The closed domes have a limit on their protective change ability which the external visors can enhance greatly, by multiple factors of ten or more. Always use the visor if you think it may be appropriate even if you’re not sure; better safe than sorry.”

Caterin nodded towards Ed and continued her words from where she had been up to, before Ed provided the additional information.

“The packs, just attached, can generate all the heating or cooling you may need to stay alive in space and provide you with a clean supply of air for nearly a week if need be.”

“And you will not need an inner garment as the NASA astronauts do to regulate their body temperatures; the external suit does it all. That is correct is it not Ed.”

“Yes Boss,” came another recognised response from an ex mucker.

But a week; I was impressed! This suit and its various accoutrements appeared to be brand new, in pristine condition, how could she say they were thousands of years old; how could this be?

“We came here as a people,” Caterin had clearly decided to explain verbally for all to hear, reinforcing her position with the others but also for my particular benefit.

“With what we could bring with us,” she continued, “and with what little that has been required to be added to it over the many centuries. The technology that had been developed at home, by our founders, was to such an advanced extent that life, according to those records that still exist, was made good for all, whatever activity they were engaged in. That included the occasional venture into the hazards of unprotected space.”

“The Arks and the Mother Ship,” she continued, “if we can find her, were also constructed by our founding race, and this must have taken place an incredibly long time before they reached or settled on Mars.”

“When we meet up with an Ark, locate, hopefully, and make use of it to find the Mother Ship, our expectation is that they will all be in a similarly pristine condition and fully functional as these suits and our local craft are.”

“You have flown in one of our local craft, Ian, you have seen them for yourself and the ancient technology just doesn’t seem, somehow, to get any older, to breakdown or to require any sort of maintenance. We have a lot to thank our ancestral forefathers for.”

Some of the technicians present and I were impressed by this; some must have heard it before and appeared unmoved. I changed the subject to a need to know if I would be wearing this suit for the entire mission.

“Possibly, Ian,” Caterin responded. “It all depends upon what we find in the Ark or how safe I consider conditions are or where I may send you. You will most certainly be wearing it if, or perhaps when, I may decide to send you down to the surface of Mars.”

“If you are required to venture to places that have no breathable air supply of their own, then the packs providing your air supply can be replaced regularly with new ones from the stock and materials that we are to carry with us.”

“This use of a limited number of suits and packs may present a difficulty for the project, particularly in respect of the others also coming with us as part of the team, but who will not be supplied with nor wearing suits. There are simply not enough for everyone.”

I had not heard that before; team members without suits.

Caterin just ploughed on turning to the technicians who were now grouping together.

“These five chaps,” she said pointing towards them, “are also coming with us on the first phase as a backup measure. You should not have upset them as you did, Ian, they could give you a hard time.”

Again, I saw the humorous smile break across her face and also the faces of the team about me, bar one, the chap who had used the vacuum.

“Assemble the full group now,” Caterin spoke her order with a firmness that did not require volume.

She was clearly in charge and we all knew it. Doors opened and in came several suited individuals, like myself, and a collection that were not.

“Now we are all here, one final word to confirm roles and then let’s get aboard,” she spoke firmly and quietly again.

“What right now?” I queried in surprise. “I have only just tried the suit on. Is there no practice phase or perhaps a little training before we depart?”

“No Ian,” the simple reply struck firmly.

“You were told that matters were moving fast, well, now you are moving fast. I’m sure you can cope and will be up to the task. You will not let me down or disappoint me, will you Ian?”

I managed a deflated simple reply, “No,” and stood really quietly as the implications of what was about to ensue sunk in properly. I was now truly sobered up.

Caterin continued after my interruption.

“There’s no harm in being early or in repeating myself.”

“This mission must succeed.”

“The survival of all of our kind and of our ‘cousins’ that have been gathered together here at the base depends on you all. The rescue of those of our ancestral race who appear to have survived on our home planet, also depends on all of you.”

“This mission WILL succeed in one way or another.”

“Do not give less than you are capable of. Be strong and able. Do not let me down. The survival of our genetic material, within all our people including our cousins, Ian is one,” she pointed in my direction, “and our descendants is in your hands.”

This was some speech and most unexpected. It was as if we were on the jump-off point and about to go into action.

“Correct Ian, I wanted you fresh and not prepared for this,” Caterin told me mentally.

I was concerned now as I had not been through any sort of preparation, mental or physical. Why keep me in the dark? Was I liability that I might shout out again with excitement?

“Those without suits will not need any if all goes well,” Caterin decided to plough on verbally, regardless of how I might be taking this.

She glanced briefly and sideways at me and I got the message without her saying or thinking anything that I could detect - stop whinging and just go with whatever was coming.

“If an atmosphere cannot be established within the Ark that we are going to meet, then as a team we will remain within the craft. If this remains the situation without any change, then the entire mission may have failed; period.”

This was a cold, calculated statement of the obvious but instead of leaving me cold, as I thought the others here might be, I found myself more focussed on her use of ‘period’ an Americanism. I didn’t think that I had heard her use that term previously.

The deliberate, quiet pause, of the sort intended to focus minds, was interrupted by Caterin as she continued with her speech.

“It is our understanding that we should be able to establish an atmosphere fairly quickly but this will require those in suits to use their technical knowledge, a little exploration and some language skills to determine how soon this is to be achieved.”

“It has to be the primary objective of the ‘suits’ to establish the viability of our life within the Ark. You must work both as a team and upon your own initiative when required, to be successful in this task. I do not wish failure to be an option if we progress that far.”

“The entire scientific community in the base have come to the conclusion that directional and information signs of some sort will be encountered. They have been noted in some places of our ancient records, along with what remains of our ancient language, and have formed part of the studies of one of us present here.”

“Let me introduce you to our language expert, Dr. Jarinda.”

This had to be the tall suited person stepping forward to identify themselves. Beaming out from her open dome with a large smile and twinkling blue eyes set in a beautiful tan face was a lady whose age I guessed to be in the mid to late thirties. It had to be a guess as her face had all the lightness and joy of someone much younger.

She certainly brought a sense of happiness to the gathering lifting the seriousness that was now pervading.

Perhaps it was her natural or cultural demeanour which, guessing again, I took to be possibly of a Tibetan origin. Her natural cheerful presence brought a surprisingly, welcome levity to proceedings.

With a cheerful “Hello,” from her and almost a giggle, the room seemed to light up as did the faces of all the men about me.

“Dr. Jarinda,” Caterin announced maintaining her formality, “is a language expert who has spent most of her academic career studying our ancestors.”

“The language of the ancestors is one that exists but now only in small parts amongst those many languages currently in use amongst our people and others of this world. It is often referred to or considered to be of a common root that can no longer be found.”

“The complete language as spoken by our ancestors is still to be found in the ancient written archives but it effectively disappeared from common use many thousands of years ago.”

I found this diversion into a history lesson to be most informative.

“Dr. Jarinda has spent almost her entire academic career coming to an understanding of the grammatical form and even some pronunciation techniques employed,” Caterin continued to explain.

“I would be obliged,” she continued, “for you all to show the greatest politeness by addressing Dr. Jarinda by her title of Doctor, nothing else; is that clearly understood?”

A low murmuring of “Yes” and “Of course,” filled the otherwise empty silence of reply to which Dr. Jarinda’s smile became even broader.

“The Doctor will play a pivotal role in determining the meaning of the words and or graphics that may, or rather most certainly will be encountered on any sign, assuming that there will be some, or perhaps be in any written instructions we come across.”

Caterin wanted to stress Dr. Jarinda’s position and role in the project and maintained her formal speaking tone.

“This particular task could be crucial in simply determining where it is safe to venture or otherwise within the Ark. I repeat that the language of our ancestors is not one in use today, remember that. An understanding of what we will encounter will be as critical to our success as those with technical knowledge or flying skills.”

Dr. Jarinda raised her suited arm in a slight wave to both acknowledge what Caterin had said and to emphasise her presence.

She didn’t need to as this male dominated crowd had realised only too swiftly who she was, even in her suit. I got the impression that this moment in the limelight was probably something she did not normally experience and was therefore enjoying it to the full while she still had the opportunity.

“Ivan,” Caterin changed the subject and her tone of voice, quickly and turned to address the figure just behind my left shoulder.

I hadn’t spotted Ivan, perhaps he may have had his visor down or perhaps I was not giving my total attention to events. Perhaps I was just as easily deflected as the other guys here by a pretty face.

He managed a momentary smile in my direction.

“Your role is crucial,” Caterin emphasised her words to Ivan, glancing in my direction, guessing that was possibly for my benefit in making sure I was well aware that I wasn’t the only important person in the team. I hadn’t thought that I was but Caterin was making sure that I knew it.

“You are our best pilot,” Caterin directed towards Ivan, “and you have been flying our local craft for a long time.”

“Whatever the symbols on the controls in the Ark, I am advised by Dr. Jarinda and a couple more of our scientists, that it is quite possible they may bear some similarity to those in our local craft. If they are not, it will be your responsibility to establish safely the function of what we find. Dr. Jarinda will assist, this being the case.”

“If the Ark cannot be piloted then the entire mission will be lost.”

“Ivan you will not let us down, will you, I’m sure that you won’t,” Caterin stated simply without waiting for a reply.

Clearly a reply was superfluous.

“Franz will continue as your deputy,” she continued.

This was a new name to me. He was also in a suit stood to the rear of Ivan and smartly stepped forward to be alongside him as his name was called out.

“Franz, will not leave the local craft, assuming we have all disembarked, and in an emergency he will have the responsibility, without any orders being given by me, of deciding if it is best to abandon the Ark and return to base or take whatever course of action he may consider appropriate.”

“If that unfortunate occurrence comes to happen, it must be assumed that the ‘suits’, left on board the Ark, have suffered a catastrophic failure of mission and are no longer alive or will soon not be so.”

Franz looked a little shocked at such responsibility being placed upon him and we all stood silently at the implications of what was being said.

Caterin was being deliberately theatrical, in the manner of all great speakers, to ensure her words and the situation, were fully understood. I was certain that we had got the message and all thoughts of the pretty face among us quickly evaporated to be replaced with a sense of cold seriousness.

“Ian, you will come with the ‘suits’ onto the Ark. Your particular skill may prove useful, perhaps helping to establish how the Ark functions; who knows what we may find. It is something of a long shot that you may be directly useful in acquiring an Ark.”

“There is also a more serious and alternative reason for your presence in the boarding team, however. In the event that the planned mission has to be aborted for some catastrophic reason but we are all still alive, we may attempt to travel within the Ark, as a small group, to Mars to attempt some sort of rescue of our own.”

“I hope that it does not come to that as the consequences will be quite uncertain. Currently, that scenario must be considered as a Plan B only.”

“Are there any questions?”

The room was silent. I had always made sure during my many years in engineering, that when a question was asked for, at least one from me broke the silence and the nervousness of others. This time, however, I stayed silent. The enormity of what we were about to attempt, and if it all went wrong, now became very clear.

The room remained quiet.

“No,” Caterin confirmed, “then let’s get on board early and settle in. Follow me.”

She led the way out of the workshop, or whatever it was, down yet another corridor, and then through a lounge and out in the hanger area where our local craft stood. Those not wearing suits collected several large, ribbed, aluminium-encased trunks between them and carried these out into the hanger.

Our craft was parked amongst four others. It would seem that the missions round the world in collecting our own kind had ceased. Perhaps it had become too dangerous to continue, I did not wish to ask.

What we saw said everything about the scale of the enclave here.

This base held all those people that would leave this world to escape the intentions of the New World Order, or at least what we had been able to deduce these were to be.

I had thought that this place was enormous and filled with numerous souls that would be the saviour of mankind, but I now realised that we were actually small, in the overall scale of events.

We were about to try to save a sample of our races by abandoning, to their fate, those we had to leave behind. I was now cold sober and the chill of what was to come ran through me.

We boarded with the ‘non-suits’ carrying their trunks where they moved to occupy a large room to the rear of the flight control room. This, Ivan explained to me, could be kept pressurised with an atmosphere if any of the suits had to exit into the vacuum of space, became ‘lost’ on the Ark, or befell some other disaster.

In the flight room, we were seven in number; Caterin, Ivan and his deputy co-pilot Franz, Dr. Jarinda the ancient language expert, John who I had managed not to notice in his suit previously, Ed, the leader of the suiting-up team and myself.

Ivan sat at the controls seat with Franz alongside him, presumably in the co-pilot position and with Caterin to his left. I sat behind in the rear row with John, Dr. Jarinda and Ed.

I would guess that perhaps another twenty or so people were in the rear room. Who they were and what their roles were to be, I had no idea. When we were settled in, Caterin had a few more sobering words for the ears of the ‘suits’ only.

“We are all wearing suits because we have been able, from the limited number of parts left by our predecessors, to be fitted with one.”

“There are, perhaps, enough pieces of suit and associated equipment left for perhaps three complete sets more, if they were needed and were of the correct size for those who might wear them. In the rear cabin in those large trunks are some spare parts and enough spare ‘packs’ to keep us ‘suits’ going for longer if that is what is needed.”

“We are all wearing suits,” she repeated, “and the inner visors will be lowered now before we leave, sealing ourselves in, because of an uncertainty about these local craft being able to operate safely in the vacuum of deep space.”

“We seven are the key figures in this phase of the operation and must survive a possible malfunction of the cabin pressure system. It has never been flown so far from the earth, as far as we know, and has been restricted normally to the upper thin atmosphere for short periods only.”

“If we need the function of these suits to survive the early stages of this phase, then the support people, in the rear compartment, may not be with us when we rendezvous with the incoming Ark.”

That put a cold shiver down me.

“This is a chance I have decided to take but we have not advised our companions of this.”

“This, I am sure, is morally wrong, but I saw no alternative.”

“If all goes well, then please forget that this conversation ever took place and make sure that those in the rear never get to hear of it.”

Caterin, and the powers that ran the base, were made of stronger and more ruthless stuff, than I had imagined. That cold sober feeling was strengthened in me.

“Ivan, update me on the status of the Ark and the skies above us,” Caterin ordered.

Ivan spent a few moments communicating discretely with the base via what must a sort of microphone device within his suit. I saw his lips moving but heard no sound. I guessed his words were being relayed via the craft to the base.

I had not noticed any sort of microphone within my suit but I had not been looking for one; perhaps we all had them fitted, I didn’t know.

Ivan then made his report to us all. I heard him clearly so the sound of his voice had to be generated somewhere within my helmet, it wasn’t mental communication and I knew normal sounds did not penetrate our domed helmets that well.

“The Ark is sufficiently close that its signals can be received by our equipment. It is reporting that it is fully cloaked and travelling at a good speed towards the Earth, perhaps no more than a day or so away from entering orbit.”

“Did you say the Ark is reporting?” Caterin queried.

“That is what I am advised,” Ivan replied.

“It is broadcasting in a secure mode using the ancient technology system we still use today that others should not be able to intercept. It is employing a data system that goes straight to the appropriate base computer modules without the need for words. I am told that it accelerated its speed to a maximum two days ago without explanation.”

“The skies above us are clear, as far as we can tell, and I will initiate our maximum cloaking now,” he continued his reporting.

“When we do leave the hanger I shall take standard evasive movements as a second precautionary tactic until clear of the atmosphere. At our joint closing speeds, I anticipate interception in approximately ten hours assuming an uninterrupted and uneventful flight.”

“Let’s go now,” Caterin ordered.

In a few seconds, we had cloaked and left the hanger through the dissolving outer wall. We were soon travelling upwards, zigzagging sideways simultaneously and at a tremendous speed.

We were on our way and that knowledge somehow eased the cold tension; we were not listening to orders or possibilities any more but were actually getting on with the action.

Until we were moving through cloud, I had to close my eyes as watching the effect of this movement through the viewing panel, I again found most disturbing, or was I remembering part of my previous vision. It didn't matter as it was as disturbing now as it may have been on the other unreal occasion.

I could do without any sickness that might result from my discomfort so I stared at the floor for a good period; it was not moving and I was OK with that.

I found myself, however, starting to tremble inside for a different reason; a mixture of excitement and fear, something I remembered of times past when wearing a uniform.

The memory of that dreadful feeling that I had once experienced, just before parachute jumping out of a plane, came back to me. The fear level then arose within me sufficiently to raise the hairs on the back of the neck and tighten a certain muscle.

This time there would be no parachute to open and the fall would be total all the way down to the ground.