The Prometheus Effect (18 page)

Joshua looked up to the television screen which had not been turned off for the last fortnight, its programmes still dominated by the crisis and endless repeats of the documentary viewed the night before. Something caught Joshua's attention as he strained his back tidying the dishevelled office which now saw furniture displaced and used as beds and the careless disposal of food containers. The image caused Joshua to race to the television and turn up the sound, it was a familiar face, a face that he had thought long and hard about over recent times.

“
...a life changing event and a cry for help that went ignored...until now, Jimmy Stock is one of the many individuals that suffered a horrific experience at the hands of alien scientists who used 'terrible cruelty' probing his body and mind before launching their vicious attack on Mankind. In this programme we will meet James Stock and others who through our own ignorance and shame, we have marginalised and mocked into regression but now return to once again share their stories. This time however, we daren't not listen!”

Jimmy sat in a dark leather chair, his now gaunt features stared out, his eyes hollow and blackened. He had the look of a man who lived a recurring nightmare; to Joshua it was clear that he had taken the recent news badly. He shook his head as it was clear that his acquaintance was in no fit state to be thrust into the national spotlight. The producers had obviously done their homework on Jimmy. It was immediately clear that the nervous, uncomfortable fidgeting was a sign of his deep apprehension. Joshua remembered how troubled he was by his experiences but also how reluctant he was to share them.
What possible incentives had the executives offered in order for him to bear his soul in such a public way?
Joshua pondered as he stood transfixed.

True to his story, Jimmy did not deviate from the tale he told Joshua which was generally a sign of truth, or at least Jimmy's truth. It was just as shocking, perhaps more so now especially given the recent events. Joshua could not help but feel the interviewer, never seen on camera was steering Jimmy in a particular direction and that the majority of the discussion was focussing on the more horrific aspects such as the pain rather than what Jimmy had seen or made of his alien abductors. If the public were not terrified already, this was sure to send the pulses racing. The pre-watershed slot for the programme was distasteful considering that most schools had not yet resumed their normal service. Joshua could only imagine the impact that this frail, almost frightful man could have on young minds who tuned in to alleviate their boredom.

Given the situation, Joshua considered the government's role in dealing with the crisis. The promotion of fear has complex reprisals, it clouds judgement, blinds even the most cynical of people. Fear had led even the most well meaning of nations into unjust battles in the recent past and the ever more open-minded journalist had begun to hope that this whole affair was not to follow the same shameful route. Joshua wanted to understand better the alien threat, he wanted to know their motives. It had long been agreed that it was unlikely that an alien civilisation advanced enough to travel the vast distances of space would be aggressive. They would be highly intellectual, mentally superior. Perhaps Earth had misconstrued their actions as harmful, perhaps the aliens were acting in self preservation? Joshua was never more motivated to crack the mystery that unravelled before him. He collected his digital Dictaphone and a handful of batteries before setting of for the streets, there was so much to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Lake Kissimmee, Florida

December 7
^th
2020

Roger Coffey lay back on the soft if not threadbare sofa squeezing a tennis ball. The large television was on but the sound was down, he had long tired of the same old 'propaganda' as he referred to it. The cabin was tight, unkempt and slightly malodorous but it had served Roger well in his desperation for sanctuary. Vincent McGarrity sat on his throne, a magnificent chair which never strayed too far from his bank of computers. Vincent was a short, balding man in his early forties. His dark hair that remained drooped down over his ears and his spectacled face was round, rosy and dotted with small moles. He had a chunky midriff but skinny legs, he had the body profile of a typical office bound professional who failed to do any extracurricular activity.

“
So technically you can't shut down the Internet?” Coffey asked, his question delighting Vincent who revelled in anything technical or indeed the reciting of Wikipedia entries which he had an uncanny knack of remembering word for word.

“
Technically, no. It's pretty much impossible. It's like a worm, you chop it in half and what you have is two worms. Shut down no, break maybe.”

Vincent spoke quickly, he was self assured when it came to his interests. Ask him what colour socks he preferred and a much longer, stuttering answer would be evident.

“
Remember Egypt, the Arab Spring? Remember Iran? They took down the Internet by ordering the ISP's to alter their Border Gateway Protocols. Guess the same kind of thing happened here.”

Vincent spoke as if he were conversing to himself. Despite Coffey's technical strength, Vincent sometimes forgot that not everybody was as well endowed in the jargon glossary department.

“
And all over the world.” Coffey added, noting that this was not apparently a localised event.

“
That's the problem. If I could find an active service provider in another country I might be able to hook up with them.” Vincent tapped away on the keyboard. The loss of the Internet was as much of an issue to him due to his loss of social interaction as it was to Coffey who wanted to do some research.

“
But if they are all down?” Coffey asked as he threw the ball into the air as close as he could get to the ceiling and then reliably caught it with a safe pair of hands.

“
That's our problem. I have to work out who's active.”

“
At least the satellite is up I guess?” Coffey sighed as the long wait for some kind of opportunity to move forward seemed miserably indefinite.

“
If you get me a connection then I’ll buy you another computer to add to your collection.” Coffey quipped knowing full well that the last thing Vincent needed was another computer.

“
Hey, if I get the Internet connection, you'll have to fight me for it. I've got two weeks of porn subscriptions to catch up on.” Vincent spun his giant chair around and grinned revealing his uncannily yellow teeth.

“
I know you'll do it, you're the best of the best.” Coffey knew how to motivate Vincent by swelling his already larger than life head.

Coffey had taken shelter with Vincent and Vincent had obliged without hesitation. It was never going to be a partnership made in heaven but in the short term, Coffey enjoyed the remote location, the view of the lake which was now a brown red colour reflecting the sky and the wildlife which never ceased to occupy his curiosity.

Coffey had taken in the endless news bulletins and public safety announcements but had grown weary of their static nature. Like Britain, the US had followed a similar path. The media had been curtailed and a singular television channel had remained serving up helpings of doom and gloom at regular thirty minute intervals. Coffey had watched and shared in the footage of the downed alien craft as had most of the civilised world. He had openly mocked the presentation which he believed to be an utter fallacy, it had enraged him to the point of annoyance sending Vincent sprawling for cover as objects were hurled in frustration. Coffey's main point of dissatisfaction was lack of detail. Detail in the news reports, detail in the footage. For him, it was clear that the public were not to be allowed to analyse what they were being served up. He offered an analogy of a newspaper with a fantastic headline on the front cover only for the inside pages to be blank. Coffey was a man of precision, in his profession it did not pay to gloss over minor details. Until his government could offer something more substantial in the way of evidence, he was to remain firmly in the sceptical mindset. Of course Coffey was not just a member of public, confused and hungry for an end to the conflict. He was in a privileged position as one of only a handful of individuals who have witnessed the dark vacuum of space first hand. He was not only in such a place the day before the reported alien attack but also privy to the chaotic and secretive mission on which he had probably served as a swan song on his NASA career. He had speculated a thousand times what the purpose of the Prometheus mission was and if it in any way could have influenced the events of the past few weeks. He could not be sure that Niemechek's passing and his own attempted downfall was anything to do with the bigger picture but it was certainly a possibility. If his role in that mission had in anyway impacted on the crisis which had developed sending the world into chaos, then it was his duty to discover at any cost what it was NASA were doing up there in those last few moments of normality before the Earth was plunged into a blood red veil of terror.

“
PKS. Jakarta, Indonesia. Beautiful.” Vincent whispered as his face lit up, illuminated by the screen in front of his nose.

“
What have you got?” Coffey inquired impatiently.

“
Nothing yet, Jesus. It's taken me a week just to get this far.” Vincent slapped Coffey back down for his optimism. Vincent knew more than most that hours or days of toil could sometimes fail to deliver at the last possible moment.

“
You know that even if I can get a connection, the chances of being traced are pretty high if anyone is looking out for nerds like us.” Coffey discounted himself as a nerd but understood Vincent's caution. Until now, the cabin had been a safe haven. As soon as prying eyes began to wander, he would put Vincent in as much jeopardy as he was in himself as a fugitive and murderer.

“
I know that. As long as
you
know that, if you know what I’m saying?”

Vincent looked pensive for a moment then carried on as before aware of the perils of his actions.

“
I'll just tell them you told me to do it.” He said calmly as he continued to type.

“
At gunpoint, naturally.” Coffey replied with a smile. Secretly however, he knew that if those that wanted him dead found them, Vincent would be killed anyway. Coffey knew this and had to live with the fact. For the eventual outcome to be a break in the conspiracy, lives might have to be lost for the sake of truth.

“
You know that new computer?” Vincent said as he slowly swivelled his chair revealing a large satisfying grin. Coffey raised his eyebrows and allowed himself an excited smirk. He was back in the game. He might be the underdog but even the smallest of animals can have the most severe bites.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

December 10
^th
2020

Coffey drove at night, reducing any risk of being recognised despite his newly acquired vehicle belonging to Vincent and a two week growth of dark stubble which although not quite a beard, changed his appearance significantly. His car was now a metallic green Japanese made contraption which was only a few months shy of a trip to the scrap yard. Uncannily smelling of wet dog considering Vincent's lack of a pet, Coffey ensured a window was left open despite the cold in-flux of air causing him to shiver. The heating system struggled valiantly to make any impact on the inner atmosphere.

Vincent had not failed him on any account; the astronaut could only hope that he could repay him for his loyalty in the future if things could ever turn out to be 'normal' again. His genial accomplice had ensured that Coffey had been granted an upper hand in the fight against his invisible foes. By hacking into NASA's personnel and records department, he had pulled the names and addresses of the senior management team. Coffey felt it time to pay his boss, Bill Janus a visit. The last time he had seen The Director of Operations it was in the lounge at Kennedy and had ended in what at the time seemed an shallow threat. Since that time, Coffey had realised that Janus had offered him at least a fleeting clue that he was in danger before discovering the tampering with his car which may have cost him dearly. If anyone had answers to the Prometheus mystery and sinister events surrounding it, then he was the man.

Coffey drove cautiously, the roads were all but clear of other traffic. Fuel shortages had cripple the U.S. almost as much as Britain, although they did not rely so heavily on imports and thus had at least the raw materials to sustain a meagre supply to the general public. Coffey's slow progress aided fuel economy. He had a jerry can of gas in the trunk and then he was dead in the water. Even if he could find an open service station, he had less than ten bucks in cash on him which was not going to stretch far. Even if the ATM could supply him with more money, he knew that it would be easily traced as would any card transaction. Caution was the watch word if he wanted to continue his sustained exile. Thankfully, Janus lived like many other people involved in the space programme, in close proximity to the Kennedy Space Centre. Coffey was not very sure what he hoped to achieve in tackling his issues head on or how he would prise the information from his powerful colleague. He had a feeling that the loaded Glock pistol in his glove box would have a say in the matter.