The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (32 page)

“Can I tell my wife the truth?” asked Paul, slightly defensively.

“I can tell you no, Mr Winter, but let’s be honest, what’s said in your bedroom at night will be hard for us to hear about,” said Straub, sternly. “However, if she can keep a secret then whatever you choose to tell her in private should stay that way, and we won’t have a problem. I trust you remember the severity of the response should you choose to break our agreement; I would advise you not to forget it, and to remember that we may—we
may—
choose to monitor you from time to time. I did say it would be
hard
for us to hear about … but not
impossible
. Plus, when you’re deciding what you wish to tell her, bear in mind that the ... incentive we used to ensure your silence would apply to her also in the event of the truth getting out. I would think long and hard about putting her in that kind of position.” She let this hang in the air for a moment, and the room was silent as both Paul and I absorbed the statement.

“Right then,” said Straub briskly, wrapping things up, “Unless there are any questions …?”

I forced my mind to focus more sharply than ever upon hearing this opening, as I didn’t know if it would be Boldfield himself conducting the tests and examinations or his lackeys. If I was going to ask Stone Man questions, I wanted to do it whilst I had the top guy. This wasn’t to do with the story—I’d be told what they wanted the world to know—as this was for my own curiosity.

“Actually, yes,” I said, looking back and forth between Straub and Boldfield. “I have three. Don’t worry, I think these are questions that the media are going to ask anyway, so it’s nothing you’re not going to have answers for. But I’d appreciate the real ones, if they’re different. You might as well be honest, based on what I already know.”

“Okay,” said Straub. “Number one?”

“The most important one, the one that’s always first.
Why?
”

“You mean our theories as to why it came?” asked Straub. I nodded, and she gestured to Boldfield.

“Well, other than the obvious,” he said, barely disguising a stressed-sounding sigh and looking at his watch, “meaning the idea that it came to acquire a specific genetic sample from an individual with a specific genetic makeup, or at least one who fit within specific parameters, we don’t have any one theory that’s more solid than the others, frankly. Personally, I go with the study argument; that it was here to collect and return said sample for examination, but even that breaks down. Why not take the brain itself, for example, rather than the stem?”

“So you think it’s extraterrestrial as well then?” Paul asked, intrigued. Boldfield looked at Straub, and she gestured for him to carry on.

“It really is the only conclusion,” Boldfield said, removing his glasses and wiping them. There was fresh sweat on his brow. “Teleportation, increasing its own density and mass at will, instantaneous and directed metamorphosis of solid matter on command ... all of these things are light years beyond even the most cutting-edge work being carried out by the finest scientific minds in the world. Our
best
work is at a Stone Age level compared to this. It also explains why it may have procured that area of the spine; perhaps that is where the brain or control centre of their species lies.”

“So you think the Stone Man is an alien itself?” I asked, leaning forward. Paul was doing the same.

“Who can say?” said Boldfield, rubbing his eyes now, exhausted and not enjoying the questioning, but maintaining his thin veneer of politeness. “Again, personally, my hunch is no. Everything about Caementum, including your remote visions, Mr Pointer, suggests some kind of distance-operated unit. At the very least, it’s some kind of environmental protection suit, perhaps with an E.T. inside … but that doesn’t seem right to me. Of course, that last part is just my opinion. I couldn’t possibly say for sure at this stage.”

“Okay,” I said, and held up two fingers. “Two. Why go all the way to Sheffield for it? If it just needed a specific type of DNA, or something within a certain bracket, why not find someone closer?”

Annoyingly, Boldfield looked at Straub again, who seemed to share my exasperation slightly.

“Full disclosure, Doctor, he’s going to lie to the world for us, for goodness’ sake,” she said, twirling her finger for him to get on with it.

“Right,” said Boldfield, putting his glasses back on with another sigh. “Again, this is just theory, but we believe that it was simply a matter of who it found first. Think about it. It arrives here, and begins to scan. It picks up a signal, and sets off. It doesn’t matter where it is; Caementum cannot be stopped, and we now know that it can remotely prevent its target from leaving whatever area Caementum detected them as being in. If the target were to be removed from the area and die, it could just find another one.”

“But that’s so …
inefficient,
” said Paul, frowning. Boldfield stiffened slightly, and shifted in his seat before he spoke. I got the feeling he thought we should already understand this.

“You have to remember, Mr Winter, that we have no idea how its people perceive time. Days to us could be experienced as mere seconds to them, or perhaps they seem so long that the idea of rushing for
anything
is absurd. We don’t know, so we can’t apply our methods of logic to their approach. Either way, what
is
unarguable is that Caementum didn’t
need
to rush. All it needs to do is pick the first target it detects, pin it, retrieve it, and then come home once the job is done. It seems to us that, for them, the retrieval itself is more important than the timescale.”

I shrugged, and help up three fingers to signal my third and last question, but Paul asked it first.

“What are you doing to prepare in case it comes back?”

Boldfield smiled bitterly at this, and I had the feeling that whatever it was they were doing to prepare, he’d done nothing
but
that since the moment the Stone Man had vanished.

“At the moment—and this is exactly what the media will be told about this too, but it’s the truth—we’re examining some of the unusual energy and radiation patterns that we detected from it. The work that we’re currently doing is all about understanding and perhaps disrupting these patterns; hopefully, to either affect its physical integrity or to break whatever remote control that’s influencing it, if any.” He looked at his watch again, and then showed it to Straub with a pained expression on his face.

“Yes, yes,” she said, sounding slightly exasperated. “Thank you, Doctor, you can go. Thank you for your time.” Boldfield rose, nodded to us both distractedly, and then headed out of the door. Straub reached under the edge of her desk, and the door was then opened by our two guards.

“Okay, gentlemen, thank you again for your patience,” she said, standing. “I’m not sure when we'll speak next and, with the greatest respect, hopefully we never will, if you understand me.” She held out her hand for us to shake. We did, and so then she gestured to the guards.

“These two will sort out your transport. You’ll excuse me if I don’t see you out, but I’m extremely busy, as you can understand. But please, gentlemen, do let me stress this again, and I say this not only for your sakes, but frankly for those of your families: this conversation never happened.” With this last statement, all the breeziness dropped out of her voice, and her face became very stern indeed. The air that seemed to have permeated the room—the one that felt like the end of a successful job interview—had now disappeared, and we were left in no doubt as to the seriousness of the situation. Again, I was impressed by Straub; although she meant it, and her warning was as serious as possible, the timing and delivery of the statement had been deliberate and theatrical. The woman knew how to have an effect.

“Understood,” said Paul, and Straub nodded, holding her hand out towards the door. We left her office in silence.

Walking down the corridor to the double doors, neither of us said a word, until we found ourselves once more in the warm night air. Immediately outside there were now two jeeps, and somewhere close, I could hear rotary blades starting up. One of us was getting the aerial treatment; I assumed (correctly, as it turned out) that it would be Paul. Given the length of the unseen drive here, I thought that we had to be some distance away from Sheffield now, and thus Paul’s home. I obviously wouldn’t be going too far; any hotel would do for me, and tomorrow I would be summoned for media prep.
Media prep.
The words shivered down my spine, carrying a little thrill all the way. I didn’t think that I’d be getting a good night’s sleep, no matter how much I needed it.

“This way, sir, and you’re going that way, sir,” said one guard, directing us each to our relevant jeep, and talking to us a little more politely than before, I thought. Perhaps because we’d been into the inner sanctum? Either way, Paul and I caught each other’s eye, realising (when we should have realised earlier) that we were about to be separated.

I found, to my complete lack of surprise, that I had no idea what to say. Were we friends now? Had we bonded? Did we even like each other? It had only been a day, but it felt like a week, and I had no concept of what the appropriate action was here. Paul seemed like a good bloke, and we’d been through a pretty damn mind-blowing experience together; we’d even had a fight, pretty much, and made up. All that meant something, surely, I just didn’t know what. Fortunately, Paul came to the rescue.

“You gonna be all right?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets and drawing his arms against his sides, taking a deep breath. The man really was tired, but the concern on his face was genuine. It was an unexpected question—I’d perhaps anticipated a more token response—and it was sincerely asked. Again, I was touched.

“Yeah, you?” I said, not really knowing what else to ask. I did actually want to know though.

“Jesus, I’ve no idea,” he said, frowning. His eyes became distant, looking through me as he spoke. “What the hell do you make of a day like today? What does anyone make of it? And that guy. At least he wasn’t married or anything ... but bloody hell … there’ll be nightmares, I think.” He sighed, looked off into the distance, then turned back to me. “Look, get your head down tonight, get through this press conference business, and if you have a spare five minutes at any point, give me a call, all right? You on Facebook?”

It sounded like a ridiculous question, given the surroundings, and what we’d been through—it was something you said to a girl you met on a night out, or to a new friend on holiday—but it made sense. Plus, as most things seem to be with Paul, it was sincere.

“Yeah, drop me a message on there with your number, I’ll send you mine,” I said. “Do it quick though, I think things might be about to blow up on my account.”

“Ah yes, the man of the hour,” smiled Paul weakly, perhaps wondering if he’d made the right choice. God knows I would have been. In his shoes, I’d have been kicking down the door of Straub’s office to tell her I’d changed my mind, dodging semi-automatic rifle fire as I did so. “Try not to get lost in it all. Listen, I think … I think I’m probably gonna need to talk to you about some of this stuff, okay? You were the only other one there, at least the only other one who saw it the same way I did. So just ... just keep an eye on your phone, okay?”

“Of course,” I said, realising that I’d need a replacement handset now, but didn’t mention it. On impulse, I held out my hand. “I might well be the same. Take care then ... and I
will
speak to you soon. Okay?” Paul nodded, and took my hand in that bear paw of his, shaking mine warmly.

“She’s gonna be worried sick,” Paul said as he let go, shaking his head and looking at the floor, thinking about his wife. “Can we stop at a payphone on the way?” he directed this question to the guard, who shook his head.

“Unnecessary, sir. You’re going to be home extremely quickly, air transport has been arranged,” was the response.

“Mm, not quick enough,” Paul sighed, but it was the resolved sigh of a man too tired to argue. He gave me a lazy thumbs-up, and that weak smile again. “Take care, Andy, look after yourself. Hell of an adventure, hell of an adventure. Speak soon, mate.”

Paul waved good-bye with another sad smile, and then turned to get into the jeep. I returned the wave and headed towards my own jeep, a weird feeling of sadness creeping into my bones. I’ve never liked good-byes of any kind, and going back to being alone in all of this was suddenly very unpleasant. As the jeeps’ engines started up, I looked across at Paul, sitting in the backseat. His face was hidden in his hands, and stayed that way as he began to be driven away, but at the last minute I saw him raise one hand in my direction. His revealed face was without expression, and then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness.